Falling for Your Boss by Emma St. Clair

Chapter Twenty-Three

Gavin

I didn’t knowhow much it mattered to me to see a woman I like on horseback. But the sight of Zoey wearing fitted jeans, astride one of the paint mares has me thinking thoughts I have no business thinking.

Yes, thoughts of ducking back into the barn and taking her breath away with a kiss. But also thoughts of long, lazy days ending in even longer, not-so-lazy nights.

Thoughts of rings. Of Christmas mornings. Of laughter, and of children’s feet thumping down the hallway.

Yep, I’ve fallen hard, fast, and completely for this woman.

“How do I know if this thing is tight enough?”

I turn my attention away from Zoey’s back jean pockets and to Ella, who is tugging on the girth of the pony I’m helping her saddle. Ella stands on the old log we let kids use as a mounting block, and we’re almost eye to eye.

This morning, Ella has been different. It’s like some of her aloofness and the pretense that she’s a miniature adult has slipped away. A lot of it has to do with my mother, who began working to soften Ella with her soft hugs and effusive nature the night before. But I think more has to do with Zoey.

This morning, I panicked when I couldn’t find Ella in her room. But when I went to wake Zoey and ask for her help, I found the two of them curled up in my old bed. Zoey’s chin was hooked over the top of Ella’s head, and their breathing had almost lined up.

Something about the sight of them together, bare eyelashes fanned over cheeks, light hair spread over pillows, made my gut clench like a fist. Kissing Zoey had been a massive leap forward. But this? The sweetness of this was something else altogether.

And, like the stalker that I am, I took not one, but several photos on my phone. I’m not even the smallest bit sorry.

“It feels too loose still,” Ella says, wiggling the saddle. “But I tightened the strap just like you said.”

“Snowflake is a little bit of a menace.”

As though she understands me, the white pony swings her head and shows me her teeth. I’m glad Ella giggles and doesn’t seem frightened. We usually put younger riders on Snowflake because of her size, but some of the bigger horses have much better temperaments.

“You did great, Ella. When you first tightened it, she probably held her breath, making it seem tight.” I give the saddle a little shove and it slides. “See?”

“Naughty pony,” Ella says, but in a baby voice as she pats Snowflake on the rump.

I can’t help but smile. “This naughty pony would love nothing more than to dump you in the grass and run back to the barn for dinner.” I tighten the cinch strap enough to secure it. “Ready to mount?”

Ella nods, putting her foot in the stirrup and swinging her other leg over like she’s been doing it her whole life. I doubt that’s true, knowing Eleanor. I adjust the length of Ella’s stirrups, something I can teach her later.

Wow. I’m already thinking of laters. Of the future. Of Ella in my life for more than this weekend, for more than the month Eleanor has left her with me.

Ella surveys things from Snowflake’s back, holding tightly to the saddle horn. I gather the reins and hand them to her.

“You’ll want to hold these, and not so much the horn. When you want her to slow down, you can say whoa, and lean your weight back in the saddle. Don’t jerk the reins, but a gentle pull will get the point across. You can use a light touch with your heels and a cluck of your tongue to get her to move forward.”

I’m saying too much, trying to squeeze too many first lessons into one tiny lecture.

“Got it,” Ella says, giving Snowflake a little nudge with her heels. The pony lumbers forward, swinging her head a little, as she walks up beside Zoey’s horse. Okay, then. One thing Ella doesn’t lack is confidence.

I quickly finish saddling Merlin, who’s still been giving Zoey eyes all morning. I trot over to them both. Zoey’s hair is in a tight braid down her back, and I resist the urge to give it a playful tug. I’m trying to play it cool after the kiss last night, but all I want is to drag Zoey off behind a tree and kiss her until we’re both breathless again. She gives me a sly smile that makes me think her mind is in the same place.

“If you’re ready, let’s head out, ladies,” I say.

We start out on a trail that leads through the back fields and the scrubby little trees before the area where we have the active pumpjacks and oil wells. Our ranch is beautiful in its own way, though it’s a rugged, plain sort of beauty. Mostly vast acreage barely broken up by fences or trees. It looks best when framed by a gorgeous sky, which Texas usually delivers, whether that’s the pink gold of sunrise, the purple velvet of sunset, or like, right now, the bright blue of summer punctuated by white clouds.

