Rider’s Block

17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter seventeen

“Ready to Run,” The Chicks

E ric is sitting on the front porch of my little cabin by the time I pull in. Do I get little butterflies when I see him casually waiting for me? Of course. I’ve had butterflies since I’ve met the man. But now that I know people are plotting for us to end up together? The hellions are rampant.

I’m walking up with the shopping bags precariously balanced in my hands, but before I can get to the front door, he’s grabbed half of them from me.

“Penny really did wrangle you into some stuff, didn’t she?”

“She’s a good saleswoman, alright?” I laugh out a protest as we place all of the bags on the tiny kitchen table. When I made the purchases, it didn’t seem like a lot, but as I’m looking at my sub-freezing sleeping bag I’m feeling a little self-conscious.

“Guess she is, you think we’re going to hit winter temperatures or something?” he asks, holding up a packable down jacket Penny thought would be helpful once the sun went down.

“Does it not get cold at night?”

“It does, but by the time the sun sets we’ll usually have a fire going.”

“Oh shoot, what about food? I hadn’t even thought of that. How are we bringing food?”

“Already have that covered. I’ve got the things we need packed, and we’ll fish on the way back. Most of the path is along a river that’s full of trout.”

“Ah, like Parent Trap …” I say before I can catch myself.

“My mom’s favorite movie,” Eric says with a slight uptick of his smile.

“I thought she liked Jane Austen.”

“She is a woman in a house of boys. The only chance she got to pick the movie was to guilt trip us into saying it was her favorite… and the woman had a lot of favorites as it turns out.”

“Smart woman.”

“The smartest. Now let’s go over what you really need. I see you’ve got a sleeping bag, which is good, and even though I made fun of your new shiny puffer it’s good to have layers. What are you planning on bringing for shoes?”

I can’t help the small smirk that takes over when I try, not so casually, to point over to my red cowboy boots. “Penny said I didn’t need anything but these.”

Eric turns toward the boots in question, and I see his jaw tick. Could he really be interested in me? If I compared his behavior to any other guy I’ve gone out with, I would say he couldn’t be less interested. But if I compare his behavior to that of the angry cowboy I first encountered, conversation alone is practically confessing his undying devotion. Let alone the fact that he did sort of confess that he thinks I’m attractive. Drunkenly. Super drunkenly. One can never take that too seriously.

“Those’ll work, I guess. It’d be a pity to scuff ’em up, though.”

“I was assured they’re pretty sturdy”

“Fair enough. Now I don’t think we need to get too nitty gritty, but since Roper is the one carrying your stuff and I know he gets pissy when his saddle is too full, do you mind if we go ahead and pack everything up so I can see what you’re working with?”

We proceed to spend the next hour going item by item of what I do, and don’t, need for this trip. Apparently two pairs of jeans is plenty. He almost made me settle for one, but I thought it’s risky business to not bring a backup, and he finally agreed after I went into great detail explaining three different and equally unlikely scenarios that would result in ripped pants. Of the four shirts I bought from Penny, he insists I only need two. Thankfully he doesn’t ask at all about my undergarment situation, but after we went back and forth for a solid fifteen minutes about my need for my own toothpaste, I think he just ran out of steam.

Once we got onto the topic of the sleeping arrangements, I was about to have cold sweats until he clarified, not so subtly, that we would have two tents. I think he heard my sigh of relief, and now that I’ve got freaking Dean’s and Penny’s thoughts in the back of my mind, I swear I see a ghost of a frown cross his face at my obvious relief we won’t be sharing a tent.

But yeah, I’m a writer, I LIVE for the accidental snuggle at night. The heavy arm casually draped over the girl’s stomach? Readers eat that shit up. Do I know if it actually happens? No. Do I want to know? Also, no, because I’d be disappointed and would feel obligated to remove that type of scenario from future books…for integrity purposes. So yeah, two tents are exactly what I’m hoping for. I think.

From there Eric goes into great detail explaining the route. Apparently, they have hired hands that stay close to the bulls to check in on them periodically, but they’re pretty self-sufficient in their lush pastures, so the path is well worn but not as frequently used. Eric also clarifies that we’ll be bringing a third horse that will be hauling most of the fence supplies. This horse is a little on the wilder side but is sturdy enough to handle holding the heavy fence equipment.

I’m starting to pack the saddlebags he brought over—using the precise rolling method he walked me through three times—when I hear him call my name with a somber expression.

“Red,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Please, please tell me you don’t think this will actually work?” To my horror, he’s holding up the bear spray he just found in my shopping bags while holding in a tight-lipped smile.

“I think anything helps, thank you very much. A healthy fear of animals twice my size is nothing to scoff at, sir, so if you’d be so kind as to set that down, I was planning to pack that in a compartment you wouldn’t see.”

“Mia, this stuff doesn’t do anything.” He’s genuinely laughing now, and I’m almost insulted by it. If his laugh wasn’t so pleasant I’d definitely be insulted by it.

He does as he’s instructed—still laughing at me—and we finish packing up my bags. I’m able to pack my unmentionables while he’s rummaging through my newly acquired book pile I’ll have to ship home at the end of the summer. I didn’t mean to buy paperbacks while I’m here, but it sort of felt wrong electronically reading in such a rustic location, so I caved and got a few.

We say our very platonic, cordial goodbyes and he goes back to his own cabin. He’s been in my cabin a lot this past week, but tonight, after my heart-to-heart with Dean, I was on edge.

There’s no way this man could sincerely be interested in pursuing something with me. He’s too logical to even consider something as illogical as falling for someone who lives halfway across the country. And even if he is, I’m not getting involved with a man who has his kind of goals to fulfill. I know firsthand that never ends well. I know what resentment looks like, and I refuse to be involved in something like that ever again.

Am I flattered that Dean thinks he’s improved with me around? Of course. Do I think he’s attractive? I would be blind not to. But I just can’t get myself to get there right now. We both have goals. We both have lives that we love to live and they’re miles apart. I mean, sure, logically I can write from anywhere. But he doesn’t want to be tied down while he’s trying to win.

It’s the classic Great Gatsby syndrome. Build in order to win the woman, no desire to build with the woman. I’ve always believed I want a partner to build with, not someone who feels like they need to build without me.

I don’t want to disappoint anyone here, but I’m just not interested in a shooting star romance when I’m looking for an all-out supernova. Eric can’t be what I need him to be, and if I’ve learned anything these past few years it’s that when I stick to my guns, good things happen.

But even after I repeat that to myself until I fall asleep, I still wake up the next morning like a kid on their first day of school. A kid who likes school, mind you. A kid who likes freshly sharpened pencils and color-coded folders and is excited for a whole semester of learning ahead of them.

And when I see Eric walk out of his cabin, tight jeans, Carhartt jacket, faded cowboy hat, and aviator glasses—despite my best efforts, my heart and my mind are distinctly not on the same page, and I’ve got to get my shit together.