Broken Hero

by Olivia Hayle

  He walks up the stairs and I’m left with a warm glow in my chest, a riding date semi-confirmed with my too-handsome-for-his-own-good boss, and a yoga class to teach.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say life was pretty perfect.

  10

  Oliver

  Damn, but Lucy Rhodes is gorgeous. It’s all I can think of these days.

  I walk out to get something from the boot of my car and I see her leaning against the door of the studio. I catch a glimpse of her hair shining in the sunlight and her long legs on display, and it’s like glimpsing a piece of heaven.

  She has a direct hotline to my groin and to my chest, making both tighten at the sight of her. It’s all too easy to imagine gathering her by the waist and pulling her close. Sliding her tank top to the side and touching my lips to her lightly freckled skin. I’m not a boy in puberty anymore, but damn if she doesn’t make me feel that way.

  Hiring her was a mistake. I’d told myself I was humoring my sister, but in reality, I was humoring my own curiosity. The problem being, of course, that having her work for me hasn’t sated my curiosity in the least.

  It’s only piqued it.

  I glance at the clock by my desk. It’s just past three in the afternoon. Most of the guests would be out for the day, and Lucy’s client would have finished about fifteen minutes ago. I should be able to catch her before she bikes back to town.

  Thankfully, Jack and Tim are not working today—so I have no one to avoid as I walk the gravel path down to the spa. