One to Leave (One to Hold 5)

We didn’t speak—mostly because it was difficult between the wind and the speed of the horse, but I’d already perceived this man favored quiet over the noise of voices. When I was comfortable with Ranger’s movement, I carefully lifted one of my hands from the saddle horn to cover his on my stomach. Threading our fingers, his muscles tensed at my back, but he didn’t pull away. He accepted my hand, and warmth flooded my chest. We rode through the colors of the sky, the roar of the wind, and the heat of our bodies pressed together with our fingers entwined.

We held each other all the way until we pulled up at the barn and Ranger slowed to a trot, breaking our moment, sending me scrambling for anything to grasp. Still, a small bridge had been built. A tiny step forward.

He pulled Ranger to a stop and quickly swung his leg off from behind me. From the ground, he held up a hand to help me down before I could catch my breath.

Dropping in front of him, I looked up, expecting things to be different, some kind of change, but his expression was back to closed, distant.

“I didn’t brush down Cheyenne when she got back.” He turned his back on me and went to the small closet, leaving me bewildered where I stood. “You can take care of her.”

With an exasperated breath, I stomped into the tack room, past him, and snatched up an oval brush and a comb. Perhaps I was being ridiculous, but so was he. How could he act like nothing just happened between us?

“I’ll get her saddle for you,” he said, but I didn’t stop.

I almost told him I didn’t care. He could do whatever the hell he wanted, but that would’ve been a lie. No matter what was going on right now, I still cared very much what he did.

Cheyenne was in her stall fully tacked. I took a deep breath before opening her door, not wanting to agitate her with my frustrated mood.

“Hey, girl,” I said in a quiet voice, running my hand down her velvet nose. She made a low grunting sound.

“The warm wind feels nice, but it bothers some of the animals.” Stuart stepped past me into the pen and loosened the strap that ran around her belly.

In a matter of minutes he lifted the blanket and saddle easily. I stayed at her nose holding her bridle, not wanting to care how his muscles looked when they flexed or how sexy his profile was with that straight nose and slightly full lips.

“I’ll be back for her bridle,” he said as he passed. “You can start brushing her down.”

He was gone, and I released the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. Going to Cheyenne’s side, I pulled the brush across her back in long, firm strokes. I traced it over and over, down to her rump, across her belly then I pulled out the comb. With a few quick pulls, I brushed her mane, and keeping to the side of her rear, I quickly combed her tail. I was just finishing when Stuart returned for the bridle.

“Dinner’s ready, but you probably want to shower.” He reached up and casually lifted the bridle off her ears and slid it down her face. She released the bit at once.

“I don’t care. I can eat like this.” I pushed past him in a pout, but he caught my upper arm and pulled me back, nearly lifting me off my feet.

My heart beat fast as I looked up at him. He was too close, his grip on my arm too firm, and with his lowered brow, the clenched jaw—it was overwhelming.

When he spoke, his voice was tight. “Don’t set your sites on me, Mariska.” Hazel eyes burned into mine. “When the time comes, I will leave.”

“What makes you think I’m interested in you?” My voice was surprisingly calm considering my skittering insides.

A light sparked in his eyes, and before I could register what was happening, his mouth was on mine. Bodies crashed together, the small noise that escaped my throat was lost in him. I dropped the brush, it hit the ground with a clatter, and I pushed my fingers into his soft, thick hair.

He was forceful and strong and delicious. His tongue found mine in a sweep, and I made another little noise as his hands moved to my waist, lifting me against the post of the stall door. Soap, cedar, the pungent smell of the barn filled my senses. My arms tightened around his neck as my mouth chased his. I wanted more, I wanted all of him. He caught one of my lips between his teeth, giving it a pull before releasing me with an exhaled groan.

We stood there, foreheads touching, arms entwined, both breathing hard. My lips throbbed, and my legs trembled. His brow clutched again, and he looked almost angry. Without a word, he went straight to the tack room, bridle in hand.

My body was throbbing, and I could only hold the stall door, trying to calm myself. How could he walk away so calmly?

I could see I had a fight on my hands. Deep in my heart, I knew he belonged to me, but that wounded warrior wasn’t letting anyone in. He had his plans, and for whatever reason, they didn’t allow room for love.

Stuart Knight had locked his heart up tight, but I was determined to break in and steal it. He might be strong, but that kiss told me what I needed to know. He wanted me.

Chapter 7: Massage Therapy

Stuart

My safe place was ruined. First, Patrick showed up, killing any hopes I had of finding calm—at least he was occupied with Elaine and out of my way, and we’d figured out how to coexist without actually hurting each other through the years.

I had no strategy for Mariska.

She intoxicated me like nothing I’d ever experienced. No drug compared to her, and then I went and kissed her. Jesus! I don’t know what the hell made me do that. I fucking had to leave now.