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)
My headache pulses. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, hoping the burn there goes away. But the desire to go back inside that room and have coffee with this wildly attractive man thrums through me, making the burn worse.
“Hey.” I hear the sheet rustle as Sawyer steps closer. “You all right, Ava? If you don’t wanna stay, it’s no problem …”
I do want to stay, and that’s exactly the problem.
“This.” I open my eyes and drop my hand, gesturing to the breakfast spread. “It’s so kind of you. Thank you, Sawyer, truly. I appreciate you thinking of me more than you know. But I really do have to run. My sisters wanted to hit the road early, so …”
His expression flickers. Disappointment? “I understand. Can I convince you to take something to go, then?”
I shake my head. “I’m really all right.”
I’m doing the right thing here. The smart thing.
Why, then, do I feel like the world’s biggest asshole?
“Thank you, Sawyer. I had—my God, the best time with you. I really needed that.” I swallow the lump in my throat and paste on a smile. “Good luck with the cowboying.”
He scoffs, his dimples popping for a split second. “Thanks. Good luck with the racing.”
I don’t race anymore. But I’m still pretty damn fast.
Offering Sawyer a cringeworthy wave, I all but sprint down the hallway. “Bye, Sawyer.”
He holds up a hand. The other still clutches the sheet at his waist. “See ya, Ava.”
The conversation should end there. But because I have zero self-control around this man, I find myself calling out, “Also, thanks for not killing me!”
His warm, velvety laugh fills the hall. “You’re the one killin’ me. Safe travels, yeah?”
I press the elevator button. There’s a ding as the doors slide open. Stepping inside, I wait for the doors to close before I cover my face with my hand and burst into tears.
I don’t know why I’m crying. I just feel so … full, I guess. I’m happy and I’m sad. I’m satisfied and I’m starving.
I thought having a one-night stand that was actually good might put whatever sexual hunger I’d had to bed.
Instead, it’s made me want more, and I don’t have room in my life for that. I don’t want to want whatever it was that Sawyer gave me.
But I do. And it hurts.
Wiping away my tears with the flat of my palm, I tell myself I’m just tired and hungover. I’ll feel better—more centered—tomorrow, when I’m back in my routine. I’ll snuggle with Junie on the couch while I have my coffee, and life will go on. It always does.
Eventually I’ll forget about Sawyer and the taste of his mouth and the way he made me feel.
Or maybe I won’t. Maybe the memory of how cherished and safe I felt to just be myself with him will be a potent reminder of what I deserve. What I’m looking for in any potential relationship.
The doors slide open. I’m greeted by the glow of thin morning light that reflects off the marble floor of the hotel lobby.
I take a deep breath and step into the day.
CHAPTER 10
Ava
THRIVING
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Holy shit.” I look up from the timer in my hand. “Billie, you just shaved half a second off your time! Personal best!”
My student, Billie Wallace, beams from the saddle as she catches her breath. “That felt good. I tried to run as straight as possible to the second barrel, like you said. How’d my hands look? Don’t think I stayed two-handed long enough, but the thought was there.”
Putting my sunglasses on, I tuck the timer into the back pocket of my jeans. “You’re developing that muscle memory, which is so important in this sport because things move so fast. You’ll get there. Right now, it’s all about repetition.”
I glance at Sally Powell, the head of veterinary programs here on the Wallace Ranch, who’s cupping her hand over her phone screen as she looks down at it. “The tape ready to view?”
Sally taps her finger against the screen. “Yep. Just putting it in slow motion. Billie, you turn a pretty barrel.”
“Trying, girl, trying.” Billie slides off her horse with the athletic ease of someone who’s been riding her whole life.
“Loretta is on fire,” Sally adds, referring to the gorgeous spotted Appaloosa horse that Billie rides. “She picked right up on you asking her to make more space between y’all and the barrel.”
I nod. “She ran straight and square. Excellent work, truly.”
“That’s because I have an excellent trainer.” Billie unbuckles her helmet.
Grinning, I cross my arms. “Trying, girl, trying.”
My heart swells as I inhale the scents of hay, dirt, and leather. Horse people are my people. I love everything about my job as the ranch’s first and only head trainer. The Wallaces became wealthy over many generations of cattle ranching, and the current owners decided to put that money to use by building world-class horse breeding and training programs on the ranch. My job is training horses and riders in barrel racing, a rodeo sport where riders run a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels as fast as possible.