Page 34 of Saving the Rain (Crimson Ridge #4)

The guy couldn’t scramble away fast enough last night.

While I don’t exactly blame him—I mean, I was left damn well reeling with the aftershock myself—he’s a volatile sort of creature.

The cold light of day might bring about a different perspective on things, rather than the quiet assessment he leveled me with while scrubbing one hand over his stubbled jaw.

The kind of shift in thinking where now he’s angry as all hell and lets me know exactly how much of a fucked up piece of shit I am for landing us in this mess.

My eyes squeeze shut, and I drop my forehead against Peaches’ soft neck. Hanging out, as if this horse will hold the answers to my misguided dick and ridiculous, absolutely no-go-territory interest in my stepbrother.

Winnie’s stall is down the far end of the barn, by the outer doors, but they come closer to the tack room at this end.

With each step they draw nearer, I feel like my heart is trying to scale the back of my throat, like a prisoner attempting to escape my mouth.

Should I make a noise, cough, talk to the horse.

.. anything just to alert him to the fact I’m here?

Raine might be good at maintaining a cool exterior now, but the guy used to fight all the time when we were younger. He had a temper. I still remember all the black eyes and purpled, swollen cheekbones. The split lips and blood-stained t-shirts.

I’m struggling to get a handle on this, because if there’s one thing I have no idea how to be, it's a man who apparently really likes the feel of another man’s cock and definitely wants more .

It’s a terrifying prospect that he’s the person who has unlocked that particular, startling insight into myself, while also being someone who probably wishes I was never born.

Jesus. I really am such a screw-up.

I hear him moving around with Winnie as he removes her saddle, and his voice rumbles low as he shares words with her that I can’t quite decipher, yet my ears strain to catch what he might be saying.

Help me, I’m so pathetic. This crush—or whatever the fuck you call developing an unhealthy fascination with seeing your stepbrother’s cock erupt cum all over your fist—is surely a one-way ticket to a shattered nose.

I’m so goddamn awkward, creeping out from Peaches’ stall with the grooming bucket, and end up clearing my throat loud enough that probably the entire mountain can hear me. After setting everything down, I jab my fingers through my hair until the strands are on end.

Raine’s dark eyes flick to mine from across the other side of Winnie’s back. I see his tattooed hand run the length of her spine to rub over the spot where the saddle rug had been only moments before.

“Hey.” I shuffle my weight. He makes me tongue-tied and so uncertain how to act; there’s absolutely no hope in hell of me knowing what to say.

“Is your knee feeling all right?” He turns back to Winnie, letting his gaze drift away. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Do I want his attention transfixed on me, or not?

“It’s been good so far.” Lifting my shoulders inside my hoodie, I catch a waft of sweetness in the air. Rainfall starts to shower down in a soft thrum on the roof, and the freshness mixed with damp earth drifts in from the open doors.

He dips his chin and makes a noise that I guess can be interpreted as an acknowledgment.

As much as I scolded myself throughout the process of cleaning up last night, tossing and turning in my bed, and taking a shower this morning, there’s no avoiding the reality.

I can’t stop recalling what it was like with Raine, and seeing him in the here and now only amplifies all of that .

My only intention was to come to the barn to spend some time with the horses, to get my legs back under me—in the most literal sense—now that I’m approved for ranch work.

But here Raine is, turning up in his goddamn backward cap and well-worn jacket, looking so rugged and at ease around our barn.

He moves like he’s been here for years, not a couple of weeks, and the thundering feeling inside my chest says it all.

A loud and unrestrained holler, pointing out just how fine he looks.

If I was ever in any doubt as to how fucked up I am, it’s been confirmed by a flood of warmth making its way up the back of my neck and palms going clammy at just one glance.

There’s no moving on from what happened last night.

Not for me, at least.

My body leaps to attention, every single thought swirls into his vortex, trying to make themselves at home beneath those thoughtful, gentle pats he gives to the horse. Raine didn’t lay a hand on me last night, and I’m watching with hungry eyes as his heavy palm smooths across Winnie’s glossy coat.

I’m officially pissed off that a horse knows what it feels like to have his fingertips offer a gliding touch like that, and I don’t.

“Finished fixing the fence out on the southern boundary.” His voice is steady, matter of fact. No obvious sign of anything deeper affecting him.

“Raine...” I lose the internal battle and step across the aisle to come around the same side of the horse where he’s standing. I gotta know what he’s thinking, or I’m pretty sure my stomach is going to knot itself irreparably.

