The morning had already turned warm by the time Bryce pulled his ute up outside the house, the engine ticking as it cooled. He killed the ignition and sat for a moment, watching the verandah. No sign of Saige yet. Just Elara, leaning against a post with a mug in her hands, her chestnut ponytail catching the light.
She raised the mug in greeting as he climbed out. “Morning, stranger.”
“Morning.” He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, crossing the gravel. “Saige about?”
“Getting ready.” Elara’s mouth curved, something wry in it. “Apparently collecting a saddle requires a certain standard of presentation.”
Bryce frowned. “Saddle?”
Elara looked at him. “She didn’t tell you?”
“She said she needed to pick something up from town. Said it wouldn’t fit in her ute.”
Elara hid a smile behind her mug.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“She doesn’t need my help for that.”
“Apparently she does.”
Bryce looked at her.
Elara took another sip of coffee.
“She’s been spending a lot of time at your place,” she said finally. Not quite a question.
“She’s been helping with the gardens.”
“Has she.”
Bryce kept his voice easy. “She’s good company.”
Elara studied him for another moment.
“She’s eighteen now, Bryce.”
“I know.”
“I know you know.” Her mouth curved slightly. “I’m just not sure you’ve noticed.”
He frowned.
Before he could ask what she meant, the door behind her opened, and Saige stepped out onto the verandah.
Bryce’s breath caught, just for a second.
She was wearing a sundress—light blue, fitted, with thin straps that left her shoulders bare. Her long dark hair was loose, falling in waves past her collarbone, and there was a hint of something on her lips, gloss or balm, that caught the sun.
She looked nothing like she did when she turned up to shift sleepers or dig garden beds.
“Ready?” she asked, and her smile was bright, uncomplicated.
Bryce cleared his throat. “Yeah. You?”
“All set.” She bounded down the steps, brushing past her mother with a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you later, Mum.”
“Have fun,” Elara said.
Bryce glanced at her.
She was drinking her coffee.
He followed Saige to the ute.
The drive into town took twenty minutes, the windows down, the warm air rushing through the cab. Saige talked easily—about school, about a mare that had thrown a shoe, about a friend who was having boy trouble. Bryce listened, offering the occasional grunt or question, letting her fill the space.
She was finishing school that year and had started looking at courses for the following year. Business. Agriculture. Maybe something that combined the two.
“I still don’t know,” she said. “Everyone keeps asking what I’m doing next year like I’m supposed to have my whole life planned.”
“You’re asking the wrong bloke.”
“You’ve got a plan.”
“I’ve got cattle.”
“And a plan.”
Bryce laughed.
The saddle was easy enough. A neat stock saddle from the tack shop on the main street, priced more than she should have paid but good quality. Bryce carried it to the ute and loaded it in the tray, then looked at the space around it.
He looked at Saige.
She was standing with her arms crossed, a small smile on her face.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“This would’ve fit in your ute.”
“Probably.”
Bryce stared at her.
Saige smiled wider.
He shook his head and closed the tailgate.
They went for lunch at a pub on the edge of town, a place with a beer garden and a view of the hills. Saige ordered a chicken salad and a lemonade; Bryce got a burger and a pot of tea. The sun was high and the garden was half-empty, and they took a table in the shade.
For a while they talked about nothing—the weather, the price of feed, whether the bay mare was worth buying.
But then Saige set down her fork and looked at him with that directness she had, the one that reminded him of her mother.
“Can I ask you something?”
Bryce chewed, swallowed. “Sure.”
“What happened with Tessa?”
He set his burger down, wiping his hands on a napkin. “We’re still friends.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Saige’s eyes held his. “You were together. Then you weren’t. What changed?”
Bryce took a breath, let it out slow. “She wanted more than I could give her.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she wanted commitment. Something permanent, eventually.” He picked at the edge of his napkin. “I couldn’t promise her that.”
“Why not?”
He looked at her, at the genuine curiosity in her face. “I don’t know that I’m built for it. The settled thing.”
“And Holly?”
“Holly chose someone else. Someone who wanted the same things she did.”
Saige nodded slowly, processing. “So what do you want now? From relationships, I mean.”
The question sat between them.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m not sure I’ve figured that out yet.”
She smiled. “That’s okay. You’ve got time.”
The rest of lunch passed easier, the conversation lighter. She asked about his cabin, about the gardens, about what he wanted to do with the property next. And every answer he gave, she listened like it mattered.
When the plates were cleared and the bill paid, Bryce pushed back from the table.
“Right. Better get you home.”
