by Olivia Hayle
“This is great. Good thinking with the review cards.”
“Thanks.” Sarah glances at Logan, and I can tell she wants to say something else, but not in front of him. Rare are the times she will censor herself in her sisterly critique and I groan inwardly. I’m sure I’ll be subjected to another lecture soon enough, and I’d just gotten her to shut up about the blind date thing. There are a few strategies to counter my little sister.
I choose diversion. “Wedding season is coming up. A few couples have been in contact to ask for a tour of the property. Can you do it?”
It works. “Yes, of course! I love wedding season. Are there more bookings this year than last?”
“If bookings keep coming in at the current rate, yeah, there will be.”
Sarah drapes an arm around Logan’s chair. “Weddings are the best, don’t you think?”
He nods.
“There’s a lot of electrical work in hosting weddings. All those string lights.”
I have to hide a smile as he nods again. “Yeah. I’d be happy to help out.”
She straightens. "Great! We'd love to have you. Well, I'll talk to you later. Text me with the dates for the wedding guests."
“I will.”
Logan groans the second the door shuts behind her. “You’ve roped her into this too?”
“Into what?”
“Into your grand scheme of getting me around here as much as possible.”
He doesn’t say Mandy’s name, but he doesn’t have to. It’s clear in every line of his body. “Sarah’s a hopeless romantic. I didn’t have to say a thing.”
It's late when I head down to the stables. Rare are the times when I have time to ride these days, but I try to check up on the animals whenever I can. This was once a working ranch, my grandfather's pride and joy, and although we only have a few horses left, I'm proud of that. There's a bit of Texas still, amongst these pruned and plucked guests from out-of-state.
I’m halfway across the gravel path when I hear shrieks and laughter. The sound is unmistakably feminine, though I hear male voices too. My steps quicken.
I turn the corner and my heart stops.
John and Tim are spraying Lucy with the garden hose, the one used to cool down the horses. Her sundress clings to her body, soaked to the skin, and her laughter rings clear. Every shape and curve is visible through the fabric. Strong thighs, flared hips. The cotton clings to a smooth stomach and even from this distance, I can see that her nipples are hard from the cold.
John swings the hose around, hitting Tim, who lets out a massive shriek.
“But I’m not muddy!”
Lucy looks up. Our gazes lock, and I see her eyes widen with surprise. I step forward and turn the knob on the faucet, cutting off the water supply. The spray putters and dies in John’s hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Tim looks shell shocked. “Sorry, boss.”
“We were just having a bit of fun,” John says. “It’s warm out.”
Lucy clears her throat. “I slipped in some mud by the east paddock. Tim offered to help me clean off, and, well…” She crosses her arms across her chest and looks away, her cheeks flushing a violent shade of red.
This won’t do.
It won’t do at all.
“So you three decided to have a wet t-shirt contest on my property?”
The silence is terrible, and some of my anger fades. Idiots. “Tim, go change into dry clothes. If you don’t have any, you’re relieved for the rest of your shift. John, I want you to mow some grass. Find some far, far away from the main building.”
They both nod. “Yes, sir.”
They’re gone within a heartbeat and I’m left looking at Lucy, who’s shivering and blushing and still practically naked. I shrug out of my flannel and hand it to her.
“Here.” Her hair is half-wet, a tendril curling down her neck. I look away as she shrugs into my button-up, pulling it tight around her body and hiding the outline of her full breasts from view.
She looks down at the ground and I have no idea what to say. I’m angry and annoyed and aroused and protective and jealous of my fucking farmhands.
“Are you alright?”
Lucy nods. “Yes. I’m sorry. I really did slip in the mud, and I didn’t mean for it to escalate like that…”
“You were raised in the country,” I say. “You can take care of yourself.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, because she looks away again and her blush deepens. “I’m sorry. It was unprofessional.”
I can’t argue with that—it was. It’s also not her fault. “There’s a shower in the staff changing room in the main house. I’m sure there are fresh clothes around, as well. Just ask Mandy or—“
“I have an extra set,” she says quietly. “Thank you, though.”
And then she’s off, walking away from me with the jerky movements of someone who would rather run but knows they can’t. My shirt is big on her. It looks good, with the shape of her legs entirely visible through the clinging fabric of her dress. The need that sweeps through my body at the sight nearly takes my breath away.
“Fucking hell.” I’m no better than the men I claim to despise—than fucking Gavin Whittaker. I need to have a talk with my farmhands.
And I need to have a talk with myself.
She’s not mine; not to protect and not to defend. And she’s certainly not mine to lust over. And yet, I have a feeling that I won’t be able to get the sight of her body, luscious and wet, out of my mind.
9
Lucy
I’m so embarrassed.
It's all I can think about as I turn and toss that night. Despite the open window, the sheets cling to my skin. The sleepless hours give me plenty of time to run through what happened again, and again, and again.
I had tripped and gotten mud all along my bare leg, right up to the edge of my dress. It was embarrassing, sure, but a minor incident. Tim had been kind enough to help me out.
John had knocked him aside, and the water had gone everywhere.
