Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“I don’t hate it,” I say.
Sally smiles. “To be honest, neither do I. You guys need anything else before I head home? Wyatt’s making dinner, so I should get out of here.”
“No shit,” Sawyer says. “Wyatt’s cooking again?”
Sally hands him the reins of a massive Friesian named Bumblebee. “Can you believe it? He’s one hundred percent domesticated now. Except when he’s not.”
“That sounds fun,” I say, grabbing my horse.
Sally’s cheeks are pink when she replies, “It is. Will we see y’all this weekend?”
I watch Sawyer smoothly mount his horse, his thighs straining against his chaps as he settles into the saddle.
“Yeah.” I lick my lips. “Sure. If I can tear myself away from—”
“Work,” Sawyer says. “We have lots and lots of work to do, don’t we, pretty girl?”
Sally grabs her jacket from a nearby bench. “Cute nickname. Enjoy, guys. Have a great weekend.”
And then it’s just me and Sawyer and our horses inside my home away from home.
The arena is state of the art. It’s brand-new, built less than a year ago. Apparently Mr. Wallace told the architect that the budget was there was no budget.
The soaring ceilings are semi-transparent, letting in tons of light during the day, and the walls are covered in this beautiful stained wood that complements the Wallaces’ signature colors of brown and white. A huge American flag hangs on one side of the arena, the Texas state flag on the other.
“All right, coach.” Sawyer puts a hand on his thigh and nods at the barrels set out in the dirt. “Show me what to do.”
Putting on my own Stetson, I climb into the saddle. My body immediately relaxes at the familiar, steady feel of the horse underneath me. Her name is Carter, and she’s a gorgeous three-year-old filly I fell in love with at first sight.
It’s all muscle memory at this point. Heels down, I press into the stirrups. At the same time, I sit deep in the saddle and squeeze my legs, urging Carter into motion.
“I assume you know how barrel racing works, right?” I ask.
Sawyer trots right beside me. “Been to a rodeo or two in my time, yeah. You run the cloverleaf pattern around the barrels.” He uses his arm to trace the motion. “Fast as you can go without knocking down the barrels or getting knocked on your ass.”
“Exactly. You wanna keep your turns nice and tight. Be sure to stay sat—having a good seat is really going to be the thing that helps you most.”
He holds out his arm. “How do I look?”
Like a cowboy.
He’s all cockiness in the saddle, his hips rolling athletically in time to Bumblebee’s stride. The fringe on his chaps pops up as he moves, reins held in his left hand while he musses the horse’s mane with his right.
My skin tightens, need blooming to life between my legs. There are few things in this life as magnificent as watching a cowboy, well, cowboy.
“You look like you’re gonna lose,” I say, and then Carter and I take off.
I don’t wait for Sawyer to follow us. I don’t go slow, explaining why I do this or how I do that. I just ride, blood pumping, legs burning as I guide Carter in the familiar pattern around the barrels.
Laughter bubbles up inside me when I see Sawyer urge his horse into a gallop. How like him to not care a lick for his safety. He just goes full speed ahead, his face a mask of fierce focus as he charges after me.
Carter and I work together to turn a beautiful barrel if I do say so myself. I let out a happy yell, giving her more leg as we head for the second barrel.
Gravity and centrifugal force work against us, but she doesn’t stop and neither do I. My heart pumps loud and strong in my chest, and I keep my breathing even and deep. In through my nose, out through my mouth.
Giddiness rises up my sides and bubbles in my throat as we head for the third and final barrel. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sawyer laughing when he knocks over the second barrel behind us.
“This is harder than it looks!” he shouts, his handsome face split in a smile.
Resisting the urge to make a that’s-what-she-said comment, I fly around the third barrel and run home. Carter and I are panting, sweat breaking out on my scalp and forehead. My pulse drums in my ears. I’m aware of the air going in and out of my lungs, all the way to the bottom. Feels like I’m awake, alive, for the first time all day.
Feels like freedom.
Sawyer pulls Bumblebee to a stop next to us. His mouth hangs open in a neat O.
“Holy shit, Ava.” He wipes his forehead on his sleeve. “Holy fucking shit.”