Wild Card (North Ridge #1)

It doesn’t matter.

I shift slightly, making a soft cluck to Polly, and she picks up on it in a second.

We jolt forward and start cantering, and with a yelp, Rachel holds on tighter, pressing her fingers into my t-shirt, her arms over my stomach, trying to keep her balance as we negotiate around the cottage.

Polly has a smooth gait, but even so, I take her around and start heading up the slope, forcing Rachel to hold on even tighter or she’ll go sliding right off Polly’s back.

I’m being a bit of a dick, I have to admit. I’m only doing this so she’ll touch me.

And it’s working.

“How are you back there?” I ask over my shoulder, just catching her dark hair flowing behind her out of the corner of my eye. It must have come undone.

We fly over the hill and up into a patch of pine, coming to a walk.

“Where are we going?” she asks. Even though we’re going slow now, she’s still holding on as hard as she was before.

It feels too fucking good. Not just to be held, but to be held by her. It’s like she never left at all, her body molding to mine with ease.

I try and keep my head on straight. “Remember the old settler’s barn?”

She grows silent for a moment. I know what she’s thinking. What she’s remembering.

Our first kiss.

The moment when our friendship twisted and changed into something better. Something beautiful.

“Is that still there?” she asks flatly.

“It is. And nothing has changed.”

“Really? We were there, like, when we were thirteen.”

“I know. But it’s held fast. It’s adapted. It’s now part of the land. You live here for long enough and you’ll see that few things change. The weather swoops in and burns it or floods it or freezes it and winds try and shake what’s weak, but most things survive it all. Grandpa says that there are some old structures on the land that have been here for a hundred years. There are trees that have grown for decades upon decades. They’re survivors. Just like you.”

“Me,” she repeats with a soft bitterness.

“Yes, you,” I tell her. “You’ve survived so much and yet here you are.”

I hear her swallow behind me. “Maybe I’ve survived…but is that enough?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” She clears her throat and taps my shoulder, pointing off into the distance. “Hey, there was a pond down that way, wasn’t there? We used to catch frogs.”

She’s changing the subject. I let her. “Except that one time I caught a snapping turtle.”

She laughs, squeezing me harder. “I’ll never forget your face. That thing nearly took your damn fingers off.”

“What was his name again?”

“I don’t remember, it was something weird…” She snaps her fingers. “Cleveland!”

Now I’m laughing at the memory. “Who came up with that name?”

“I have no idea.”

She lets out one of those soft, happy sighs, the ones she used to make when she was done laughing about something. I lived for those sighs, along with the ones she made as she came. She would cry out my name in a frenzied whisper, her fingers digging into my skin, her skin damp and flushed. She was the most gorgeous creature in the world when I was buried deep inside her and every part of her belonged to every part of me.

Except now, she belongs to someone else. Somewhere else.

The thought rots my insides, like drips of acid, impossible to shake.

I take her down to the old barn, its dark grey and brown wood more weather-beaten than before, the vine now taking over the entire roof. There are more holes punched in it and I’m pretty sure a family of raccoons calls it their home. But despite the hits, it’s still standing.

“Want to go inside?” I ask her.

“Are you going to promise not to scare me like you did last time?”

“I don’t know. Depends if I feel like kissing you or not.”

She hesitates. “Shane,” she warns. “That’s not funny.”

I shrug. “All I was thinking was that if I scared you, you’d jump into my arms and I’d kiss you.”

“Instead, I ended up punching you in the face.”

“It was a worthy trade. You still let me kiss you in the end.”

“I did it out of pity.”

“I know. You’re going to need to get down first.”

She holds on to me and then swings her leg over, lowering herself to the ground. I drop down right after and tie Polly to a post.

“How are your legs?” I ask her. She glances down and brushes the horse hair from her inner thighs. “I mean, they’re looking good. Really good. You’re so fucking gorgeous, Rachel.”

She looks up at me, frowning, a wary look in her eyes. “You’ve gotten bold. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“I’ve always been bold,” I tell her, taking a step toward her. “I was just quiet about it.”

There’s only a foot between us. She’s doing everything not to look me in the eyes.

I don’t even know what I’m doing.

I close the space and reach over, brushing her hair off her shoulders. “I used to have dreams about this hair, you know? It always happened after I saw ravens. They’d come into my dreams and their wings would flow and change into your hair and then you’d appear.”

“You dreamed about me?” she asks quietly, her eyes finally meeting mine.

“I always dreamed about you. Every night. Under every moon. For the last six years. The moon would always be changing, but my dreams never did.”

I take in a deep breath, catching the sweet scent of her shampoo. My hand rests briefly on her shoulder, and the feel of her skin is warm, so warm, so soft. I let my hand drift down, down, until I’m holding her hand in mine, gently, like I’m holding a bird. “I missed you. Always. You’re standing right in front of me and I still miss you.”

Her eyes waver with fear, but maybe there’s longing underneath, something she’s kept hidden away. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“I have a hard time believing that,” she says, shifting her body out of my grasp and walking around Polly toward the building.

I’m right behind her, grabbing her arm and pulling her back to me. “Believe it.”

She balks. Her blue eyes are fierce, her mouth set into a near snarl. She’s an animal, trapped, ready to fight back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m asking you to believe me.”

“And why the fuck should I?”

“Because…I made you think I didn’t love you. I made you think you weren’t worthy of love when you were always too worthy of it.”

“Too worthy?” she says, practically spitting on me. “You know what my father did to me. You know it, and the minute I told you, you know what you did? You broke up with me! You did what my mother did, only it hurt a million times worse because you were all I had. Shane, I loved you so damn much, for so many years, and you just threw it in my face!”

“I made a mistake. Things got out of hand.”

The understatement of the century.

She raises her hand. “You know what? No. I don’t care. I really don’t give a fuck. What’s done is done and I don’t even care about getting closure anymore. It isn’t worth it.”