“Summer, hold up.”
She raises her hand to stop me. “Please. Just let me walk. I’m having a moment. I need to clear my head. I need space.”
“I—”
Her head shakes, and she closes her eyes to suck in a breath. “Rhett. Please. I need space.”
I don’t miss the wobble in her voice, and as much as I want to stay and scoop her up and do everything in my power to make her feel better, I don’t.
Because I am a gentleman. And I’ll respect her wishes, even when I don’t like them. I clearly struck a nerve. So, I urge my horse into a jog and offer her a casual tip of my hat on the way past.
I spend the next several minutes trying to figure out what that was. What chord did I strike with my comment? One that set her right the fuck off, that much is certain.
Back at the ranch, my brothers are nowhere to be found. They’ve skulked off to lick their wounds somewhere—something that brings a smile to my face. I wish I’d been here to see Summer go off on them. Her caretaker side is strong. But as much of a people pleaser as she might be, she has this vicious streak. This protective streak.
And I fucking live for that.
I untack my bay gelding, give him a quick brush, and turn him back out with a firm pat on the shoulder. Then I trudge back up to the gate that meets up with the main yard, lean myself against a fence post, and wait for Summer.
When she finally comes into sight, my breath freezes in my lungs. She’s a vision in a billowing white dress, cinched tight around her waist, and tall boots. Toned thighs make the odd appearance through the slit in the skirt. Her small hands are curled into fists at her side, and she’s staring at the ground, muttering to herself, dark strands floating across her face.
It sounds like she’s having some sort of internal argument. She looks adorably pissed off, and one side of my mouth tips up in amusement.
“Rhett. I’m not in the mood for our bickering right now,” she says when she glances up and catches me watching her.
“Yeah. Fair. It sounds like you’re doing an excellent job of bickering with yourself.”
Her lips part, but no noise comes out. It’s fucking distracting. Distracting enough that I just stand here, propped up against the fence post while she meanders toward me.
With a heavy sigh, her shoulders droop. “Can you just stop? Please.”
“Why?” I stretch my arms out to clasp the top board with my hands, because without something to grab, I might grab her. And that’s not what she needs right now.
She runs her hands through her hair, pulling it back tight in her fists and tugging at it. She looks agitated, but also defeated.
“I just . . . I’m trying to do a good job. I’m trying hard not to let anyone down. My dad. His business. You. It’s a lot of responsibility, and I kind of got tossed in the deep end with this gig.”
The crack in her voice and the exhaustion in her frame really hits me now. She’s only twenty-five, fresh out of school, and while I haven’t been making her life a living hell or anything, I can see how I haven’t been exactly helpful.
Summer gives so much of herself. Her dad. Her sister. Her stepmom. Everyone she meets.
Me.
But who the fuck is taking care of Summer?
She’s sunny, and happy, and cracks a joke in the face of adversity. But right now, she seems tired. And after everything she’s done for me, lending her strength seems like the most natural thing to do.
I let go of the fence post and hold my arms open wide, while crooking my fingers toward myself. “Come here.”
“That’s a bad idea.” She rolls her eyes and nibbles at her bottom lip, but I get the sense that’s mostly to chase away the glassiness shining in them. She makes me wait, but eventually, she steps into the cage of my arms, and I wrap them around her.
For the first moments she maintains a polite distance, but when I drop my head and let out a sigh against the crook of her neck, she melts closer. One arm slung over my shoulder while the other tentatively traces my ribs.
And I just hold her tighter.
She’s healthy, and strong, and resilient, and yet so fragile. She feels small in my arms, and the way she clutches at me borders on desperate. I wish I could ease all her hurt, all her worry, all her anxiety.
It’s almost like she doesn’t see what a force she is.
But I do.
I wish I could make her see that too.
I’m not sure how long we stand here, holding one another as the golden sun sinks below the hills behind us.
When she finally pulls back a bit, her eyes hold mine. And what I see there is something akin to confusion.
“I’m sorry I made your job harder today.” I say it, and I mean it. “I’ve spent so long fending for myself that it honestly just felt like a way to have some fun. I’m, well, I’m not accustomed to accounting for someone else.” It’s a sobering realization. I’m a man who’s been living his day-to-day life for what feels good, with little regard for those around me.
She nods, eyes dipping down to my mouth. “Can you just wait until you win it all to have some fun? Then you can do whatever you want. It’s not that long.”
My fingers pulse on her waist and I take my turn staring at her mouth. I groan. Whatever I want. What a tempting way of putting that.
Her chest rises and falls with some strain now. “Rhett. You can’t look at me like that,” she says breathily. “You really, really can’t.” Her eyes press shut, like she might be able to erase me from her mind.
“Why not?” My voice is all gravel as I soak up the pained expression on her face.
“Because it’s confusing.”
Like hell. I reach down and hitch her leg up, wrapping it around my waist. Right where it belongs.
“I was so wrong about you. And now? Now I’m not confused at all.” My fingers give her toned thigh a firm squeeze, and my mind runs wild with how it would feel to have her entirely wrapped around me.
This fucking body.
“Rhett?” She hasn’t pulled away. In fact, her fingers are tangling in the hair at the base of my skull, pulling my face closer to hers, whether she realizes it or not.
And then her mouth tips up. Her body is saying yes, but her words are saying she’s not so sure.
I let my hand trail up her torso, feeling her tremble slightly beneath my touch. I stroke the column of her throat with my thumb, her pulse beating beneath my fingers. The way it jumps wildly. “Tell me what you want, Summer.” Our lips are so close, facing off in some sort of game without even touching. “If this were your last moment on earth, what would you want me to do?”
A desperate whimpering sound escapes her as her eyes squeeze shut again.
And then she pulls away. Her leg comes down, and the spring breeze pushes her out of my reach. Her expression is stricken, and her posture defeated.
Summer is proud and responsible. Two characteristics about her I absolutely admire.
So, there’s the small part of me that isn’t surprised. I stare at her trembling hand raised between us in a signal to not come any closer.
“Unfortunately, this is not my last moment on earth.” She swallows and glances over her shoulder, like she’s embarrassed. “Mostly, I’ve been pushing papers at Hamilton Elite. I’m . . . I’m trying to keep this relationship professional. I need to keep this relationship professional if I’m going to work in this industry. I can’t manage athletes if I’m hooking up with them. You need to find someone else to play this game with.”