I half expect Travis not to show, but I'm not surprised when he does.

I wouldn't have blamed him, even if he didn't give me a heads up. It doesn't really matter that there was a spark between us; it obviously isn't there for him now. He's probably not into the idea of getting up close and personal with his brother's best friend, and honestly, I should feel the same way.

I don't, but it doesn't matter. When he shows up in the morning, bright and early, I tell myself I'm not going to act weird. He's here to do a job, to keep himself distracted. And today, I can definitely use his help.

Travis doesn't act any different than normal, even when he's stuck riding shotgun with me while we pick up the lumber. He's relaxed, in a good mood, and he's talking to me about everything and nothing, just like it was before I tried to kiss him.

It sets me at ease, and by the time we get back to the ranch, I'm focused and ready to work. I don't let myself get distracted by the sight of him hauling posts and boards. I barely notice when his shirt rides up a little in the back, exposing the line of his boxers and the curve of his spine. And when the midday sun soaks both of us through with sweat, I definitely don't watch the way the fabric pulls tight over his muscles as he works.

All right, so it's not a perfect success. I feel like some old lech even as I sweat my ass off working beside him. I know I'm not that much older than him, because Jake only has five years on him, but still.

The only good thing I can say about the whole experience is that the job gets done in less than half the time. We finish in the late afternoon, and I break out the six pack I've got stowed in the cooler to celebrate.

Travis is the one who asks if we can take a ride before he leaves for the day, and he's helped so much today that I can't refuse. I let him saddle Gloria and keep my hands to myself as he climbs up into the stirrups. Once I'm atop Domino, I lead Travis toward a trail I take the kids down on our shorter rides. Instead of trekking over the hills, it winds through the valley, the horse-worn track running parallel to a creek.

Travis is quiet for a while, and I can't help sneaking a glance at him. He's taking in the scenery, looking absorbed in his own thoughts. Some part of me wants to blurt out an apology for yesterday, but I keep quiet.

Eventually, he breaks the silence.

"So you think me being there yesterday really helped Apollo?"

Relief floods me as I realize just how much I was dreading conversation with him after the long stretch of quiet. I was so sure he was going to bring up that almost-kiss.

"Yeah, I do," I say honestly, directing Domino toward a trail blazed between thick weeds.

"I'm happy to help whenever you need. I'd love to see him run someday."

His words are so earnest that I can't help but smile. "There's nothing in the world like watching a horse run at full gallop."

"Have you ever seen them in the wild?" he asks.

I shake my head, my hand stroking over Domino's neck without me really thinking about it. "I'd like to. Just haven't had the chance to do it."

He's quiet for a moment, and all I can hear is the sound of his horse and mine; the shift of saddles, the creak of leather.

"Where would you even go to do that?"

"There's some tours up in Montana and Wyoming that take you through wild horse territory. At least there were the last time I checked."

I haven't looked in a while. It's always been one of those distant "I'd like to do this before I die" kind of things. Racing was my immediate future. When that wasn't a reality for me anymore, I stopped thinking about what I was going to do after. I was already living in the "after," and it mostly involved just getting through each day.

"Are you going to race Apollo?" Travis asks, and I feel my whole body tense. "Once he's recovered?"

"It's not like I can just load him up and take him to a track once I get the vet's approval," I snap. "There's a lot more to it than that."

My words are clipped and mean and not really meant for Travis. They settle like a dead weight in the pit of my stomach and I immediately regret them.

"Sorry, I… guess there would be. I just thought since you raced before, you'd want to do it again."

I don't know how to explain to him that even the word 'race' fills me with a nauseating mix of dread and excitement. I feel like a horse who's chomping at the bit, ready to run even though he knows there's a cliff not a hundred yards out of the starting gate.

But there is one thing I can say; one thing that needs to be said.

"No, I'm sorry. It's kind of a sore subject." I go quiet for a few moments, just letting myself feel the movements of the horse beneath me. "I'm not sure I'll ever race again."

"Don't love it the way you used to?" he asks, and there's something in his voice that makes me look back at him.

Is that how he feels about football? I can't really imagine that.

"I still love it," I admit. "I dream about getting back on that track. But the last time I was racing, I let it take over my life."

I'm not sure what I expect from him, but the furrowed, questioning brow definitely isn't it.

"How do you mean?"

"Surprised you haven't googled me." The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. "I googled you."

Travis laughs softly; tersely. "I'm pretty easy to google. I don't tend to think about doing it for people I meet, though."

Right. Why would he google me? I haven't even raced in the Derby. I'm small potatoes compared to him.

"I just know what it's like for your whole life to be on the internet, whether you want it to be there or not," he says. "I'd rather find out about people the old-fashioned way."

I wince at that. Not just because my assumption was way off base, but because "the old-fashioned way" is how I usually prefer to do things. I just couldn't help myself with Travis, apparently.

"I can't imagine the shit you must deal with. There's only a few articles on me, and it's already too much. But with you, there's…"

"A sex tape?" he supplies.

I clear my throat, looking and feeling ashamed as heat flushes in my neck.

"It's cool, man," he says with a laugh. A more genuine one this time. "The tape itself doesn't bother me. I'm not ashamed of it. I enjoy sex, so what."

My embarrassment changes into something else and I sit a little straighter in the saddle. We aren't really going to have this talk, are we? Not after yesterday.

"It's just how the tape got out there in the first place. If some fan hacked into my phone and got it, that'd be one thing. But that's not what happened."

