Bad Boy Brody(92)

I was asking myself the same question. “We’ll see, huh?”

He didn’t laugh.

Neither did I.





Morgan



I was in the river when Shiloh found me.

I ignored her. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pay her attention, but it wasn’t weird for her to suddenly come to my side and stare at me. She usually did it when she thought I pocketed a treat for her while I was in the barn or if she wanted a scratch.

I didn’t want to. Not then and there.

I was lying in the river, floating with one hand holding on to a rock that stuck out from the bank. It was the best of both worlds. I didn’t have to worry about floating away and I was cool. It would get dark in a few hours, and the temperature was starting to drop.

She continued to stand above me, and when I still didn’t pay her attention, she stomped her hoof on the ground.

“What?” I looked up.

Her head was lowered. She was staring right at me.

A different awareness began through my body.

Something was wrong.

I stood and scrambled onto the bank, not taking my eyes away from Shiloh’s. “What?” I knew she couldn’t answer, but sometimes she showed me somehow.

She did neither.

She didn’t stop staring.

“What?”

Her nostrils flared, and she moved her body closer.

And she just stood there again.

I frowned but got onto her back. We’d gone for a run that day, and the herd was there. We’d been sticking closer to the other mountain during the last week. Something told me Shiloh didn’t want me on her back for shits and giggles.

Some of the other herd lifted their heads from drinking or grazing. Their ears were going all around.

They were sensing something, but I couldn’t make out if it was Shiloh’s weird behavior or another thing.

A few dropped their heads and went back to drinking. Their ears relaxed.

Only Shoal kept her ears perked up, and she swung her head to us.

“Okay.” I patted Shiloh. “You’re trying to tell me something, so just show me instead.”

As if she understood, she turned and left.

She carried me away from the herd and toward the lands closer to the house. I was still confused, but after she crossed another river, I heard him. Then I could smell him. It was the same body wash he used, but it had mixed with his own scent.

Brody was there.

Brody was close.

Brody was—

“Morgan!”

—searching for me.

I sat up straighter and made a clicking sound. Shiloh picked up her pace, and we were soon loping down a path toward him.

“Morgan!”

He was thrashing again.

I couldn’t help a smile because this is what he always did. He showed up, made a nuisance of himself in the woods, and needed to be rescued by me.

Shiloh stopped in the middle of our path, waiting for him to find us.

Sticks were breaking.

He was pushing branches out of the way, and sometimes the force would move half a tree. All sound traveled far, but so did his cursing, which he was doing a lot of.

“Fucking hell.” Whack! “Are you serious? I don’t remember the trees being so damn dense before.” Another whack! Crack. A roar. “Goddamn! Get away from my face.”

He broke through the last of the foliage and half fell onto the trail. It wasn’t a big trail, more like a game trail, and he hauled himself to his feet, stumbling forward as if he didn’t even notice he actually found the path he was probably looking for.

He was waving his hands around his face, swatting away gnats, and then Shiloh moved a hoof and his gaze jerked to us.

“Morgan!” He flung his hands in the air. “Morgan!” A wide smile was spreading.

He was coming to me. I could slide off Shiloh’s back and go to him. I should run to him as he ran to me. We would meet each other halfway and fall into each other’s arms, but then what?

I didn’t know.

So, I remained on her back.

I was drinking in the sight of him.

His eyes were alert and sober. They were just as dark as I remembered them. His hair was shorter. There wasn’t enough to grab a handful anymore, but it suited him. He had a little stubble of a beard showing, just a slight stubble. He could shave it, and his face would be smooth and clean like he kept it for the movie.

He was dressed in a long-sleeve shirt, jeans that molded to his form but were baggy enough to hike in. My gaze traveled to his shoes, which were sturdy hiking boots.

I noted the pack on his back and the baseball hat swinging from it.

He came prepared.

And he was just as gorgeous as he had ever been.

He’d put on some weight, but not fluff. I saw how his arms had swung and how the shirt clung to his muscles. It was all muscle. Finn would have said Brody needed to “bulk up.”

To me, he just looked mouth-wateringly gorgeous.

I wasn’t prepared for the sight of him.

I felt joy when I heard him before, and then the old stirrings started again.

I’d slept in the bed he used, smelling him and trying to lie to myself that the sheets still held his warmth. They did not. It was my warmth, and after two months, his smell was gone too. That was when I stopped returning to the cabin.