JUSTIN
SWEET SERENITY RANCH 5:25 P.M.
“You seriously named your horse Annie Oakley?”
“Yup,” Peyton said. “After the toughest chick in the Old West.” She cleared her throat and glanced up front through the windshield, then clutched the pendant around her neck as she asked again, “Want to come meet her?”
The look Rosalyn gave me in the rearview mirror clearly read, say yes.
Here’s the thing: Sunshine was dangerous. Case in point, that little game of hers in the car. Not only did she get me to play along, but when she slid me that sweet smile and asked about my writing, it was like I physically couldn’t deny her—and I’d gotten damn good at refusing girls.
No one knew about my writing. There was no point. The poetry and lyrics that filled my notebooks wouldn’t ever amount to anything, but like she’d said, it calmed me down. Helped clear my head of the white noise. And whenever I found the perfect word to describe how I felt, it was incredible. Not that I’d admit that to anyone. But for some reason, Peyton knowing about it wasn’t so bad. In fact, I kind of liked it. Which was exactly why she was so dangerous.
When I didn’t respond right away, Rosalyn did it for me. “I just remembered I have an errand to run. It’s no problem to swing back by in an hour if you want.”
Did I want?
When it came to Peyton, the answer was yes, regardless of the question.
The issue was more if I should.
This couldn’t go anywhere. Sunshine had to know that as much as I did. We were two different people, wanting two completely different things. She may’ve said she didn’t do relationships, but she didn’t strike me as the laid-back, casual hookup type either. Yet despite that, I couldn’t deny the pull she had on me. Just being around her made me feel good, and obviously, she must’ve felt the same way if she wanted me to hang around.
It’d be dumb to deny ourselves something we both wanted, right?
Cracking my knuckles, I swung my gaze from my housekeeper’s silent urging to Peyton’s quiet hoping and finally admitted defeat. As if I’d ever stood a chance anyway.
“Sounds good,” I replied. I hoped like hell I knew what I was doing.
We got out of the SUV and the moment I shut the door behind me, Peyton took my hand. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, and a low vibrating hum came from her throat, but she laced her thin fingers between mine, and I swallowed hard.
Confidence in a girl was always hot, but watching this shy, almost awkward beauty taking charge was even hotter. I grazed my thumb over the smooth skin of her wrist and electricity shot up my arm.
I was so screwed.
Rosalyn honked her horn as she pulled away, and I could’ve sworn I saw her laughing. After the red taillights faded down the long strip of driveway, I turned to Peyton. “Guess I’m all yours.”
That cute blush that shouted “innocent,” and “not for you,” crept up her cheeks as she bit her pink bottom lip. She looked at me through thick lashes and asked, “Ever ridden a horse before?”
“Uh, no.” I glanced at the barn in the distance and imagined the beating my junk would take on the back of a horse. Wincing, I added, “That would be an emphatic no. And, no offense, but I’ve got no plans on changing that, either.”
A smirk tilted her lips as she said, “We’ll see about that.” I grumbled, loving the smile but hating the reason for it, and she tugged on my hand. “Come on, City Slicker, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Whoa now… everyone? Digging the heels of my sneakers into the soft dirt, I asked the obvious. “Who’s everyone?”
“Oh, Mama,” she said offhand, like meeting a girl’s mom was no big deal. News flash? It totally was. “Cade and Faith. Trevor’s probably around here, too.”
As she tugged me toward a smaller-sized version of the main house, I glanced longingly at the driveway. Rosalyn was long gone, and Peyton’s small hand was in mine, so I guess I didn’t really have a choice. But, for the record, I’d signed on to meet a horse.
“All right then,” I said, resuming walking. How hard could it be? “Give me a quick rundown then. Who the hell are all those other people you mentioned, and are any of them relatives?”
See, sisters were easy. All I had to do was smile, say their hair looked good or some shit about their clothes, and they were putty in my hand. Younger brothers just had to hear I played ball and that was usually enough. It was older brothers, male cousins, and—God forbid—fathers that were a different story. They tended to take one glance at me and get suspicious and overprotective. Not that I could blame them.
Still, it was best to be prepared.