The late heat hung over the yards, and Bryce kept his attention on the calf.
He’d noticed the cut that morning—a shallow tear along the inside of its hind leg, nothing serious, but enough that he’d brought it into the yards where he could clean it properly and keep an eye on it for the day.
The calf shifted as Bryce crouched beside it, and he rested a hand against its flank.
“Easy.”
He checked the wound again. Clean. No fresh bleeding, no swelling he didn’t like. He gave it another quick rinse, then stood, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans.
The sun was low enough that the shadows stretched long across the packed dirt, and the heat had softened to something almost bearable. His shirt was dark with sweat across the shoulders. The smell of cattle, dust and warm grass hung in the still air.
The calf gave an impatient bawl.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Bryce opened the small yard and moved it through, watching until it settled before closing the gate behind it.
That was when he caught movement at the fence.
A figure leaning against the top rail, the late sun behind her.
Saige.
She didn’t call out. Didn’t wave. Just stood there watching him, one hand resting on the rail.
Bryce walked across to her.
She was wearing a pale blue sundress, her shoulders bare, one foot resting on the lower rail. Her dark hair moved lightly in the breeze.
“Didn’t hear you drive in,” he said.
“Didn’t drive.” She tilted her head, a strand of dark hair falling across her cheek. “Walked over. Felt like the exercise.”
“Big walk.”
“It's not that far.”
Bryce stopped in front of her.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“A while.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“I could’ve.”
He looked at her.
Saige smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She traced a line through the dust on the top rail with one finger.
Then her smile faded slightly.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah?”
“About us.” She said it simply, without flinching. “About what comes next."
“What about it?”
“I mean—” She stopped. Then squared her shoulders. “I want to know if you can see it. A future. Us, building something together.”
“Saige—”
“I’m not asking for a ring,” she said, and her voice carried that edge of humour he loved. “I’m not even asking for a timeline. I just want to know if you can see it. Because I can, Bryce. I see it so clearly it scares me sometimes.”
He looked at her—the pale blue of her dress against the dust and heat, the stubborn set of her jaw.
“I can see it,” he said, and the words came out rougher than he meant them to. “I can see us building something.”
Her breath caught.
“But?”
“No but.”
Saige watched him for a moment.
“Where?”
Bryce glanced towards the cabin.
“Here, I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
“It’s small.”
“So?”
“So there’s barely enough room for me.”
She smiled. “Then we make more room.”
Bryce looked back towards the cabin.
Saige followed his gaze.
“You’re already redesigning it, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Bullshit.”
Bryce smiled.
“I might be.”
“Dangerous.”
He looked back at her.
“What about home?”
“What about it?”
“You’ve got your family there. Horses. Work.”
“And it’s next door.” She shrugged. “I’m not moving to Queensland.”
“Good point.”
“I can work there and live here. Or work here. Or both.” She smiled. “We already spend half our lives going backwards and forwards.”
Bryce nodded.
“I’m still figuring out what I want to do after school,” she continued. “Maybe uni. Something useful. But none of that means I can’t see this too.”
He stepped closer, close enough to smell her—sunscreen and something floral, and underneath it the clean scent of her skin.
He reached out and took her hand.
“I want you in my life,” he said.
Her eyes went bright, and she didn’t try to hide it.
“Then that’s enough,” she said. “That’s all I needed.”
He pulled her towards him, and she came easily, her body fitting against his. Her hands found his shoulders, then his neck, and she rose onto her toes and kissed him, soft and deliberate.
When she pulled back, her eyes were dark, her lips slightly parted.
“Take me inside,” she said.
It wasn’t a question.
He looked at her for a moment, then took her hand and led her towards the cabin.
The screen door banged behind them, and the cool of the interior closed around them. He hadn’t had time to tidy up—there was a plate by the sink, his work boots by the door, a coil of rope on the table he’d been meaning to put away—but she didn’t seem to notice any of it.
Her eyes were on him.
She stepped out of her sandals, bare feet on the timber floor, and crossed the room to him. She reached up and pulled his hat off, set it on the table, and ran her fingers through his damp hair.
He caught her wrist, gentle, and brought her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm.
She kissed him again, deeper this time, and made a small sound against his mouth, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He walked her backward towards the bedroom, his hands on her hips, and she went willingly, her mouth never leaving his.
The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled, and he laid her down on it. She looked up at him, her hair spread across his pillow, her chest rising and falling faster now.
