Heirly Ever After by Vernon, Magan (best classic novels .TXT) 📕

He laughed in return, and I found myself smiling at the wonderful sound. “Good to see you’re not too angry at me to make a joke.”

“Oh, I’m still not entirely happy with you, but I’m also afraid if I yell at you, I’ll scare this horse. I’d prefer her not to run away again.”

He let out a big breath, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I messed up.”

“It’s not your fault. I probably should have paid better attention.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need to just agree with me or put the blame on yourself.”

“What?” I asked, sitting up straighter, trying to figure out his words.

He nodded. “You do that, a lot, I’ve noticed. You try and take the blame for everyone else. Sometimes things are literally just someone else’s fault. No need to apologize.”

I rolled my eyes, but there was a pang deep in the pit of my stomach. He didn’t need to know how hard that statement hit me. How I knew it was exactly what I’d done every time Chris had messed up. I’d blamed it on myself. I’d always been saying “sorry,” even when things hadn’t been my fault.

Usually, I just chalked it up to my southernness. But was this really something else?

“Well, then I take back my apology.”

He laughed, and again the sound vibrated through me. Dammit, I had to stop reacting to him like this. “Okay, then I still expect you to draw me this in a picture. Do you paint, too?”

“I do. I mean, I did.”

“Did?” he asked.

I sighed, the words catching in my throat. “When I was still in school. Don’t have the supplies now.”

“I think I saw an art store in town. Maybe we can go sometime. Oils? Acrylics?”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I tried to figure out my next words carefully. Not only did I not have the money for those things, but I hadn’t painted since I’d left school. Drawing in my sketchbook was one thing, but painting a full-on canvas?

“Maybe,” I muttered, fully knowing I wouldn’t do that.

Silence loomed over us as we continued on, the only sound the horses’ hooves clomping beneath us.

After a few beats, Jacob sighed, breaking the silence. “You have no idea just how much you’ve helped me here.”

“What do you mean? Because I was your ticket into the manor?” I asked, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice.

He swallowed hard, the smile fading from his face as he shook his head. “No. More than that.” He focused on the trail ahead of us. “It’s a nice break to be with you. I don’t feel like I have to try to be something else.”

“I don’t know who else you’d try to be. Are you saying you want to be more like my future brother-in-law? Do you usually not smile, either?”

That got the grin back to his face. “No, I’m definitely not like my cousin. I can’t afford to be.”

There was more to his story. Did he mean monetary? Or just because of his status?

“Then what are you like back in Scotland? Are you still the Prada Knight? Looking around to save girls or go on quests with an army of kilted men in expensive loafers?”

He laughed again, the sound finally making my shoulders relax for the first time since we’d been out riding. “No kilted army. Just me and my younger brother and sister. And of course, my parents and grandparents and great-grandfather.”

“Are they like the Webleys here?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, Lady Elizabeth didn’t put any scotch in her tea that I noticed, so probably not exactly.”

I laughed. “Sounds like she’s a good time.”

“They were,” he whispered.

Were. What the hell had happened to this guy and his family? I wanted to pry, but I also wasn’t sure it was my place. We both didn’t need to go digging into each other’s past. This was just a week-long friendship at a manor.

I cleared my throat and looked up to see the sun start to fade below a grassy knoll. “It’s starting to get dark. Think you could show me how to head back?”

“Yes. We probably should.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence until we were back in the barn.

He slid off Satin first, putting her back in the barn while I waited.

He returned to my side and held his arms out. “You’re going to move your leg back so you’re sitting facing me.”

I moved my leg out of the stirrup and slowly sat, side-saddle, facing him. His hands were on my waist, his eyes never leaving mine as he pulled me down to my feet, my body pressed against his as I gripped onto his shoulders, careful not to fall. I could have let go when my boots were stable on the ground, but I was locked in place.

His hands were warm on my hips.

His intense gaze was focused on mine.

“Thank you again,” I whispered, licking my lips as I tried to regain some moisture.

“Of course,” he murmured.

One breath and his lips could be on mine.

Just one little step was all it would take.

But he didn’t make a move.

“I’ll put Buttermilk up for you,” he said quickly, moving his hands and grabbing the horse by the reins.

My body chilled as soon as he stepped away. I’d never felt like something was missing as soon as someone let go. Not even with Chris.

There was something more to Jacob MacWebley, and not just his secrets. But it was those secrets that held me back, no matter what else my body was trying to say to me.

Chapter Eight

Jacob

I took the coldest shower of my life after riding with Madison.

Why did she have to keep looking at me as if I was the only one in the world that mattered? She probably wouldn’t if she knew the truth about me. The odd duck of my family, trying to throw one last Hail Mary to get our family out of financial ruin. But what if