His tone isn’t bitter, it’s hurt, and I feel anger prick at my senses. Anger on his behalf.

"For whatever it's worth, that guy sounds like an asshole," I mutter.

"He had his moments. But yeah, I guess he was."

The way he says it makes me wonder just what was between them. I always assumed guys like Travis wouldn't go looking for anything long term. Why would they need to, when they can get a hot piece of ass any night of the week?

Apparently, I'm going to be wrong about a lot of things today.

We lapse into silence again as the creek comes into view. It's crisp and clear, the water moving at a slow but active pace, babbling softly as it hits the rocks. If it were just me, I might strip down and take a dip. Somehow, I don't think Travis would appreciate that.

"So what happened to make you not want to race anymore?" he finally asks.

I owe him the answer at this point, but that's not what makes me want to tell him. He's been a surprisingly good listener, and more insightful than I would've guessed.

"In order to be a jockey, you have to keep under a pretty strict weight. I'm on the tall side of what's acceptable, so I always had to make up for it by being skinny. And if I were one of those guys who never gains a pound no matter what I eat, it might've been easy."

I've never been overweight. I can acknowledge that now, no matter what I thought back then. I've always been on the skinny side, but not skinny enough.

"You hear things in the racing circuit. Things you can do, things you can take the day before a race to get the scale to read what it needs to read."

My fingers tangle in Domino's mane as I talk. The repetitive action of stroking through the bristly strands is the only thing that keeps me centered as I tell the rest of the story.

"There was one race where I knew I wasn't going to come in under weight, and that was after fasting for a week. So I took some weight loss pills—the ones that shoot your metabolism way up and make your heart rate skyrocket."

"Didn't they ban those?" he asks, concern in his voice.

"Yeah. I never asked where they came from, I was just desperate to compete. But by the time the race started, I was… not doing great."

My brain was already fucked up from me starving myself. Those pills made me think I was going to die any second. It was the worst I've ever felt in my life.

"I went on the track anyway. Ended up fainting in the middle of the race, and my horse was…" I swallow the lump in my throat. "He was waiting for me to do something, and when I slumped over, he panicked. He got trampled by the other horses. The femur in his right foreleg was completely shattered, and by the time they got him off the track, he was already bleeding internally."

"Jesus," Travis says softly.

I can't say anything more. Even that much brings back memories I don't want to have. Five years later, and the pain of it is still too raw.

"What happened to you?" I hear him ask, and even though he's right next to me, our horses stopped beside each other, it feels like he's miles away.

"I was thrown before he went down. Broke my arm, but I was fine otherwise."

I venture a glance at him, and I can tell he doesn't believe that. I spent a lot of time after that day wishing… well, wishing a lot of things, none of them very good.

"Your brother did a lot to help me get back on my feet," I admit.

Travis gives me a small smile. "He's a good guy."

Silence stretches, and I can feel guilt clawing at me. Somehow I've managed to make things weird two days in a row, and I have no idea how. I haven't been this… open about anything in years.

"I'd give you a hug or something, but I smell worse than Gloria right now."

That actually makes me laugh—a real, unrestrained laugh, short as it is.

Travis grins. "This is going to sound like a really weird segue, but how cold do you think that water is?"

I look out over the creek, a little stunned. Is he really asking me about the water? Now?

"It's not too bad this time of year," I find myself saying.

"Thank God."

I watch wordlessly as he dismounts—a little shaky, but not a complete failure—and then starts to… tug his shirt over his head. He strips it off and goes for the buttons of his jeans, pulling those down, too, and I just stare at him, completely baffled.

"I know this is weird," he admits, and to his credit, he looks like a kid who's just been caught doing something he shouldn't. "But I'm… I can't even begin to know what to say. So I'd like to give you that hug if you're willing, but seriously, I haven't stopped sweating since we got out of your truck."

I'm still sitting atop Domino as he walks over to the bank and tests the water. A part of me still doesn't believe what I'm seeing as Travis Morrison wades out into the creek in only his boxers.

"Oh, man. That feels good."

There's an innocence in the way he says it, even as his eyes close. I watch him flop back onto the surface of the water, the smack startling Gloria just a little bit.

"You should really try this," he calls.

I can tell he's out of his depth. He doesn't know how to deal with what I've told him, so he's doing this. But I'm not angry at him. The more I watch, the more I want to join.

So I climb down from Domino and in the middle of the day, in the middle of nowhere, I strip down to my own underwear and climb into a creek with a guy I can't quite figure out.

I must accidentally splash him when I get in, because he laughs and pushes water toward me with his palm. Before I even have a chance to adjust to the fact that I'm doing this at all, I find myself swiping a wave back at him like I'm twelve years old again, without a care in the world.

Things get crazy from there.

We splash each other with greater abandon, water spraying over the bank, making the horses walk a short distance away. They snort and nicker like they can't believe two grown men are having a water fight in the middle of a creek, but I honestly don't care anymore.

Because for the first time since it was brought up, I'm not thinking about that day.

I don't know when it changes from a splashing contest to underwater wrestling, but our grappling is completely innocent at first.

And then it's not.

He pins me against the bank, the rocks digging into my back, and suddenly I'm all too aware of his big, hard body against mine. Travis seems to notice in the exact same moment, and his eyes that had previously sparkled with mischief grow suddenly dark and hooded.

I reach for him, water trailing down my arms as his lips crash to mine.