“Mother said you were rich,” Ella says, as though this is normal conversation. When you’re eight, it kind of is.

I remember asking a friend’s dad how much their summer cabin in Colorado was. I wondered if that was something my parents could afford, mostly because I’d always wanted to see real, snow-capped mountains and to try out skiing. I didn’t understand when he got offended.

“My family was lucky enough to find oil,” I say, wanting to shift the conversation without blowing Ella off. “You see that?” I point toward three wells in the distance. “That’s the pumpjack. The part going up and down is actually called the horsehead, and that wire coming off is called a bridle.”

“Cool.”

Zoey and Ella are both pretty quiet, and I fill the silence with little facts about the ranch and what I hope are funny stories from growing up here.

“That fence is electric,” I say, pointing toward one of the wire fences that keeps the bulls in. “My brothers and I used to have a contest to see who could hold on to it the longest.”

Zoey laughs and swings her head toward me, her braid flying out behind her. She says she’s only ridden a few times, but she looks like she grew up on the back of a horse.

“According to your mother, that’s not all you used to do,” she says.

When my eyes widen, Zoey laughs even harder. I’m going to have strong words with my mama when we get back for telling Zoey that my brothers and I also used to urinate on the electric fence, which can also deliver an unexpected shock.

“What else did you do with the fence?” Ella asks.

Zoey mouths Oops to me, and I narrow my gaze at her. “Just throw rocks at it. Dumb stuff. I wouldn’t recommend touching it,” I tell her. “Forget those stories. Let’s pretend I never told you. Stay far away from the fences.”

Ella giggles, the sound making a squeaky wheel in my heart straighten and run smoothly. Was it just yesterday that she was a sullen, bratty, too-old kid? Secretly, I had wondered once or twice if Eleanor had broken something in her that was irreparable. The drastic change now that we’re on the ranch gives me hope.

Except you have to give her back.

That thought thuds against me like the flat head of a hammer on the top of a nail. I still barely know her. I’m not sure how this will work. I need to talk with Thayden about all of this. Custody, paternity, and even things like changing my will. Making provisions for Ella. All this is already on my mind, even without the confirmation that she is, indeed, mine.

Did Eleanor do this with other men? Make them believe they were Ella’s father, only to yank her right back. The blow of a hammer becomes more like a sledgehammer. I need to know for sure in order to protect Ella. To protect us both.

Sliding the phone out of the front pocket of my button-down shirt, I fire off a quick text to Thayden.

Gavin: I need to get some things moving as far as paternity tests, custody arrangements, and more. As soon as possible. Do you have time this weekend?

Thayden: It would be best in person. Can I stop by?

Gavin: I’m at my parents’ ranch.

Thayden: Great. I need some time in the air anyway. See you in a few hours.

I groan, giving my head a slight shake before tucking the phone away.

“Everything okay?” Zoey asks.

“Lawyers,” I say.

“Can’t live with ’em, can’t kill ’em?” she says with a smile.

“Something like that.”

“Can we go a little faster?” Ella asks.

“Sure.” I look to Zoey, who nods.

She told me earlier that she’s had some experience on horseback. Not a lot, but enough that she looks natural with her hips swaying in the saddle.

Mind off her hips, Gavin.

Right. No hips. Or the curve of her waist. Or—

“Like this?” Ella nudges Snowflake, who moves into her awkward pony trot, jostling Ella in the saddle. She grasps the horn for a second, then seems to calm down and regains her posture, tossing me a quick smile.

“Just like that. You’re a natural.”

Ella beams, and the feeling of putting that smile on her face has me all choked up.

Zoey and I join her, our horses having a little bit of a smoother gait. The three of us are trotting together toward the pumpjacks as they slowly dip and rise. This is an unimaginable moment, and my mind is like a 3D printer, humming and whirring as it takes in every measurement, every fleck of light, every angle, forming a rich memory I plan to keep forever.