The Natural History of Us (27 page)

When we enter the pen, he doesn't just let go and push himself up onto the top fence post like I expected him to do. No, he keeps right on leading us, walking both Oakley and me down the unmarked path toward the first barrel. And then, around it.

“What… what are you doing?” I ask, and Annie's ears twitch.

“Helping you get comfortable,” he replies, a proud glint in his eyes as he looks over. “Letting you find your rhythm again. You know Oakley can sense your anxiety, and that's not helping anything.”

This time, I let the eye roll fly. “Oh, so now who's the horse whisperer?” I ask with a grin. Justin laughs at one of his old nicknames for me, then clucks his tongue softly, guiding us past the second barrel.

“Listen, I just figured instead of jumping in feet first, we warm up a little, that's all.”

I have to admit, he has a good point. I've always been an all or nothing sort of girl. I've never really been able to do things halfway or in stages. That's what got me in trouble the first time I tried to ride again, pushing too hard too fast, wanting to be back to normal immediately instead of understanding the small steps my therapist suggested for what they really were—time to heal.

When I stay quiet, Justin once again fills the silence. He's become quite the chatterbox since we dated. “Whenever we have a stressful game coming up, Carlos and I take a cooler out to the field the night before.” He steers us around barrel three. “We visualize the game, talk about our opponents, breakdown their strengths and weaknesses. Sometimes, Brandon and Drew join us, and the four us throw the ball around, preparing ourselves for the battle.” He looks over at me. “That's what this is, Peyton.
Your
battle. We just need to get you prepared.”

My first thought is that I
am
prepared. This literally isn't my first rodeo. I've done this hundreds of times before. But, this
is
the first time I've tried, truly tried, since that day three years ago, so maybe he's right. Maybe I'm not as prepared mentally, physically, or emotionally as I should be.

The fear that lives beneath the surface of my skin? It pretty much proves that I'm not.

So, that's what we do. We prepare, with Justin leading us through the course again and again, each time with my chest allowing a bit more air into my lungs, until the third complete rotation when he circles back to the beginning and comes to a stop.

“Want to try a slow lope?” he asks.

I'm smiling too big by this point to comment on his sudden and proper use of riding slang. I wouldn't want to ruin the moment anyway. I'm breathing deep on the back of my horse, unencumbered by anxiety or memory, and the only response I can give is an honest, “I think I'm ready.”

The pride in his eyes brings hope and confidence to my soul. I don't know what it is. Maybe I
did
just need to prepare better. Take it bite by bite. Maybe it's just the magic of Justin. Whatever the reason, I feel a sense of calm in my core. Justin pushes himself up onto the fence, his eyes never once leaving me, and I turn to face the first barrel.

My heart begins to race, but this time, not in fear. It's excitement that hums through my veins. Justin believes in me, he thinks I can do this. I intend to prove him right.

“Let's show him, girl,” I tell Oakley, nudging her flank as I cluck my tongue. “Ride!”

Wind, my old familiar friend, kisses my cheeks and tangles my hair as Annie and I take off. Her hooves pound a rhythm as old as time and a smile crosses my face as we near the first barrel. For a split second, doubts enter. Fear has stolen this moment from me twice before, and as we approach the turn, I close my eyes, hoping instinct and memory take over.

When I open them again, we're headed toward barrel two.

“Yeah!”

Justin's scream of approval echoes through my ears and I laugh aloud.

Holy crap! We actually did it!

The second and third barrels go just as easily, just as naturally, and by the time I come to a giddy stop in front of Justin again, I can barely feel my fingertips. I'm simply one huge, numb ball of shock and awe. No, I didn't race nearly as fast as I once did. But, I did do it. Oakley and I both did. Thanks to Justin, that is.

“Hell yeah!” he yells again, and his feet barely touch the ground before he's running toward me, a smile as wide as the Texas sky on his face. I shake my head at the sight. The whole world, or at least the population of Fairfield Academy, only ever sees the bravado, the mask he wears to disguise the tender, vulnerable heart hidden inside. Oh, there's no denying that Justin Carter can be a touch overconfident at times. He's a showboat to end all showboats. But in this case,
damn
did it work in my favor. “I knew you could do it! Didn't I tell you that you could do it?”

My smile matches his when I reply, “Yeah, yeah. You may've mentioned it.”

His enthusiasm is contagious and I bite my bottom lip, so many emotions now surging through me that I feel restless. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to hop off Oakley's back and tackle Justin to the ground—but
that
would be highly inappropriate. So, instead I rock back and forth in the saddle, feeling more alive than ever before.

Justin watches my exuberant display and chuckles. “Let me guess, you want to go again?”

“Again, and again, and again,” I answer, a swell of gratitude rising within me. This is how it feels to get a part of your life back. There are no words in the English language powerful enough to thank him for this. “Justin, I don't know how to—”

He places his hand over mine, silencing me. For once, I don't try to move it. “You don't need to say anything.” His eyes betray his words, as they're filled with so many things left unspoken between us. But instead of giving them voice, he squeezes my hand and says, “Just ride, pretty girl.”

And that's exactly what I do.

