Page 35 of Chasing Home
A black-and-white polka-dotted horse is running right for the house, its ears forward and wispy tail slashing through the air. My mouth dries when I glance up at the man atop its back, sitting snug in a massive brown saddle that nearly blends into the horse’s coat.
With long legs and thick thighs that cup the horse’s sides, a pair of dirty, scuffed-up brown cowboy boots tucked into the stirrups, and two gloved hands gripping a set of black reins with a sureness that stirs my belly, Johnny watches me. His smile is wide and goofy. Like he’s genuinely excited to be seeing me.
“Hey!” he shouts, one arm lifted in a wave.
I press my tongue to the back of my teeth before replying. “Hi.”
“Looks like I’m right on time.”
“For what?”
Johnny slows the horse to a calm pace as they get closer, the horse’s tail brushing the slatted railing of the porch. The hat on his head is tipped back enough that I get an unobstructed view of his handsome face while he stares at me. There are so many freckles. Too many to count in this lifetime and possibly the next.
“To walk you to your car.” He says it like it’s obvious, but it really never was.
I look from him to my car parked on the grass and then back to him. “It’s parked like twenty steps from the house.”
“Still gonna walk you to your car, darlin’.”
“Why?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” he notes, his eyes the lightest shade of blue I’ve ever seen.
“That’s usually a good thing. I hate surprises.”
Intrigue tugs at his features. “Why’s that?”
“Now who’s asking all the questions?” I throw back, moving quickly down the porch steps before dropping onto the grass. The horse beneath him watches me with a concerning level of concentration. Deep, dark eyes examine me, sizing me up, maybe. “What’s the horse’s name?”
Johnny pats the side of its neck affectionately. “Her name’s Joker. Want to give her a pat?”
I shake my head and tuck my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “I’m not much for animals.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.”
He blows out a long, weighted breath while cupping the top of his hat in his hand and lifting it. The mass of curly black waves he had hidden beneath it ripples in the warm breeze, making him look like something out of a goddamn cowboy porn magazine. I keep my expression blank and rock back on my heels, debating just making a run for my car. Something keeps my feet planted to the grass.
“Everyone is an animal person deep down,” he says.
“Not me.”
“I don’t believe you. Maybe you just haven’t met one you like before.”
“I’ve met plenty,” I argue.
From the duo of creepy raccoons that used to use our trash can as a five-star Michelin restaurant to the snappy Chihuahua my neighbour had growing up, I’ve met far too many animals that I didn’t like.
“You have stories to tell,” he notes, reading my expression with an expert gaze. “I’m a good story listener.”
“And damn nosey.”
His laugh travels in the wind, making it sound as though it came from right beside me instead of a few feet across the yard.
“I’m curious about you, Rory. I’ve been honest with you about that. It would save us both a shitload of time if you would just open up to me already.”
“How do I know you don’t just want me to tell you every deep, dark secret of mine because you’re simply eager to learn gossip? A coffee on my desk and an offer to walk me to my car isn’t going to grant you that honour, Johnny.”