It hadn’t been more than a few seconds before I was soaked entirely and a water fight began, and somehow, Tim got sprayed too. It would have been a fun, slightly unprofessional encounter if it wasn’t for the fact that Oliver saw us.
And he didn’t just see us. He saw all of me.
If I’d had a spoon, I’d been tunneling my way to China before he’d even opened his mouth. And the whip-lash strength in his words, the anger in his eyes—he’d called it a wet-t-shirt contest.
You can take care of yourself.
He’d had handed me his shirt, and I couldn’t decide if it was a gallant gesture or if it made me feel mortified to be asked to cover up.
I’d barely walked out of there with my dignity intact. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to show up tomorrow for my next appointment with my head held high.
This couldn’t be happening again. I couldn’t screw up this job—not with this sort of thing!—and not when I’d tried so hard to make it work.
I feared I’d lost the way Oliver looked at me, the mixture of challenge and interest in his blue eyes. My days were better when I saw him, however brief the encounter.
As I work in the bakery that morning, I make myself a promise. I can’t be the slightest bit unprofessional. No more sitting on his back porch, no more lounging with Mandy in reception. No more wet t-shirt contests, God forbid.
I can’t screw this up.
The morning shift runs smoothly. Both Claire and Phil are there, and seeing their sweet interactions is more than enough to cause a corresponding longing in my own heart. They have what my parents did, before the divorce. What I hope to one day have.
I overhear them talking in the kitchen as I’m stacking baguettes in the front.
“Are you making sugar cookies today? It’s been a while since you made those.”
“Yes,” Claire says. “Sarah called me last night. There’s a PTA meeting at the school
tomorrow and she’s wondering if I could make a batch of end-of-school-year cookies for her.”
“End-of-school-year cookies?”
I hear her happy reply. “A graduation cap, or red apples. A green chalkboard. There are tons of options!”
I glance back just in time to see Uncle Phil press a kiss to her cheek. “You’re the beating heart of this place. You know that, right?”
I smile as I finish up the rest of the stacking. Sometimes I think I’ll never find what they have, but seeing it up close gives me hope.
My stomach is a ball of nerves as I cycle up to the ranch after lunch. My client isn’t for another two hours, but I want to make sure everything is prepped and ready. And if I can, I want to talk to Oliver and apologize for the incident yesterday. I won’t be able to let go of what happened if I don’t see him—see in his eyes that I didn’t mess something up.
Mandy’s standing on the porch by reception when I arrive, giving me a massive wave. “Hiya!
“Hey.” I park my bike. “What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for a delivery. They called and said they should be here any minute.” She leans in closer, and I can see her eyes are sparkling. “I heard you had some fun yesterday with the boys.”
“Oh, don’t remind me.”
“Why not? Did something happen? Tim and Jack didn’t do something wrong, did they?”
“No, not at all. We were just playing around. But I think we annoyed the boss a bit.”
Mandy waves that off. “He’s like that with everyone.”
I’m not really sure if I agree with that. “Not with his sister, or with his friend, Logan.”
She frowns. “Yeah, well, men don’t always act the same around everyone.”
“No, you’re right about that,” I say, thinking of Kyle. “Do you know if Sarah is around?”
“Yes, she’s in the staff kitchen. Why?”
“I want to talk to her about something. See you later?”
Mandy smiles and I head through reception, back to where Sarah is carefully folding napkins. She seems to have a hand in all kinds of pies, but I haven’t missed the fact that it’s Oliver who’s here from sun-down to sun-up.
She grins at me. “Lucy! Are you ready for your next client? Here, have a croissant.” She pushes one my way across the kitchen island. “We have some left-overs from the breakfast buffet.”
“Thanks, but I’m stuffed. I have an idea I want to talk to you about.”
“Shoot.”
“You know how we spoke about maybe having yoga in the spa? In the main room?”
“Yes. I’ve already included it in the package we’re putting together for wedding receptions and bachelorette parties. It’s a great idea, Luce.”
“What if we had a weekly class for people from town? It would bring in extra income and it might introduce the spa to the people of Claremont. Give back to the community a bit.”
Sarah’s eyes glaze over. “Oh my god, Lucy. That’s perfect! We are definitely doing that. I’ll be there, of course. I know at least… five women who would love to join a yoga class. No, ten. At least ten.”
I chuckle. “We could order yoga mats in bulk and I can set up the main space. Maybe we could do it on the weekend?”
“It can’t clash with church,” she says immediately. “Mrs. Masters would have a fit. Saturday noon? That feels like a good yoga time.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Oh, Lucy, I’m so happy you came to work here. So few of the people from town have been up at the Ranch since it opened as a retreat and I’ve been trying to think of more ways we could get involved in the community, but this is perfect. We’ll have the massage treatments posted in the spa by then, as well.” She winks. “We’ll make sure we get some more work for you, don’t you worry.”
The ball of nerves in my stomach lessens, just a tad. She's not Oliver, but she clearly likes me still—despite my little garden hose incident. I just have to make sure that I keep it that way; professional, helpful and positive, that's my new creed.
