I take a deep breath. “I don’t like big animals. I really don’t.” *But I want you to like me, even though there’s nothing between us, and oh God, the day is splendidly beautiful, sun shining through the snow. The sun is coming up over the mountains in the distance, casting light over the flat plains that lead up into the hills. The light is orange in some places, pink in others, and purple clouds hang over the tips of the mountains, rolling across the sky. The colors set against the snowy layer over Rowan’s grazing plains are almost distracting, and my eyes wander away as I start thinking about paint and the tone of color Star and I are using for the background behind the stars.
“You’ll like Symphony.”
“That’s her name? Symphony? First Eliza Doolittle and now Symphony? How very poetic.” A helpless smile is plastered across my face. I try to tuck the hair behind my ear again, but it’s already there, fuzzy and frizzy from not being pressed in many long days. Eliza presses her nose against my hand, responding to her name, and I stroke the top of her head absently. She presses herself against my leg, and I’m glad for the warmth.
“I didn’t name her. She came with that name. But it suits her, don’t you think?” The horse chuffs and pushes her nose against Rowan’s shirt.
“I guess it does. But when I came out here, I didn’t agree to ride your horses.”
“That’s the law of the land, Miss Cadence. Kid can’t come up here today because the snow is about to get thick, and this lady needs attention.” He winks at me when he says it, and I pick up the not-so-hidden innuendo. I have liked the attention, but I can’t find a way to break it to Rowan that this isn’t a date, that the other night at the fundraiser wasn’t a date. That none of it can be. Maybe I can’t say it because the thoughts aren’t fully formed in my mind, because I can’t get through my own grief enough to form the words. But regardless, the thoughts are there and they’re true. And sooner or later, I’ll need to tell him that I can’t be with him, not like we have been.
But hell, maybe he doesn’t even want me like that. Maybe I’m just a passing fancy.
A flush or embarrassment rises over my cheeks, and I’m grateful my skin is too dark to show that shit. I can feel it, hot and aching against the cold of the day, the nip of the wind pouring over both of our bodies as we stand there staring at each other, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for someone to cave, someone to think of something.
Instead, Rowan just keeps brushing Symphony and winks at me again while he tends to her.
“We’ve got saddle and tack. We can suit her up. You don’t have to trot her or anything, just walk. That’s all she needs on a day like this. But we get the blood flowing, and I’ll ride Calliope.”
“You only have mares?”
“This season, yes. I was breeding a while back, but I find mares suit my personality better. They tend to like me better than the stallions, anyway.” He grins again, and something about it looks lascivious, like he’s thinking about me. But that’s silly—he couldn’t be. I’m not the focus of his every thought. He has been asking a hell of a lot about my life, about the painting, about my sources of inspiration. Almost an uncomfortable amount.
Rowan turns and starts leading Symphony back to the stable. Calliope whinnies when she sees Rowan again, tapping her hooves against the packed dirt of the stable floor.
“I swear this isn’t like any other stable I’ve seen, Rowan.” My eyes dart around, and I see that there are pristine watering buckets, bags of oats and a climate-controlled, refrigerated unit that contains loads of carrots and apples.
“They’re spoiled. And usually we’ve got more horses around at this time of year. It’s, uh, climate controlled too, Miss Cadence.” He tips his hat at me in the manner of an old-fashioned cowboy, and I put my hand to my chest. Against the backdrop of the stable, sky expanding behind him, snow falling gently over the grass, my heart almost skips a beat. “We don’t keep it too hot. I like them to feel like they’re in their natural habitat, but the New Mexico winter gets a little colder than they like it. Like Eliza Doolittle, they’re inside girls.”
Rowan starts saddling Symphony up, hooking up all the different thingies to the other thingies. I have no idea what the hell he’s doing. He tightens down the saddle and puts in her bit--at least that’s what I think it is--and then holds the reign out to me.