Saige didn’t move. “Actually—I’m coming back with you.”
Bryce paused. “To your place?”
“Yes.”
“We should get the saddle back.”
“It can wait.” She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “You said you were working on the gardens today. I want to see how they’re going.”
“Saige—”
“I’m not asking for permission, Bryce.” Her voice was light. “I’m coming with you.”
He held her gaze for a moment.
Then nodded. “Alright.”
The drive back to his place was quieter than the drive into town.
When he pulled up outside the cabin, she was out of the ute before he’d killed the engine.
The garden beds around the verandah were taking shape, sleepers marking out the edges, fresh soil already spread through some of them. Bags of mulch and a few trays of plants waited near the steps.
Saige walked to the edge of the verandah and looked out over the paddocks, the afternoon light catching her hair.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said. “Quiet.”
“That’s the idea.” Bryce came to stand beside her, hands in his pockets. “Still plenty to do with these gardens.”
“I know.” She turned to face him, and there was something different in her expression now. Direct. Certain. “I didn’t come here to see the gardens, Bryce.”
He stilled. “What did you come for?”
“I arranged the saddle so I could get you alone.”
Bryce stared at her.
“You what?”
“You heard me.”
“That saddle would’ve fit in your ute.”
“I know.”
He laughed once, mostly from disbelief. “Jesus, Saige.”
“I’m tired of you treating me like I’m still just Grant and Elara’s daughter.”
“Saige—”
“I know how long you’ve known me. I know all the reasons you’d tell yourself no.” She stepped closer. “But I’m eighteen. I know what I want. And I’m not asking you to decide for me.”
Bryce opened his mouth to speak.
She kissed him.
Her lips were soft, warm, and she pressed into him with a confidence that surprised him. One hand came up to his chest, flat against his shirt, and the other curled around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her.
Bryce stood frozen for a heartbeat.
Then his hand found her waist, and he kissed her back.
When they broke apart, her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen. She looked up at him, and there was no uncertainty in her eyes.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”
Bryce’s hand was still on her waist. “Saige, I—”
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “Don’t tell me all the reasons we shouldn’t. I’ve heard them all in my head a hundred times.” She stepped closer, pressing against him. “I don’t care about the reasons. I care about this.”
He should have stopped.
He knew that.
This was Grant and Elara’s daughter. Whatever happened next had the potential to complicate almost every part of his life.
There were plenty of reasons this was a bad idea.
Saige was standing in front of him, completely certain of what she wanted.
And Bryce wanted her.
That was the problem.
He kissed her again. Slower this time. His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, drawing her against him.
She made a small sound against his mouth—surprise, pleasure—and her fingers curled into his shirt.
“Bryce,” she breathed.
They moved without quite deciding to—a step back, then another, until her shoulders met the verandah post. He braced one hand against the wood beside her head, and she looked up at him.
“I’ve wanted this,” she said, her voice husky. “For a while now.”
“How long?”
“Longer than you’ve noticed.” She reached up, tracing the line of his jaw.
Bryce laughed softly.
“That could be years.”
“Not quite.”
He kissed her again, deeper, and her hands came up to tangle in his hair.
It was awkward at first. She was eager but less practiced, her movements a little rushed, a little clumsy. She pulled at his shirt like she wasn’t sure how to get it off, and when he helped her, she laughed—a nervous, breathless sound.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not—I haven’t done this much.”
“Hey.” Bryce caught her chin, tilting her face up to his. “There’s no rush. We’ve got time.”
She nodded, her breath coming fast. “Okay.”
He kissed her again, slower, and let his hands find the straps of her dress. She shivered as he pushed them down her shoulders, the fabric pooling at her waist. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the sight of her—pale skin, full breasts, nipples already peaked—made his mouth go dry.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and it wasn’t a line. It was just true.
She flushed, a pink stain spreading across her chest. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it because I have to.” He traced his thumb along the curve of her collarbone. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
She kissed him again, and this time there was more confidence in it. Her hands found the hem of his shirt, and she tugged it up, and he let her—let her peel it off him, let her run her palms across his chest like she was memorising him.
“God,” she whispered. “You’re so—solid.”
Bryce laughed, low. “That a good thing?”
“I think so.” She pressed closer, her breasts warm against his chest. “I want to feel you.”
He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her to the verandah. A folded tarp lay nearby from the garden work, and he lowered her onto it, the canvas rough beneath her bare shoulders.