But then Sarah shoots up from her chair. “Oliver’s upstairs, I just saw him. Let’s ask him what he thinks right away.”
“If he’s working, I don’t think we should bother—“
But Sarah’s already by the stairs. “Oliveeeer!”
I hear the half-snarled, half-yelled response. “What?”
“Can you come down for a bit?”
I hear heavy footsteps heading down the stairs only a few seconds later. For such a large man, he moves surprisingly fast. His body is just another weapon in his arsenal. It wouldn’t surprise me if he secretly worked out at dawn, running the trails around the ranch. I think of the scar on his torso. I think of his abs.
I think of how angry he was yesterday.
Oliver stops by the doorway and my heart does a double take. He’s just as handsome as he was yesterday.
“What do you want, Sarah?”
"Lucy had the best idea. Here, have a seat. Do you want a croissant?”
I see him shake his head from the corner of his eye, gaze flicking to me. “No. What idea is this?”
I put my hands down on the kitchen island. “We could have yoga classes in the spa for the people of Claremont.”
“Yoga?”
“Lucy is also a licensed instructor,” Sarah says. “We could run a trial session on a Saturday. It would introduce everyone to the spa and we could hand out brochures with the different treatments.”
“They’re not guests.”
“I know that, silly,” she laughs. “That’s why it’s perfect! We haven’t really done anything to give back to town.”
Oliver’s frown deepens, and I’m fairly sure that of all possible arguments, that one is definitely not going to convince him. “We could ask for reviews or testimonials and use them on the website. Running a trial session will also allow us to iron out any kinks before I potentially run a class for actual guests. And having a weekly class allows guests to join if they want, without having to schedule a private session. That would work for when the Ranch is only half-booked.”
I hope I’m making sense. I don’t know how you run a hotel, but I do know a bit about running a spa—and a bakery.
Oliver is looking straight at me and I can feel the heat creeping up again, just thinking about yesterday. His eyes give nothing away. I can't tell if he hates me and wants to fire me or if he's forgotten all about it the hose incident. Somehow, I doubt it's the latter.
“It’s a good idea,” he says. “What do we need to order?”
“Yes! You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us, Luce.” Sarah grins and leans over the island to give me a high five.
I feel like pulling a face at the exaggerated praise, especially with him there, but I force a smile. “We need yoga mats,” I tell him. “Maybe around fifteen. I think that’s the maximum amount of people that will comfortably fit in the big room. We already have speakers and essential oil burners, so that’s it, really.”
“That’s all? Really?”
I nod. “It doesn’t take much.”
“I’ll start calling people,” Sarah declares. “I’m sure we can get fifteen people together before next Saturday.”
Oliver holds out a hand to stop her. “Only if Lucy is ready and comfortable with that. It’d be quite soon,” he tells me. “And you already know how people from town can be.”
“I am. I will be. I’m just really thankful for the chance to work here, doing this sort of thing.” I hold his gaze and the tension between us builds, just slightly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sarah grin. “Well, I have things to do. See you later, you two. Ta ta, as the Brits say!” The door shuts behind her.
I clear my throat. Without thinking much about it, I reach for the croissant on the table, desperate for something to do.
Oliver runs a hand through his hair. The silence is deafening.
“I’m sorry—“
“I think I—“
“Sorry?”
He shakes his head. “Go ahead.”
I bite my lip. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Truly, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m not usually unprofessional, and I hope I can prove that.”
Oliver’s gaze softens, just a bit, and I see the man I shared lunch with again. The one who tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and made my mouth dry. It’s impossible to forget how physically impressive he is, or how attractive he is, but at times like this… all that is second to his eyes.
“I shouldn’t have barked at you like that,” he says. “Tim and Jack were goofing around, and I figured you needed help. If they ever bother you, you come to me, okay?”
“They weren’t bothering me, truly. I really did fall in the mud. For a yoga instructor, I’m not always the most graceful.”
“What were you doing out by the east paddock?”
I want to hide from his gaze, from admitting the truth, from letting him see so much. I don’t. “I wanted to say hi the horses.”
Oliver’s lip curls. “You like horses?”
“I’m from a small town, remember?”
“Do you know how to ride?”
“Yes, but it’s been years since I last did it.”
He runs a hand through his thick hair again, and it does something to me. It makes me want to replace it with my own, to stretch up on my tip-toes, to see if those wide shoulders are as hard to the touch as they look.
“You’re free to go for a ride on the trails whenever you want,” he says. “As long as we’re not booked for a guided trail ride that day.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Really. I can take you out myself one day. If you’d like to.”
“I would, yes. Thanks.”
Oliver nods, and for a second, he doesn’t look like a gruff Marine or my six-foot-two boss. He looks pleased, and a little bit unsure of himself. It makes my chest tighten.
“I’ll bring your flannel tomorrow,” I say. “I’ve washed it, too.”
“Don’t worry about,” he says, a hand on the doorway. “And Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t eat that croissant. There are fresh ones in the cupboard by the fridge.”
