Page 20 of Saving the Rain
Lifting my gaze from my phone, the face in front of me is not one I recognize, but he must be in his early twenties. He’s sporting close-cropped dark hair and freckles, standing a foot or so away, offering ashy smile.
“Hey . . . uhh . . . you’re Kayce Wilder, right?” He looks almost apologetic.
“That’s me.” I flash a grin in return and slip my phone into my jacket. Reaching out, I give the guy a brief handshake. Between the rodeo community, Devil’s Peak Ranch, and the trail riding work I do for Beau, it’s easy enough for people to know me, or know of me, even if we haven’t properly met before.
His eyes brighten a little and he quickly rubs that same palm I just shook over the back of his neck, stepping a fraction closer as he does so.
“I saw you ride at the last event.” His words rush out. “You were really good out there.”
“Thanks.” I shake my head a little with a grimace. “Although... not quite enough to walk away with the win, as you woulda seen.”
“From where I was sitting, I thought you deserved it.” There’s something in the way he states those words, an earnestness that grabs my attention. Suddenly I realize, with a stronger thud in the side of my neck, this guy is looking at me with the sort of keen expression I’ve only ever picked up on when talking to girls in the past.
Holy shit. That subtle recognition scatters my brain cells like tiny marbles. I haven’t ever looked at guys withthatsort of awareness before, and right now, it feels like this is a whole new dance I gotta learn real fast.
In theory, do I find a guy like this... attractive? Am I into country dudes with his sort of clean-cut vibe? A neat white button-down paired with pale jeans. He’s about my height but has a much leaner frame, almost lanky. Shit. I don’t even know. This is all so brand new for me that I’m still trying to awkwardly determine the lay of the land. Still working out which way is up where my newly discovered, rather confusing, interest inmenis concerned.
I sniff and take a sip of my soda, trying to collect my thoughts. Do I dare say something that pushes into the kind of territory that might be considered flirting? Do I let him take the lead with where this conversation might head? Christ, I’ve seen Chaos fuck around with teasing and playing the field from up close plenty of times. It’s not goddamn rocket science. I just need to chat to the guy. So why do my words feel like they’re stumbling over themselves before even making it halfway to my mouth?
“Sorry. That sounds a bit stalkerish.” He laughs, a nervous flutter that fills my awkward silence. “I swear it’s not like I usually rock straight up to someone and blurt shit like that out of the blue.”
That makes my lips curve up a bit. Ok, at least he’s making a joke, being kinda endearing about it.
“Nah, it’s ok. I can talk rodeo all day.” I rub my now very clammypalms over my thighs. Still not quite sure whether I want this guy to get the idea that I’m interested. Right now, in a normal situation like this, I’d happily sit down and chat about ranching and broncs and generally shoot the shit. I’d do it without a second thought, because I never once assumed a man might be interested in anything else.
I never once considered that I might be looking formore. Maybe the kind of conversation leading to a night chasing desire and exploring a physical attraction.
But something nags at me, a voice of warning immediately announces itself. Clarity drops in with a thud that I don’t want to lead this guy on. Most importantly, not when I’m unsure if I’d even want anything more than a friendly chat with him.
Shit.Shit. This is way harder than I ever imagined.
“Have you ever competed?” I ask. Pushing to my feet, I step closer to the fire, needing to do something with my hands. Leading me to bend over and lift one of the stacked logs.
“No way. I couldn’t do what you do.” He chuckles softly. “You’ve got the gift of making it look effortless... when the rest of us mere mortals know it’s anything but.”
Shrugging one shoulder, I toss the wood into the flames, then reach for another. “Comes with practice, I guess.”
I hear him rustling for something in his pocket. “Man, you’re way too modest... practice, sure, but add having a fuck load of talent to that list.”
As I crouch down, that’s when I definitely feel the guy’s eyes all over me. Heat races up the back of my neck, knowing he’s absolutely, undoubtedly checking me out while I’m not looking his way. The flames build higher as I linger, not exactly knowing what to do in this situation, and my mouth feels more than a little dry.
“Thanks...” I add the next piece of wood to the fireplace, then slowly straighten up.
I haven’t quite turned around, when I see it out of the corner of my eye. With both hands cupped to his mouth, a click is followed by a flare of orange as he lights a cigarette.
He sucks in a long draw as he pockets the pack and lighter. That keen look reconnects with my gaze just as his lips purse and curvearound the filter. It’s a crooked little smile that reaches up to his eyes with layers of hopefulness written there. Subtext I’d recognize from a mile away.
The kind of expression I’ve shared with any number of girls late at night, before going on to make terrible goddamn decisions. A question hovering in the subtle tip up at the corner of his lips, one that asks...what do you think?
Just as I’m opening my mouth, unsure how to reply, my shoulder gets jostled from behind. A hand covered in ink shoots out. My jaw hangs wide as I watch the glowing cigarette get ripped from the guy’s mouth.
Followed by a heavy boot coming down to stomp it into the dirt.
Chapter 8
Tessa goddamn Diaz talked me into coming tonight. She kept on at me until I caved and agreed to put in an appearance.
In my head, there’s an unending list of things I’m well aware will need to get done in the morning, so I’m here for one drink max. No rolling out of bed foggy-headed and thick-skulled—no nursing the lingering thud of a hangover and cottonmouth. Those options are off the table where managing a ranch is concerned.