The
loud crunch of gravel smothers Peyton's laugh and the toned muscles of her thigh turn to stone beneath my palm. My dopey-ass grin falls. Shielding my eyes against the glare, I turn to see who's barreling up the road behind us, thinking my luck's about run out.

It's not Coach; there's not a shot in hell he called practice early, not two days before the Semi-finals. He won't come home until at least ten, spending the night surrounded by empty pizza boxes and scrutinizing game footage, and normally, I'd be right there with him. Instead, thanks to my injury, I found myself here, listening to Peyton's laugh and hoarding her smiles like they're Cadbury cream eggs at Easter.

And damn if it doesn't feel like I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

“Nut burgers.”

Peyton's voice is pitched low and sort of breathless, so I glance at her before looking back out at the road. A dark blue truck roars past us, jerking to a stop in the field next to the barrel course. I catch her hand clenching in my periphery, another one of her anxious tics, and when I raise my eyes again, I watch as her gorgeous smile slips from her face.

Fuck that
.

“Hey.” I squeeze her hip and her gaze darts to mine before flitting away. It doesn't take a genius to know who it is… or
what she's thinking. “Baby, you did nothing wrong. There's nothing to hide here, so there's no reason to feel guilty.”

Her head bobs distractedly and I cover her fist with my palm. “Peyton, you just kicked major ass out there. Hold onto that.” I stop myself just short of saying
please
.

Selfishly, I admit a part of me wants Cade to walk up and find her happy with me. But more than that, I want this for her. What she just did out there was amazing. She conquered a fear—no, she smashed it to hell. Peyton owned that barrel course and right now, she should be on cloud fucking nine, not gnawing on her lip like some cracked out rabbit.

I pry the fingers of her clenched hand loose and Peyton's eyes finally settle on me. Her mouth lifts in a wan smile, lip still trapped, and I growl with the need to free it. If she weren't perched so high on Oakley's back, I'd do exactly that. I'd tug it free and soothe the tender flesh with my thumb… before following with my mouth.

But that's only if she let me, and the chances of that are slim to none.

Sure, we shared an incredible day. We laughed, we smiled, we worked together like a team. But she's still not mine. She's his, and if she rejected my touch after the last few hours… I'm not sure I could handle it.

We could fill a book with the words left unsaid between us. My plan was to tell her today, after we brushed Oakley down, the truth about what happened freshman year, the way I feel about her now. The way I've always felt. Guess that plan's shot to hell.

Cade's door slams. You'd think, after how long he's been sitting in his truck, he'd at least
pretend
not to care that I'm here. You'd think wrong. Whatever little pep talk he gave himself didn't do a damn thing because he's glaring at me like I'm horse shit under his boot.

The feeling's mutual, kid
.

Peyton's low hum yanks me from our silent show down. She rocks in the saddle, back and forth, watching Cade storm up the trail in his stupid cowboy boots, taking in Oakley, the barrels we obviously just left, and me, standing right beside her.

When he comes to a stop in front of us, a tight smile a poor mask for his tension, he asks, “What'd I miss?”

Jesus, what a loaded question. One I'd love to answer, too, but Peyton beats me to the punch. She hops off Oakley's back before I can even form a word.
Smart girl
.

She hesitates only a second before running and jumping into his arms. “I did it!”

Gone is the apprehension and guilt, replaced with pure excitement and energy. Though it kills me that she's looking at
him
the same way she looked at me not five minutes ago, at least she's smiling again. That's an improvement.

“Can you believe it?” she asks, face lit with awe. “I actually did it! I didn't even freak out this time.”

Cade glances at me, so quick she probably misses it, before running his hand down her back. “Of course I believe it, CC. I didn't doubt you for a second.”

I try and fail not to make a gagging sound. Cade shoots me another one of those horse-shit looks as Peyton steps back from his embrace.

“Justin helped me complete the course at least a dozen times,” she says. “I don't have to tell Mama to call off the expo. We can still save the ranch!”

This is the most enthusiasm I've seen out of Peyton in weeks. From Cade's reaction, it's the most he's seen, too, and from the expression on his face, he's clearly torn between loving it and loathing that I had anything to do with it. If he had his way, I'm sure he'd stick with the status quo—me being the royal fuck-up, and him the white-hat hero.

Finally, he says, “That's amazing,” though his tone implies he's anything but amazed.

His fingers glide through her strawberry blonde hair, mussed by the wind and riding, and he cradles her face to press a kiss against her forehead. His dark eyes meet mine.

I've never been an overly violent person. Aggressive, maybe. Protective, absolutely. Like any other guy, I've gotten in my share of fights, but it's not like I search them out. I don't relish the thought of cracking skulls or watching someone bleed. But this little shit is getting to me. He's standing in the way of what's mine, and it takes every memory of Peyton's smiles to keep me from going after him, right here, right now.

I won't ruin her day with my bullshit. But soon, Cade and I are gonna have a talk.

Dismissing me with a glance, Cade tips her head back and continues. “I have to say, though, I wish you would've come to
me
.”

The words hit as intended, and Peyton winces, that inner-light dimming again. If I had no other reason, I'd hate the guy just for that.