Home on the Ranch--The Cowboy's Dilemma

by Pamela Britton

  “Flynn,” she cried out, clutching the sheet she’d thrown over her bed to protect it from paint.

  He had to know what he was doing to her, because his mouth found her own and his tongue slipped inside her mouth in the same way he touched her down there, and that was it for her. One tiny little thrust and her hips shot up off the bed and she cried out against his mouth and thought the world might collapse down on her. It didn’t, but she fell back to the bed as if it had, at least that was what it felt like. He kept kissing her and nuzzling her the whole time and she realized he’d slipped his arms around her, and that he held her.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “No, it was terrible.”

  She heard a low rumble, realized he was laughing. She shifted in his arms, met his gaze for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

  “It’s honestly never felt like that before. I wonder if it’s the pregnancy. It was...different.”

  He smiled. “Different is good.”

  “But...what about you?” she asked.

  He smiled, shook his head, and she could see he wasn’t the type of man who demanded equal pay for equal services—unlike Trent. Instead, he pulled her close to him again, her ear coming to rest against his chest, his heart beating against his ribs in a comforting rhythm.

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  But she did worry about him. She worried about what he would think of her for jumping into bed with him the same day Trent had told her to get lost. She had a habit of doing that. Of getting intimate with men too soon. Would he think she was desperate or something? Maybe she was desperate.

  “I should get going,” he said.

  And suddenly, she felt self-conscious, more self-conscious than she’d ever felt in her life, probably because everything about her body seemed bigger, and no matter what he said, there was nothing “adorable” about it.

  “I should rinse out the paint rollers.” She shuffled to the side, scouting around for her jeans and her T-shirt and hoping like heck he hadn’t spotted the cellulite on her thighs. It looked more pronounced in the bright daylight of the room.

  “I’ll help.”

  “No, that’s okay.” She spotted her T-shirt, made a dash for it, never more grateful in her life than when she tugged it on. She spotted her jeans next, one of the denim legs perilously close to the paint tray. She couldn’t look at him as she pulled them on. She had no idea where her bra went, but at this point in their relationship, did she really need to worry about covering the girls up? Probably not.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

  Her cheeks had begun to burn, although she had no idea why, probably because she wished—oh, how she wished—things were different and she wasn’t pregnant.

  No man will want a woman with a baby on her hip.

  Or whatever her mom had said. She tried to get the words out of her mind.

  He found his cowboy hat and shoved it on his head. He stood there for a moment, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and she wanted to look away because her eyes felt suspiciously warm.

  “I’m sure,” she said, lifting her chin.

  She would act like this was no big deal. To heck with her mom. Maybe she was wrong.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said, bending and kissing her on the cheek and just the brush of his lips made her body snap and say “Hello there” again.

  But he stepped back.

  She watched him walk away, and when she heard the front door close, she sank down on the bed, a hand reaching up to touch her lips.

  “Damn you, Mom,” she told the room at large.

  Chapter 15

  He drove back to the ranch like a bat out of hell. Oddly, it was his dad’s voice that he heard in his head as he drove along.

  Dumb move, son.

  And the imaginary father figure in his head was no less censorious than the real-life version. At least they hadn’t... Well, they hadn’t done...that.

  But not because he didn’t want to. Oh, no. Walking away from her had been nearly impossible to do.

  When he pulled up in front of his place, he must have sat in his truck for a good half hour questioning his judgment, wondering how they would move forward, hoping she didn’t read more into the situation than there was. But the longer he sat there, the more he couldn’t escape one fact: kissing her had been so supremely and utterly perfect it had blown his mind. The way her lips fit his own. The taste of her, like sipping from the blooms of a honeysuckle, something he’d done as a kid. The heat of her and the way her body felt against his own. He could have gone on kissing her and touching her all day, each time she’d opened her mouth to him sending him closer to the brink of...something.

  When he got out of his truck, a black-and-white dog got up from her position by his front door.

  “Sadie.”

  His brother’s dog lowered her head, tail wagging, her steps quickening as she got closer to him.

  “You shouldn’t be here. They’re going to worry about you.”

  The dog sat down at his feet and Flynn squatted down and rubbed his fingers through her thick coat. The border collie liked to hang out at his home, Flynn suspected, because she needed a break from the two-year-old tyrant called his niece. Oh, he loved Olivia to pieces, but the little girl liked to pretend Sadie was a horse, climbing on her and “riding” her. The other day, she’d wrapped an electric cord around her as if it was a bridle. Thank God Maverick had caught her, but the poor dog clearly needed some alone time.

  “Come down here for some peace and quiet, huh?”

  They both went over to the porch, Flynn sitting down. Sadie sat down next to him, the two of them surveying the oaks and the pastures and hills in front of them.

  “The thing is she’s pregnant,” he told the dog. “I mean, what kind of idiot gets involved with a pregnant woman?”

