Rein In (Willow Bay Stables #3)(22)

It didn’t seem fair to count that against him. After all, nothing had really happened, and if it had, I felt like somehow it would have been just a little bit my fault.

Yesterday, when we’d arrived home, I’d asked Grant if Rhys could help me run errands in town for the better part of the afternoon today. He obliged, as he often did, and said he’d drop Rhys in town just before one o’clock when they finished mending the fences.

This was all a lie, of course. Not that I was particularly fond of or good at lying but what was a girl supposed to do? Something had shifted in the cab of that truck yesterday. I knew it the moment he touched me because Rhys never voluntarily touched me.

I’d run all the errands that needed doing earlier this morning. The invitations for the fundraiser were in my pickup, and I dropped off the saddle we had needed repaired, as well as picked up a new bridle at the tack store for one of the horses.

All I really needed now was, well, Rhys.

I wanted him alone, where hopefully he’d talk to me and hopefully where he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, run away. At this point, I’d have settled for either one or the other.

He waited for Grant to back out of the parking space and then walked across to where the truck had been toward me.

“Hey.” I smiled.

He didn’t smile back, simply lifted his chin in my direction and shoved his hands in the front pockets of his ripped jeans.

I crossed my arms over my chest and made a clucking sound with my tongue. “Looks like you’re all mine this afternoon.”

Shoot.

Somehow that had sounded different in my head than it did out loud, and my cheeks flushed what I imagined was a bright pink. Of course I’d tricked him into spending the day with me, but it wasn’t something I planned on outright telling him just now.

The corners of his mouth twitched, like maybe he’d considered the idea of smiling but again, he did not speak.

“Right, okay then,” I said, filling the silence.

Pushing off the truck with my butt, I walked in the direction of the two double doors ahead of us. Lucky for me, he seemed more focused on what I was doing than he was at reading the sign on the door we were currently passing through.

“Table for two,” I told the hostess when we stepped inside.

“Let me check if we have any booths available.” She smiled at us and left to do a walk through of the restaurant.

Rhys started to back up toward the door, and a hint of panic bubbled up in my throat at the thought that maybe he really would run away from me, again.

“If you leave now you’ll embarrass me,” I blurted.

It was low, almost the equivalent of threatening to cry, but it worked.

He quit retreating, but his eyes fell away from me and he just stared at the floor. The black Equine for Hearts tee that he’d cut the sleeves off of seemed to somehow make his arms look longer inside the small entryway.

I guessed for the first time that he was probably somewhere around six foot three.

The hostess returned and grabbed two menus before promptly leading us to a booth in the back of the restaurant.

No sooner had my butt grazed the vinyl did the questions erupt from his otherwise silent demeanour.

“What is this?” His voice tumbled across the table like a freight train.

Not angry, just demanding.

“It’s a date,” I deadpanned, flipping my menu opened.

His face paled, and I tried really hard not to be offended. “A date?”

Coy had never been my strong suit.

“Yes,” I confirmed as a young man filled the water glasses on the table. “I want to talk to you.”

“Aren’t you scared of me?” He searched my eyes for fear but he wouldn’t find any.

I brought the water glass to my lips. “No.”

“You know what I’ve done?” The question was like a physical blow to his exterior.

“Yes,” I whispered, and he winced.

What I don’t know is why…

I didn’t know how to ask a person that type of question, though. How to rationalize asking them to relive a horror that clearly still haunted them even in the hours they were awake. Yet somehow, I knew I’d ask anyway, and I found it hard to find regret for that in my heart.

I did want to know him and letting someone in was never easy.

“I’ve read your file,” I told him honestly. “Cover to cover, nearly a hundred times.”

The ever-present mirrored aviators were yanked off his face and tossed onto the table.

He didn’t respond to me.

“What I don’t know, and I guess what leaves me curious, is why did you do what you did?” The question came out much easier than I’d anticipated. “Your file said you had no previous arrests or charges.”

Maybe after so many years volunteering with troubled youth, it seemed better to get straight to the point rather than beat around the bush repeatedly.

The muscles in his jaw clenched and a small tick formed there, as he remained silent, hands folded into fists on top of the table.

“Please,” I whispered.

He looked down at the tablecloth, seeming to memorize each fold and crease. “I was seventeen… but you probably read that in my file.”

“Yes,” I encouraged carefully, as not to interrupt what he was struggling with in his mind.