Change Rein (Willow Bay Stables #1)(18)

“I, um . . .”

“Don’t make me wait any longer than five minutes.”

Her eyes snap up to mine, the blue a pool of heat.

“Or I will come get you.”

She scrambles from the car, managing to do it with grace despite her haste, and once again I can’t help but smile.

This will certainly be a story to tell our children.

Exactly four minutes and thirty-eight seconds later—yes, I was counting. Lord knows I wouldn’t have thought twice about carrying her out here again if I’d thought she was going to run from me—she’s walking back to me.

She changed into one of those long dresses women wear—the kind that goes all the way to the floor—flip-flops, and a jean jacket. Her hair is still in the adorably messy ponytail, and clutched under her left arm is some brown thing.

“What’s that?” I inquire, gesturing to the lump tucked tight against her side.

Pursing her lips, she puts her sunglasses on and shrugs. “It’s my ass pillow.”

If I were chewing, I’d have choked.

“Your what now?”

Holding it out to me, she laughs while opening the car door. It’s a donut shape, and it’s ugly as sin. My curiosity is certainly piqued at its reason for tagging along with us.

After laying it down onto the leather seat, she slowly eases her perfect ass down on top of it. “See?” She grins. “The wonders of my medically prescribed ass pillow.”

This time, my mouth is opening and closing without any words coming out.

“Sure you still want to take me to town, bossy cowboy?” She raises an eyebrow over the brim of her aviators. “Ass pillow and all.”

“So long as you promise me one thing.”

Turning slightly towards me, she crosses her arms over her chest and nods for me to continue.

I drape an arm over the back of her seat and lean towards her so my lips brush her bare shoulder when I speak. “So long as you promise me there’s a pair of panties covering what’s mine under this dress.”





“PROMISE.” I’M NOT ENTIRELY CERTAIN my voice is audible in the small space between our bodies, nor am I sure what I’ve just promised ends at my undergarment choice.

“Good.” He skims his lips over my cheek. “I don’t like to share.” With that, he opens the horsepower of his vehicle and unleashes it on our driveway.

While I’ve never been the type of woman to cater to a man’s whims, it would seem I am doing exactly that. It’s as though I simply don’t have a choice. Something about him calls out to my soul, and having not been the kind of person to waste blessings, I returned to the car seat beside him without a moment’s hesitation.

“The people and places your heart burns for matter. Your mind is hardly an equal opponent when it comes to the whims of love. Don’t fight your heart, London. It will win regardless. No need to bruise its walls just for the sake of it.”

He is not safe.

He is not boring.

He is something I want to make mine, when I hardly know him.

My body aches for him. My soul begs and pleads for him.

In remembering my mother’s words, I am very much a woman inclined to give her heart everything it wants, and it wants him.



Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to the Sundance. My stomach rolls at the sight, in memory of the one-too-many drinks I consumed the night prior.

While it is indeed the only bar in our small town, it is also one of our better restaurants. Like almost everything else in Willow Bay, it is family-owned and operated, and their food tastes like it.

It would seem my stomach holds little capability for a grudge as the rolling quickly gives way to a hungry rumble. Branson helps me up from the passenger’s seat. Then he holds my ass pillow in his left hand before offering me his right elbow.

“Did I hurt you?” He frowns, worry clouding his eyes.

“Hurt me how?” I ask, puzzled by the question.

He winces. “I braked the car abruptly before without thinking of how it could have hurt you. I would never want to hurt you.”

Sliding my arm into his, I smile. “I’m not a china doll. I’m perfectly fine, but thank you for checking.”

The very many sides I’m seeing of him in such a short period of time are intriguing and somewhat of a wonder.

He leads us through the heavy wooden door, and when I remove my sunglasses, it takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness inside. Without asking, he moves through the bar with an odd familiarity for an out-of-towner, and settles me—ass pillow and all—into a booth in the corner before taking the seat across the table.

My body does not take the separation from his well, and the magnitude of that feeling causes me to roll my eyes.

I guess I drank the crazy in the water too.

Reed, a girl I went to school with, a few years my elder and who also owns the bar, comes over and slides two menus onto the table.

“Nice to see you again, cowboy.” She nods towards Branson.

I fist my hands into my dress at their encounter.

“I see you found what you’re looking for.” She laughs, tossing her red hair over her shoulder and shaking her head.

“It was only a matter of time,” he responds. “I’m not a patient man.”