  The dog turned to look at him. He rubbed her soft ears.

  “I mean, aside from Shane. But that was different. He knocked Kait up. And they got married right after. This is different. And that asshole who got her pregnant. Trent. What a loser.”

  She’d looked so miserable after Trent had left. Nobody deserved to be treated that way.

  “I guess I’ll just have to make it clear we’re still just friends.”

  The dog licked his hand. He didn’t know what it was about her soulful brown eyes, but he always felt like she knew exactly what he was saying.

  “The thing is, Sadie, I like her way more than a friend.”

  He refused to complicate her life, though. Hell, getting involved with her would complicate his own damn life. What about his plans to qualify Markie for the world show? He didn’t have time to cart Amy around to the doctor or hold her hand through her pregnancy. He wasn’t ready to settle down. He had things to do with his life. Having a kid like Shane and Carson and soon Jayden, that wasn’t part of the plan. Not for a long while yet, and dating Amy meant taking on a kid.

  He didn’t call her that night. He chickened out. He sent her a text instead, wishing her good-night and promising to talk to her tomorrow. She replied back instantly.

  Ditto.

  He stared at the word for a full five seconds.

  Ditto?

  What the hell did that mean? Would she call him? And why did he feel so let down by her one-word response?

  He was still wondering about it the next day. He’d just finished working Markie. The stallion’s coat glistened with sweat, and Flynn decided to cool him off by walking along the rail of the arena. He’d only made two laps when he spotted her walking toward him in jeans and a white T-shirt, her hair loose around her shoulders.

  “Hi there.”

  Even from a distance he could see her smile, a hand lifting as she waved energetically. Flynn’s stomach d
id something funny as she came toward him.

  “I walked,” she announced once she was near enough for him to hear. Across the road, her voice startled some birds from a row of grapevines. “Although, if I’d known how long it would take to get here, I probably wouldn’t have done it.” She came closer and closer, eventually stopping near the rail, cheeks flushed from being out of doors. He pulled up Markie. There were no clouds in the sky, but there was still a chill in the air, a slight breeze blowing and pulling the shirt tight across her abdomen and the small bulge of her pregnancy.

  He’d kissed that belly yesterday.

  “I kept following the trail you left behind the other day,” she said. “And it was like one of those dreams. You know, the one where you’re trying to find your way home, only you can’t. I kept thinking this place would be over the next hill, or around the next bend in the road, only it wasn’t. What are you? Fifty miles away from my place?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve ever measured it.”

  “Well, I’m here to tell you, that horse you rode over the other day is probably sore. I know I’m going to be. My goodness.”

  She smiled, and it was as if nothing had happened. At least, that was what she was aiming for, but she couldn’t quite carry it off because there was tension in her shoulders and worry in her eyes.

  “Who’s this?” she asked brightly, too brightly.

  “Markie.”

  Her brows lifted. “Ah,” she said. “The pride and joy of Gillian Ranch.”

  But she didn’t try to approach him and that was probably just as well. Markie was a good boy, but he was still a stallion and you had to watch yourself around them. She didn’t move and he didn’t say anything, but that was only because he knew she was having a hard time formulating what she’d come here to say.

  “Listen, about yesterday,” she said at last, but she looked down, dragging her toe through the grass that ringed the arena as if making patterns only she could see. He watched as she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and met his gaze again. “I hope you don’t think—” another breath “—that, you know, I expect anything from you.”

  She looked uncomfortable and worried and brave all at the same time. “We were just messing around. I get that. It didn’t mean anything. I mean, I’m not trying to turn you into some kind of surrogate baby daddy or something.” She tried smiling. “I won’t be expecting flowers and a sappy card on Valentine’s Day or invitations to dinner or anything.”

  He didn’t know what to say. It was like entering a dark room. He was afraid to make a wrong turn. What did she want him to say?

  “Anyway, I just came over to tell you that.”

  “You didn’t need to do that.”

  But hadn’t she? Wasn’t there just the tiniest part of him that had worried she was looking for a substitute daddy for her kid? The thought shamed him because no matter what his father’s voice might say, the one that had cast doubts on her character and reproached him for losing control of his feelings for her yesterday, deep down inside he’d known she wasn’t the type to try to seduce him into sticking around or something.

  He slipped off Markie, losing sight of her for a moment while he loosened the girth. Markie sighed and dropped his head, and Flynn went around to the other side where he leaned against the rail.

  “You coming over for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened a bit. “Me?”

  “Yeah. You should. Whole family will be there.”

  The change of subject had clearly thrown her. “But don’t you think that’d be strange? The wedding planner at Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “Not at all.”

  She frowned and he could tell she fretted over something. It was one of the things he liked about her. She wore her emotions on her sleeve. He could see every thought that crossed into her mind. Right now, she was puzzled and maybe a little bit concerned.

