Page 47 of Saddle Storm

“Hey,” he steps in with a sweet grin, like this morning didn’t end the way it did.

My chest tightens and I turn back to Skye. “Lookin’ for something?”

“Found her,” he murmurs and there isn’t a playful note behind it.

“I’m working.”

He nods at Skye. “She your favorite?”

“I don’t have a favorite. And her name is Skye.”

I can feel him watching me, the weight of it making the hairs on the back of my neck flare.

“You should go,” I say firmly, because whether he’s here for more questions or just to be his playful self with me again, I can’t handle either. “This is borderline stalking. You don’t just get to show up whenever you feel like it.”

Something in his expression shifts—not hurt. Not anger. Just . . . honesty. “And you don’t get to pretend I don’t notice when you’re barely holding it together,” he says evenly. The words land harder than any accusation.

“Excuse me?”

“Wilder’s giving you the day off tomorrow, I want you to take it.”

I grind the back of my teeth. “Shoulda known you had something to do with that. Well, I turned it down. You can’t just demand days off on my behalf. I’ve got real work to do. Students, horses, colleagues, and bosses countin’ on me.”

“Storm—”

“I’ve got a day off next Sunday, I can make it.”

His jaw tightens and he shakes his head.

“I don’t know who you think you are, followin’ me around, playing hero and then demanding to know my—”

His eyes are steady on mine. “Your what? Your secret?” He takes a step closer. “Well, you can keep it, Bee. It’s not staying one forever, because like it or not, I’m going to find out.”

“What the hell is it to you?”

“Because whoever the deadbeat is clearly isn’t supporting you.”

“And what are you going to do? Dig him out of the grave and make him pay child support?” My eyes flash at my own lie. I don’t know why I went there. Maybe I needed him to drop it once and for all. Or maybe Jasper might as well be dead to me.

He backs up. “Is that what happened? Is he . . . gone?”

My eyes water because it’s like I’m digging my own grave, if what he’s saying is true and the truth will come out.

“Storm, I’m sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologize,” I breathe. “He was never involved anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Did you love him?”

I shake my head, unable to speak anymore.

“You know I’d never judge you.”

Wanna bet?

“It happened at . . .” I swallow. “My first rodeo. I was young and stupid. Max didn’t know him and he never will. There. That’s the story.”

He swallows, stepping closer, slow, careful, like he’s approaching something skittish. “I didn’t come to ask again.”