Ride Rough - Tessa Layne Page 0,18
the jolt of pure attraction that electrified him when he touched her. "You want everyone to think you're so tough. But I see you Cecilia Sanchez."
She blinked rapidly, but not fast enough to prevent another tear from slipping down her face. He caught it with his thumb.
He shook his head and backed up, resisting the urge to lick the place where he'd caught her tear. "You have a nice day, Cecilia. Be sure to wrap those feet when you're done cleaning them." He turned and stalked out, letting the screen door slam behind him when he reached the porch. Never had he met a woman as captivating and as infuriating as Cecilia Sanchez. She threw him off his game, completely unsettled him.
Weston was right. He needed to steer clear.
Chapter Nine
Cecilia wrinkled her nose as she stepped into the old barn, and let the familiar scent of mold, old wood, and straw wrap around her like a favorite blanket. She'd loved her life in Chicago, but there was something tranquil about being back in a slower environment where time was dictated by the sun, not the opening bell. She walked down the empty aisle, reminiscing about the days when the barn held horses, goats, and the occasional chicken that had escaped the coop. Her mom and grandmother had sold the big farm equipment when Mariah had gone off to college. The only reason the two hadn't retired to Florida was because of her grandmother. Her beloved abuelita had been born in this house, the youngest of 6 children in a ranching and sheepherding family that relocated from northern New Mexico at the end of the Dust Bowl. I was born in this house, I will die in this house, she was fond of reminding them.
In a darkened corner of what used to be the tack room, she found what she was looking for. Propped up against the far wall stood her old three-speed, a bike she'd cherished in high school. She dusted off the seat with an old rag she'd brought from the kitchen, and wheeled it through the barn and out into the afternoon sunlight. Cecilia cocked her head, eyeing it critically. A little rusty, but the bell still worked, and she could get a replacement basket at Anders' Feed 'n Seed. And since it would be weeks before she could run again thanks to her messed up feet, biking into town would be a welcome, somewhat less painful source of exercise.
Although, the first place she was headed at the invite of one of her oldest and bestest friends, Isabella Capizzi - Izzie, was the new roughstock riding school just outside of town. Izzie's brother Robbie, and his best friend Tony Cruz were practicing for the upcoming Flint Hills Rodeo. "This'll be the perfect time for us to dish and catch up," she'd begged Cecilia. "And ogle the new students."
"You just want to see Jaxon Boyd's ass framed by a pair of chaps," she'd teased back. Izzie'd had a lifelong crush on Jaxon, a very talented rider and also the high school's math teacher and football coach.
"We're going to support my brother and Tony," she'd denied.
Sure they were. Cecilia could practically hear the blush in her voice. "You keep telling yourself that, Iz."
Cecilia checked her phone. If she didn't leave now, she'd be late. Gingerly, because even with Band-Aids and moleskin, her feet were still tender, she kicked a leg over the seat and set her foot on the pedal. It hurt to pedal, but that was to be expected. She had no one to blame but herself, so she took the pain, thoughts drifting back to her encounter yesterday with the mysterious Trace Walker.
You want everyone to think you're so tough. But I see you Cecilia Sanchez.
She'd about melted on the spot at the look in his eyes when he'd called her out. And for a split second, in spite of her sassing, he'd looked like he wanted to kiss her. But there was something about him she couldn't quite put her finger on. Cecilia was certain they'd met before, and for the life of her she couldn't figure out where. She'd piece it together soon enough. She always figured things out. Just ask her asshole of a father. He still blamed her for his divorce.
That said, she owed Trace an apology. Straight-up. She'd been horrible yesterday - a combination of emotional and physical exhaustion, anger, and... something deeper... something hotter that she was determined to ignore. In fact,