  “That’s not why I came over, you know. To make you feel guilty or something. You don’t have to take pity on me and invite me to a family dinner.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t feel sorry for you at all. You just don’t have any family, at least none nearby. You said so yourself. So you should come over. Don’t be alone for the holiday.”

  She didn’t just jump at his words. If he’d had any doubt that she was trying to trap him into a relationship or whatever, it was all there in her face. Her reluctance to intrude. A burgeoning hope that she wouldn’t have to spend the holidays alone. Her fear that she would be imposing.

  “Please.”

  Hope won out. She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “Good.”

  She stood there. “So we’re still friends.”

  “Friends,” he said.

  Except he didn’t want to be just friends. Not anymore. As he stared down at her, he realized he admired her in a way he’d never admired a woman before.

  “I’ll see you next week, then.”

  He nodded, and she smiled, gave a little wave and headed back the way she’d come. He almost called out to her, told her to hold up a second, that he’d give her a ride home, but something held him back, something that had to do with the realization he was getting in too deep, too fast.

  It scared him. Scared him a lot.

  * * *

  She felt him watch her as she walked away, but she was proud of herself. She handled herself well, she thought. She could hold her head high. She hadn’t come off as needy or clingy, just matter-of-fact.

  Friends.

  The pride she felt lasted right up until the moment she let herself into her home, and then all of the doubts and insecurities came crashing back, the same ones she always felt when a relationship was new and exciting and she wondered... Will this one stick around?

  She made a point not to call him that week. She had a tendency to lay it on too thick when a relationship was new. It was a flaw that she wouldn’t allow to affect her and Flynn. So she focused on the wedding she had the first week of December, finalizing things with the caterer, checking in with the florist and holding the bride’s hand—mostly through telephone conversations and text messages. The theme for the wedding had been the bride’s idea. She loved the movie Frozen, and Amy had been happy to go along, coming up with unique ways to make the walls of the chapel look like cracked ice. Fake snow, which had meant lining the wooden floors of their venue—an old barn up in the hills—with Visqueen first. Total pain in the rear, but when she’d tested a small section at the bride’s house, her client was thrilled. They would even turn down the heat, having warned people to dress warmly. And, of course, there were the glass balls she’d made to hang from the ceiling. Hundreds of them. She couldn’t wait to pull it all off, although a part of her was stressed to the max about the whole thing. That always happened the week before a wedding, which was why she was almost glad to have a break.

  “You ready to eat some food?” she asked the little girl inside her. “I’m thinking I should walk over again. Goodness knows I’ll probably eat enough that they’ll have to roll me down their hill.”

  It had grown cold over the past week. She bundled up as she made her way toward the center of Gillian Ranch. Now that she knew how long the walk would take, perversely, it didn’t seem to take as much time. They were eating in the late afternoon and it had dawned a truly spectacular day. The sky was a vivid cerulean blue, the clouds that floated overhead bleached stark white by the sun. On the other side of a rock wall, mares and their foals frolicked in the chilly air. Frost from the morning had left a sheen of dew on the trees and the grass, and the effect was dazzling, dewdrops sparkling, the smell of dank earth filling her with a peace she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  It would be okay.

  Her business was taking off, thanks in large part to Charlotte Bennett. The woman seemed to know half the people in Via Del Caball
o and she’d been her biggest advocate. It seemed like every other day her phone rang and someone Charlotte had talked to was on the other end. If this kept up, she’d be completely booked the following year. Her little business might be the success she’d always dreamed of, just in time for the baby.

  The trail she’d been following suddenly turned into a gravel road and she knew she was getting close. On the right would be a cabin. Flynn’s home, the place where he’d taken her what seemed like a lifetime ago. He was probably up at his dad’s house, she thought, expecting to see an empty driveway. Instead, she spotted Flynn’s big black truck, and she tensed.

  Was he home?

  Did she just walk by? Ring the doorbell? Call out “Hello”? She chose the first option, nearly jumping out of her skin when the front door opened.

  “Decided to walk?” he asked.

  She nodded mutely because she couldn’t think—she honestly had a hard time forming words. He stood on his porch in his cowboy hat and jeans, and he looked so gloriously handsome that it was as if time had slowed down and she stood face-to-face with a cowboy of old. His mouth moved, but it took a few seconds for his words to make sense.

  “I was mashing up potatoes and saw you from the kitchen window.”

  Because he cooked. Of course he did. She’d known that. He was also kind to animals and had a penchant for rescuing women in distress.

  And she was falling in love with him.

  She stood there, staring into his kind blue eyes, and she knew it just as surely as she knew Trent was the biggest jerk who ever walked the earth. And that what she’d felt toward the men who’d come before Trent was nothing compared to how she felt toward Flynn.