Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Ryder Kane had never been part of that plan.
The floorboards were cool beneath my bare feet as I crossed the room and pulled on the jeans and sweater I’d packed. After quickly brushing my teeth and attempting to tame my hair with my fingers, I opened the bedroom door. The smell of coffee grew stronger in the hallway, and I followed it downstairs.
The Kane house looked different in the pale morning light. The night before, I had only noticed the warmth and shelter it offered compared to the dark, powerless house I’d left behind. Now, I saw the details.
The scarred wooden floors had been swept clean. A faded rug stretched down the hallway, the edges worn from years of boots crossing over it. Framed photographs lined one wall, most of them horses, cattle, and generations of Kanes standing beneath the same wide sky.
A folded quilt rested over the back of a nearby chair, the faded stitching immediately familiar. Ryder's mother had made quilts for nearly everyone in town, and I remembered her wrapping one around my shoulders after I'd shown up on their porch one winter evening wearing nothing but a thin sweater.
One photograph made me stop. I recognized his father immediately. Edward Kane had always been quiet and steady, and the kind of man who spoke only when he had something worth saying. I remembered how different he’d been from my own father. Even as a child, I'd noticed the difference.
Ryder looked no older than twenty, standing beside his father near the main barn. He was leaner then, but the hard set of his shoulders was already there. His hat sat low over his eyes, and one hand rested on the neck of a chestnut horse. He wasn’t smiling. But I couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile for a photograph, for that matter.
“You hungry?” Ryder asked.
I startled and looked toward the kitchen. He stood near the stove wearing a faded black T-shirt and jeans. His hair was still damp from a shower, pushed carelessly away from his forehead, and he wasn’t wearing his hat. Something about seeing him without it made him look different. Less guarded. Or perhaps, I had simply never been close enough to notice how dark his hair was or the faint streak of gray beginning at one temple.
His gaze moved over me once before settling on my face.
“You always sneak up on people?” I asked.
“Was standin’ right here.” He turned back toward the stove. “Coffee’s fresh.”
Apparently, we were going to pretend the porch hadn’t happened. That should have made things easier. It didn’t.
I crossed the kitchen and poured myself a cup. I froze when I saw a black dog lying stretched out near the back door, his tail thumping once against the floor when he saw me.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Kash.”
I walked over and crouched to scratch behind his ears. “Good morning, Kash.” The dog leaned into my hand as though we had known each other for years.
“He doesn’t usually take to strangers,” Ryder said.
“I’m not a stranger.” The words came out before I could stop them. Silence settled across the kitchen. I looked up. Ryder was watching me.
“No,” he said after a moment. “You’re not.”
Heat crept along the back of my neck. I stood and took a drink of coffee, nearly burning my tongue in my haste to give myself something else to do.
I cleared my throat, needing something to fill the sudden silence. But before I could speak, he gestured toward the table.
I sat down, and a second later, Ryder slid a plate filled with eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes in front of me. He set his own plate down across from me and took his seat.
The fact that I was aware of every small movement he made irritated me. The scrape of his fork against the plate. The flex of his forearm when he reached for his coffee. Even the way his gaze occasionally lifted to mine before returning to his food. The silence wasn’t awkward exactly, but it was too aware.
After I was finished eating, I finally set my fork down and asked softly, “Are we going to talk about last night?”
Ryder continued eating. “What about it?”
I stared at him. “You know what.”
He lifted his gaze, and although his expression remained unreadable, something shifted in his eyes.
“We sat on the porch, drank beer, watched the storm, and then you went to bed.”
“That isn’t what I’m talking about.”
He was silent for a second before finally saying, “I know.”
I leaned back in the chair and folded my arms. “Then why are you making me say it?”
“Not makin’ you do anything.”
The tension from last night still hung between us, or maybe it was only clinging to me. But it felt thick and unspoken, and I could still feel the ghost of his fingers accidentally brushing against mine. Did he feel how the air had changed when neither of us pulled away immediately?