“Bryce.”
He lowered himself over her, bracing on one arm, and traced the line of her jaw with his thumb.
She reached up and pulled him down to her, kissing him hard, her legs wrapping around his waist.
“Stop thinking.”
He laughed against her mouth.
⸻
He kissed down her throat, the hollow of her collarbone, the bare curve of her shoulder where the sundress had slipped. She arched beneath him, her fingers in his hair, her breath coming in soft, urgent gasps.
He found the tie at her shoulder and pulled it loose, and the dress fell away, revealing her pale skin, the full curve of her breasts, the dark peaks of her nipples already tight.
“Gorgeous,” he breathed, and she smiled, a slow, knowing smile.
“Like what you see?”
“You know I do.”
He lowered his mouth to her breast, and she gasped, her back arching off the bed. He took his time, laving her nipple with his tongue, drawing it into his mouth, feeling her shudder beneath him. She was responsive, eager, her hips already moving against him, seeking friction.
He worked his way down her body, kissing the soft skin of her stomach, the jut of her hipbone, and she squirmed beneath him, her fingers gripping the sheets.
“Bryce—”
“Patience,” he murmured.
She made a sound that was half laugh, half whimper.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down her legs, and then he settled between her thighs.
She was wet, slick and ready, and when he lowered his mouth to her, she cried out, her hips bucking against him.
He took his time, learning her, tasting her, the salt and musk of her flooding his senses. She was vocal, unrestrained, her moans filling the small room, her fingers twisted in his hair as she urged him on.
He circled her clit with his tongue, felt her thighs trembling on either side of his head, and when he pushed two fingers inside her, she came apart, her cunt clenching around him, her cry sharp and raw.
He kissed his way back up her body, and she pulled him to her, frantic, her mouth finding his.
“I need you,” she gasped. “Bryce, I need you inside me.”
He reached for the bedside drawer.
Saige caught his wrist.
“No.”
⸻
He looked at her.
She shook her head, her eyes dark and certain.
“I want to feel you. All of you.”
He hesitated.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” She reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock, and he sucked in a breath, his hips jerking involuntarily. “I want to feel you come inside me. I want to know what that’s like.”
He held her gaze.
He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock slick with her wetness.
Then he pushed inside her.
She gasped, her eyes fluttering closed, her nails digging into his shoulders. He went slow, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around him, the tight, wet heat of her pulling him deeper. When he was fully seated, he stilled, letting her adjust.
“God,” she breathed. “You feel—”
She shook her head, unable to find the words.
Bryce began to move.
He set a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust measured, deliberate, and she met him with her hips, her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. The room filled with the sound of their bodies, the wet slap of skin, her soft moans, his ragged breathing.
“Faster,” she whispered. “Please, Bryce.”
He obliged, picking up the pace, driving into her harder, and she cried out, her head thrown back, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.
He reached between them and found her clit, rubbing in tight circles.
She shattered, her cunt clenching around him, her body convulsing beneath him.
The sight of her, the feel of her, was too much.
He drove into her one last time, buried to the hilt, and came, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her with heat.
She held him, her legs tight around his waist, and he collapsed against her, his face buried in her neck, his breath ragged.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then she laughed, a soft, breathless sound, and ran her fingers through his damp hair.
“That was—”
“It was,” he agreed.
⸻
He rolled onto his back, and she curled against his side, her head on his chest, her hand splayed over his heart.
The sun had sunk lower, the light through the window turning gold and amber.
Her hand traced idle patterns on his chest.
“So,” she said, her voice light, “does this mean I get a key?”
He laughed, a low, warm sound.
“Reckon you’ve earned one.”
She lifted her head, looking at him.
“Good,” she said. “Because I was going to take one anyway.”
He kissed her, slow and deep, and when he pulled back, she was smiling.
“Stay,” he said. “Tonight.”
“I was planning on it.” She settled back against him. “But I should call Mum. Let her know I’m not coming home.”
He reached for his phone on the bedside table and handed it to her. She took it, her fingers brushing his, and typed a quick message.
Then she set the phone aside and turned back to him.
“Done.”
“That easy?”
“She said to tell you dinner’s on Sunday.”
He smiled.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
She kissed him again, softer this time, then settled against him.
Bryce looked towards the darkening window.
Then towards the rest of the cabin.
It was small.
But that could be fixed.