Swift and Saddled (Rebel Blue Ranch, #2)

by Lyla Sage

But depression wasn’t a logical disease. It was an unexpected cold front in the middle of July. It was impossible to predict, which meant that I spent much of my time worrying about when the other shoe was going to drop. Not if, but when I would sink into another dark hole and have to decide to claw my way out of it. Even when I was happy, I was thinking about when I wouldn’t be.

That’s what I meant when I said that my brain didn’t feel like my own sometimes. It felt like it belonged to my mental illness instead. And, frankly, that sucked.

“Does quoting Matthew McConaughey help or hurt?” “Helps,” I said truthfully. A little give and a little go. I could do that. “All right, all right, all right,” Wes said with a weird drawl in his voice, and I laughed again.

For the first time in my life, I think I had a big ol’ crush. It was new and exciting, but it also felt stable and natural—like it was the start of something that would last.

A cowboy, with his white shirt clinging to his body, his brown cowboy hat, and a calf in his arms that he’d just rescued from a storm? Damn. Damn.

“You say you’re not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun.” I rolled my eyes, trying to move them in a way that would stop the tears from falling. “I would rather have the moon anyway.” I scoffed at him then. Acting like he was being ridiculous was my only defense mechanism. “I’m the moon?” I asked sarcastically. “You’re the moon,” he said. “And I’m the tides. You pull me in without even trying, and I come to you willingly. I always will.”