Fence Lines and Warning Signs
1192 Words
The blue roan colt trotted lazily now, reins loose in one hand, the rope still coiled in the other. Beau walked beside him, easy and quiet, murmuring something low under his breath that made the horse’s ears flick.
Harley stopped at the fence, one boot up on the bottom rail, fingers curled around a worn post. She leaned forward just enough to watch without drawing attention.
Too late.
Beau looked up.
And changed direction.
He walked toward her like the world hadn’t shifted at all—rope still in his hand, dust streaking the front of his shirt, a sweat line darkening the edge of his collar. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, forearms roped with muscle, gloved fingers loosening the loop of his lasso as he closed the distance.
The colt followed behind him like a shadow.
Harley gripped the fence tighter, every instinct screaming for her to turn away—but her feet didn’t move.
Beau stopped just in front of her, the fence the only thing between them.
“You came,” he said.
She swallowed. “Colton invited me.”
“Didn’t say you’d show.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
His eyes swept over her, slow and measured. “But you did.”
Harley shifted, suddenly too aware of the way his presence filled the space like smoke—thick and unshakable. Her eyes dropped to the rope in his hand.
“You always carry that around?”
Beau’s mouth tilted. “Habit.”
“Planning on tying someone up?”
He looked straight at her.
Didn’t blink.
“Only if they run.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
He lifted the rope slightly, fingers curling around the loop, his voice low and even.
“You ever rope before?”
She snorted. “You’re joking, right?”
Beau didn’t smile. “I saw your saddle in Colton’s tack shed. Barrel rig. Lightweight. Seat’s worn like you rode hard.”
Her pulse kicked up.
“I used to,” she said quietly. “A long time ago.”
“You quit?”
“I grew up.”
He tilted his head. “Or something chased you out.”
Harley’s jaw ticked.
Beau leaned his arm on the fencepost, still holding the rope lazily in one hand. “You know what I like about horses?”
“What’s that?”
“They don’t lie. You try to muscle them, they’ll buck you. You get too soft, they’ll walk all over you. But if you show up steady, and mean it—they’ll give you everything.”
He let that settle.
Then added, “People are the same way. Except more dangerous.”
She met his eyes, heartbeat hammering.
“You trying to compare me to a horse, Lieutenant?”
Beau’s lips curved just slightly. “I don’t think you’d let me ride you. Yet.”
Her breath stuttered—and she hated how her knees weakened behind the fence.
The blue roan nickered softly, pawing at the dirt.
Beau glanced back at the colt, then looked at her again.
“You ever feel like you’re only safe when no one’s touching you?” he asked, voice softer now. “But at the same time… like you’re starving for it?”
Harley didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Beau nodded once, like he already knew.
Then he stepped back, tipped his hat slightly, and led the colt toward the hitching post.
Leaving her gripping the fence rail like it was the only thing holding her upright.
Harley needed out.
Too many voices. Too many stares. Too much Beau Winters in her bloodstream.
She ducked into the barn through the side door, slipping into the shadows like she used to as a girl—back when the stalls were her hiding place and the smell of dust and sweat meant peace instead of panic.
She found the darkest corner, next to a stack of unused poles and feed bins, and leaned against the wall to breathe.
And that’s when she felt it.
Him.
Beau didn’t call her name.
Didn’t announce himself.
She felt the shift in the air before she heard his boots on the barn floor.
And when she turned—he was already there.
Backlit by a shaft of late sun, sweat still drying on his neck, rope slung casually over one shoulder like sin.
“Running again?” he asked, voice rough. “That your thing?”
“Don’t do this,” she snapped. “I don’t need whatever the hell this is.”
Beau kept walking.
Slow. Heavy.
Predator-steady.
“You think hiding in the dark keeps me out?” he murmured. “You think just because I haven’t touched you yet, I haven’t already decided I will?”
Harley’s pulse spiked.
He reached her in three more steps.
She pressed back against the stall door as he crowded in—close enough that her breath caught from the heat rolling off his body.
He braced a hand beside her head. The rope fell from his shoulder to the ground between them with a dull thud.
“I’ve been patient,” he said. “I’ve let you dodge me. Mouth off. Pretend like your skin doesn’t burn when I get close.”
His other hand lifted—slow and deliberate—and slid the brim of her ball cap back just enough so she had no choice but to look at him.
“But I’m done pretending this is some goddamn coincidence.”
Her voice cracked when she said, “You don’t even know me.”
Beau’s jaw flexed.
“No,” he said. “But I know exactly what I see.”
He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.
“I see a woman who walks like she’s bracing for impact. Who hasn’t been touched in a way that felt good in a long f*****g time. And who’s shaking right now because she knows I could take her apart without even unbuckling my belt.”
Her knees buckled slightly, but his hand was already on her waist—holding her up, keeping her pinned.
“You’re not my subordinate anymore, Harley. I don’t have to behave. And I’m done pretending I don’t want to taste you.”
She gasped, but his fingers flexed, pulling her even closer until her chest brushed his.
“You want me to stop? Say it. Push me. Tell me I’m wrong.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Because she couldn’t.
“You’re not saying it,” he whispered.
And f**k her—he was right.
“I should,” she breathed, voice cracking.
“But you won’t.”
A beat passed. Her breath hitched.
Beau leaned down until his mouth hovered just shy of hers—hot and full of warning.
“I’m not gonna kiss you tonight,” he said, voice sharp as a blade. “You’re not ready for that kind of truth.”
Then he pulled back.
His hand slid down the side of her waist, slow and possessive.
Then he walked out of the barn without looking back—leaving her shaking, aching...
And marked.
- Writer
