“Can you put the tablecloth on for me?” Mom asked as she rushed behind me with centerpieces piled in her hands.
She went all out for these meetings. Bottom of the Buckle Horse Rescue was her life’s passion, after all. She treated it like another one of her children, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. If I ran a nonprofit that changed literal lives, I’d treat it like my most prized possession, too.
“Yep.” I grabbed the folded up tablecloth, unraveling it to lay it over the surface. It was brown and ivory with bits of color weaved through the southwestern pattern. Horses galloped across the edges, dust kicked up in their wake. It was my mother’s favorite—I knew because she used it at almost every event for the rescue.
I liked helping my mom, whether it was in the house or with the rescue. She’d just direct me what to do, and I’d do it. I didn’t have to put so much thought into it like how I did with the riding lessons for kids. One wrong move with them and they could get seriously injured. Though the risk was higher than other hobbies children could partake in, the reward was well worth it.
That’s why I’d wanted to become an instructor—to see the smile on their faces when they’d overcome their fears or reach a goal they’d set.
From the ground, riding a horse seemed so simple, but once you got on, you realized how many buttons those beasts had. My job was to teach them how to respect that power and yield to the animal, creating a bond rather than a leadership role.
You couldn’t beat horses into submission and expect them to respect you. You had to be gentle, quiet, and speak their language. They were prey animals at heart.
After I had the cloth laid out and the crinkles flattened to my best ability, Mom came back with the last few centerpieces, setting them out with even space in between.
The room we were renting in the back of the library looked like those meeting rooms you saw in skyscrapers, but instead of one long table in the middle, the room was wide enough to hold four of them. Three were being used for attendees to sit at, and the fourth was for the hors d’oeuvres—which was the table I was currently helping set up.
“Can I get your help with these?” Mom asked, coming up beside me with a thick stack of papers.
I grabbed them from her. “Sure. Where would you like them?”
“One for each chair, please.”
Her brunette hair was frizzing at the edges like it typically did after a long day, and to say this day was long for her was an understatement. I wished she wouldn’t stress so much about these types of events, but stressing was in her nature. She’d been scrabbling around all day to make sure everything was here before we had to set up. Lettie had taken a few trips back and forth from the ranch when she’d realized she’d forgotten something. Summertime last year, our parents gave more responsibility to Lettie with the rescue, and ever since, she’d killed it with every event we had. The passion my mom had for the nonprofit ran just as strong through Lettie. She was here tonight, running around setting things up, barely having a moment to spare. Mom had put her in charge of the agenda, so she was nervous about the PowerPoint she had spent hours working on. She’d clicked through it about a dozen times on the projector while we set up.
I got to work setting the papers out in front of each chair, not paying any mind to what was written on them. It was most likely an agenda and some dates throughout the end of the year for events we’d be holding for the rescue, like the annual parade we did at the fair. The date was fast approaching, so I’m sure it’d be a topic of discussion tonight.
I’d planned to stay for the meeting so I could help my mother clean up afterward with the other various volunteers that were currently helping us set up, so I’d hear about it anyway.
The door to the room opened, the creak echoing throughout the space. I glanced toward the entrance, but then did a double take when I saw who it was.
Sage McKinley.
In a fucking dress.
My foot caught on something and I cursed, reaching out to steady myself on the chair. A few of the papers slipped from my hand, but I regained my grip before the entire stack could go down.
I bent to retrieve the fallen parchment while mentally scolding myself.
Sage was wearing a short pink sundress with little roses on it that landed right at her mid-thigh—which should be illegal, by the way, because Sage looked too fucking good. I would have noticed the rest of her, aside from her legs, if there hadn’t been a tower of reusable containers covering half her body.
I stood, setting the papers on the table, then weaved my way through the row.
“Let me help you with those,” I offered as I approached, not waiting for her response to take them from her.
“Thank you,” she said, heaving a breath.
Turning around, I made my way over to the table along the wall. After setting them down, I found her behind me, looking out over the room.
“This is all for the rescue?” she asked.
I nodded. “My mom is one of those go-big-or-go-home type of women.”
“I see that.” Sage scanned the room, her eyes coming to a stop on me. They caught on my tan cowboy hat for a moment before she cleared her throat. “I’ll just go grab the rest.”
“I can help.” Without the Tupperware covering the other half of her, I had to fight to keep my eyes from trailing down. It wasn’t wrong for me to think she was beautiful—if anything, it was a compliment. Beauty, raw in its form, stood before me, and I could do nothing but admire it. Admire her.
She accepted the offer with a small nod, her long hair catching on the spaghetti straps of her dress, before she turned and headed back for the door. I quickened my stride to get there before her, grabbing the handle to hold it open. Before she slipped out, she gave a quick wave to Lettie, who’d finally spotted her from the front of the room.
“Thank you.” Sage walked by, and we strode through the library in silence before heading out the entrance.
The outside air was still warm, the sun just beginning to set. There was a pink tinge to the sky, creating the most eerily beautiful hint of rose over the landscape.
“They’re in the trunk,” she said as we came up to her SUV. She felt around for the latch by the license plate, then pulled. The trunk swung open to reveal about a dozen Tupperware, all filled with pastries.
“Wow. That’s…”
“A lot,” she filled in. “I know. I wasn’t sure exactly what to make, so I figured an assortment would be good. Your mom said there’d be about fifty people, so I made extra in case people wanted more than one of each.”
I turned my attention from the trunk to her, seeing that she was eyeing the boxes like she was just now realizing she may have gone overboard. But she didn’t. It was cute that she was worried people might want seconds. That alone showed her empathy like a badge.
My eyes landed on a splotch of flour dusting her cheekbone and I wiped my hand on my jeans in one small movement to stop myself from reaching out to her. I hadn’t noticed it inside, likely because I was distracted by her in this dress. “You’ve got, uh,” I started, raising my hand toward her face. She looked at me, waiting for me to continue. “Here.” Slowly, I brought my thumb to her cheek, wiping the white powder away.
Like an idiot, my thumb hovered there, swiping again for good measure. My other fingers brushed her hair, moving a few strands with the movement. Her skin was soft. She was like the delicate wildflowers that bloomed around the ranch in the spring, reaching toward the sun with their vibrance, aching to have their beauty seen by even one pair of eyes.
I saw hers.
Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes stayed glued to mine, and fuck, I hadn’t looked at someone like this in so long. Really looked at them. It was like I could see all of her just in her eyes; pain, beauty, happiness—it was all right there, laid out like a map.