She pulled him down to her, kissing him hard, and he settled between her thighs. The dress was bunched around her hips, and he could feel the heat of her through the thin cotton of her underwear.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Don’t stop.” Her hands found his belt, fumbling with the buckle. “Please don’t stop.”
He helped her—undid the belt, unbuttoned his jeans, pushed them down his hips. She watched with wide eyes as he positioned himself over her, and her breath caught.
“It’s been a while for me,” she admitted, her voice small. “I’ve only done this a couple of times.”
“Then we’ll go slow.”
She nodded, and he reached down, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her underwear. She lifted her hips to help him, and he slid them down her legs, baring her to the warm afternoon air.
She was wet—he could see it, the slick shine of her. He touched her gently, a single finger tracing the length of her, and she gasped, her hips bucking.
“Bryce—”
He kissed her again as his finger circled her clit.
She trembled beneath him, her hands gripping his shoulders. He worked her slowly, patiently, until her breathing came in short, sharp gasps and her hips moved against his hand in a rhythm she didn’t seem to control.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered. “Please.”
He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her slick heat. She looked up at him.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
He pushed in slowly, an inch at a time, letting her adjust to the stretch of him. She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and he stilled.
“Okay?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Keep going.”
He pushed deeper, and she took him, her body opening around him. When he was fully seated, he paused.
“Oh,” she said, the word barely audible. “Oh, that’s—”
“Good?”
“So good.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Don’t stop.”
He moved, slow and deliberate, and she met each thrust with a roll of her hips. She was unpracticed but eager, learning his rhythm quickly, and when he found an angle that made her cry out, she clenched around him.
“There,” she gasped. “Right there.”
He drove into her harder, and she arched beneath him, her head thrown back, her hair spread across the tarp. The afternoon sun painted her skin gold, and he watched the way her body answered every thrust.
“I’m close,” she said, her voice breaking. “Bryce, I’m—”
“Let go.”
She came with a cry, her body clenching around him.
Bryce buried himself deep and followed her over the edge, her name breaking from him as he came.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The only sound was their breathing, ragged and uneven, and the distant call of a magpie in the paddock.
Then Saige laughed—a soft, disbelieving sound.
“Wow.”
Bryce propped himself on his elbows, looking down at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a mess, and there was a smear of dust on her shoulder from the tarp.
“You okay?”
“I’m more than okay.” She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “That was—”
“Different?”
“Perfect.”
He kissed her, soft and slow, and she melted into him.
When he finally pulled out, she made a small sound of protest, and he laughed, kissing her shoulder.
“We should get inside before the sun gets any lower.”
“Inside?” Her eyes brightened. “Your cabin?”
“Yeah.”
She took his offered hand and let him pull her to her feet. Her dress was still bunched around her waist, and she straightened it with a laugh.
“I want,” she said.
The cabin was cool and dim after the brightness outside.
Saige had been inside plenty of times before, but she looked around anyway as Bryce came up behind her, his hands settling on her hips.
“I could help with the gardens tomorrow too,” she said.
“Saige.”
“What?”
“You’ve already conned me into an entire Saturday.”
“And?”
“And apparently you’re planning Sunday now.”
She turned in his arms, smiling.
“You complaining?”
“Not yet.”
She leaned up and kissed him.
It was soft, unhurried this time.
When she pulled back, she glanced toward the window.
“I should probably get home. Before Mum starts wondering where we are.”
Bryce thought of Elara on the verandah that morning.
“She might already know.”
Saige frowned. “Know what?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “She was being weird this morning.”
“Mum’s always weird.”
“Fair.”
“I should still get home.”
Bryce nodded. “I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
They walked back outside together.
The saddle was still sitting in the tray.
Bryce stopped beside it.
“You absolutely could’ve fit that in your ute.”
Saige started laughing.
“I know.”
“You’re a pain in the arse.”
“It worked.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
They climbed into the ute.
As Bryce started the engine, Saige reached across the console and rested her hand on his thigh.
He looked at it.
Then at her.
She smiled.
Bryce shook his head and pulled away from the cabin.
They drove back through the golden afternoon light, neither of them saying much.
When he pulled up outside the house, Saige leaned across and kissed him goodbye, quick and soft.
“See you soon,” she said.
“Yeah.”
She opened the door.
“Saige.”
She looked back.
Bryce glanced toward the house, then at her.
“What exactly are we doing?”
Saige smiled.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
Bryce looked at her for a moment.
“No.”
“Good.”
She kissed him again.
Then climbed out.
Bryce watched her head toward the house before putting the ute in gear.
Whatever complications came with this could wait.
He wanted to see her again.