“The cattle have been fed. You’ll only need to look in on them tomorrow,” Raine continues, this time fisting Winnie’s halter and walking her back in the direction of her stall.

He doesn’t even look at me while passing by.

“ Raine .” Swallowing heavily, I repeat his name, because I don’t like the sound of this. It’s like he’s handing over instructions, turning off the lights, and locking up at the end of the day. There’s a hint of finality in his tone, the kind that makes my blood pump harder.

“Forecast seems to be mild for the next week at least.” He settles Winnie inside her stall, then closes the door. As he does so, his head tilts to one side to take in the sight of me. I’m standing there, consumed by this maddening unease as he reaches out to hand me the halter and dips his chin.

I immediately toss it to the ground and take another step closer. A goddamn band tightens around my chest with each passing second, and I don’t know how to do or say anything that might successfully stop what’s happening.

Raine readjusts his cap and flicks his eyes over the barn, landing on me for the briefest second, then he coughs into his fist and starts to walk outside.

“Wait. What the hell?” I’m back to tripping over my words in an effort to get him to damn well slow down, or to at least talk to me.

I know that’s not his style. I know he doesn’t communicate easily.

But at least for the sake of everything we’ve just been through, we need to clear the air. .. surely?

“I’m leaving, Kayce.” He keeps walking but turns his head to toss the words over his shoulder. “You said it yourself. You wanted me to go, to leave you to it, so I’m out.”

My head spins. I feel like a jerk, because I only said that when I was frustrated and bitter about everything falling apart in my life.

And as much as I know he can’t stay, it feels wrong that this is how things are gonna abruptly end between us.

Except there isn’t any us , and shit, I don’t know what the hell is going on inside my head.

Those faintly drifting showers from earlier are now heavy droplets falling steadily, and Raine keeps on striding away in the direction of his truck.

All I can do is chase after him. Stuttering and damn well stammering in his wake.

“You can’t just leave.”

He shakes his head to himself. “What do you want from me, Kayce?” His voice is heavy and filled with resigned irritation. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it. That you never wanted to speak about this.”

I skid to a halt right behind him as he reaches the door. Through the truck’s window, I see that he’s already packed and ready to leave—his bag sits on the far end of the bench seat.

“I didn’t mean?—”

Raine’s cold laugh cuts me short. “You did. So, just keep on living a lie. Go throw yourself at some hot little cunt and pretend and continue to hide who you are. Because that’s what you do best, right?”

Wetness seeps through the shoulders of my hoodie. My hair starts to cling to my forehead the longer I’m out here pleading with him for god knows what reason.

“I don’t want to hide.” My fists clench, and I’m outright staring at the water droplets clinging to his close-cut beard and stubbled mouth.

“Yeah... yeah, you do.” His tone is just about as icy as the wind that rips through this mountain for half of the year. God, why did I ever think he’d be willing to talk or anything approaching some sort of chance to get our heads around last night?

“You’re such a dick.”

That makes his upper lip twitch. A sneer or a snarl, I don’t know, but it’s a derisive look he coats me with. One long assessment dragging down my body from head to toe. “Have you told all your little friends about your knee?”

My face falls.

“No? Didn’t think so.” Lifting his cap, he rakes through his now damp hair before shoving the hat back down.

“I’m sorry, ok?” I blurt out. “I just... I don’t know how to do any of this. I don’t know how to get anything right.”

“Well, excuse me for not being available to gather up the pieces of your life for you.” He turns, one hand already on the door handle, and I’m moving without thinking a goddamn thing through.

An unfamiliar, illogical urgency propels me to stop him. All I can think is that I don’t want him to leave, and I have no goddamn idea why it seizes me with an impulse I can’t deny or turn away from.

“Raine . . . just, please, wait . . .”

Reaching out to catch his arm, I try to prevent him from opening the truck door. My fingers catch the elbow of his jacket, and that’s when my world flips. One moment, I’m standing there, hand extended out to grab hold of him; the next, I’m being manhandled with a punishing grip and shoved away.

My spine collides with the wooden railing running along the perimeter of the yard. Except I’m not being shunted aside or thrown off balance. With a yelp, I’m pinned in place by a vise grip powerful enough to leave the air rushing from my lungs.

When I blink through rain-soaked lashes, blazing, dark eyes hover only inches from my own.