Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 49178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Benny smiled at me, gentle and soft. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“And it’s the truth.”
We slipped back into a comfortable silence as he took my words in. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs, beer can cradled between his hands. His profile was lit by starlight and a spill of porchlight, sharp and soft all at once.
“Ya know, I’ve been thinking about entering the barrel race at the festival next month,” he said, eyes fixed out in the dark. “Haven’t done one in years.”
I turned toward him. “You should. You one hundred percent should.”
He shrugged. “I always want to. Then I start thinking about how many people would be there. How I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, or that I’m scared I’m just going to blank out. And the nerves hit. I end up talking myself out of it.”
“You’d kill it,” I said honestly. “You’d take Juniper, right? She’s fast as hell. And you… You ride like it’s instinct. You just look right in a saddle.”
Benny huffed a soft laugh and tipped his head toward me. “Careful, you’re flirting.”
“No, I’m not.” I paused. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“You’re also not wrong.”
We both smiled, and for a second, the moment stretched out in that special kind of way. Not tense. Not awkward. Just soft. Warm. Safe.
I looked over at him again and couldn’t help it. I reached out and slipped my hand into his. His skin was warm, a little rough from work. He didn’t pull away.
Instead, he shifted his fingers just slightly, enough that they laced through mine.
My heart did this annoying little flip. My chest felt full. Not tight. Not scared. Just full.
“You know,” I said, my voice low, “I think this is the most comfortable I’ve felt in years.”
Benny glanced sideways at me. His eyes flicked down to our hands, then back up. “Same.”
I leaned in.
He didn’t move.
His head tilted just a little.
And then, just as our lips were about to brush—
SNORT.
A sharp wheeze broke the stillness.
I jumped. Benny did too. We turned simultaneously to see Dennis standing three feet away, staring at us like we’d interrupted his evening. He was backlit by the porch light, making him seem way more sinister than a miniature horse had any reason for being.
“Mother—“ Benny hissed.
Dennis blinked. Then sneezed, loudly, and trotted away.
“I swear to God,” I muttered, rubbing my face.
Benny was laughing, his shoulders shaking, the kind of snort-laugh that meant he was done for.
“I was having a moment,” I grumbled, but I couldn’t help laughing too.
“You’re lucky I didn’t fall off the fence,” Benny said through his laughter. “Maybe you should end up taking him after these ninety days are up.”
“No, no way. He’s all yours.”
We let the moment die down naturally, and then I rested my head lightly against Benny’s shoulder. He didn’t move away.
Ninety days… what if I don’t want it to end with these ninety days?
We sat like that until the music faded and the stars had fully claimed the sky, that singular question ringing in my head until my head hit the pillow.
14
BENNY
An email dinged on my phone, fighting through the bad cell service at the ranch. It was an email reminding me that there were only a couple days left to register for the big barrel race that was happening soon. My finger hovered over the link for a moment before I swiped out of it entirely and locked my phone. As much as I loved riding and racing, I didn’t enjoy losing and feeling less than. Why even risk it?
I got back to the fence I was painting. It was already early evening, we’d already had dinner and most of the family was calling it a day and hunkering down for bed. But I had gotten a spurt of energy and didn’t feel like burning it off in bed. I grabbed my paint bucket and my brush and walked out to the perimeter fence, sitting down in the grass and pouring some of the white paint into a smaller container. I dipped the brush in and got to work. The sun had finished her shift but there was still plenty of natural light offered up by the blanket of stars above me. It’d been a nice day, very productive, and even exciting since Dusty—named after the dusty road I found him on—graduated from the incubator in my room to his own private nest in the barn.
Not only was I happy for my new feathered friend, but I was also extremely excited to not have him in my bedroom anymore.
My focus narrowed on the brush strokes. I enjoyed painting. It was meditative for me. I liked seeing the wet paint streak across a canvas—whether that’s an old wooden fence or a freshly built wall. I liked seeing the contrast between a worn-down surface and a newly painted one.