A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas. Maisey Yates
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“We should go back.” The words were hard, brisk.
“But why?”
“Because we’ve been out long enough.” The clipped explanation wasn’t an explanation at all.
“You said we were going to explore,” she said.
“That was before I realized how late it had gotten,” he said.
He was lying. She knew he was lying. And she felt... Like someone had taken a drawer full of expectations inside of her and turned it upside down. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, whether to be offended or relieved.
Apparently, even sun-dappled horse rides could turn into total messes when she was involved.
He didn’t want her to touch him. That much was clear. He didn’t want to chase the attraction that seemed to be building between them—and not just on her side.
That made him... That only made him better, she was sure of it.
Because he was in a position of power and he could demand anything from her, and in order to keep her job, in order to keep the roof over her head, she might feel compelled to say yes.
Except the problem was, she felt compelled to say yes because she wanted to. And he was being...noble.
There was a certain sense of triumph over being right about his goodness, but a hell of a lot of frustration over the way his goodness was making him behave.
“Okay,” she said.
She got back up onto the horse all on her own. She wasn’t going to touch him. Not again.
She spent the entire trail ride back stewing, not able to enjoy the scenery.
Somewhere in there, she felt like this was just her life. There might be horses, and a beautiful scene, there might be a moment of serenity, of feeling content with her place in the world.
But then the good man was going to push her away, and she was still going to be alone.
“You’ve been fine by yourself all this time,” she muttered as she entered her cabin. “At least now you’re not alone and homeless.”
She looked around the tiny room, and she tried to convince herself that—for now at least—this was enough.
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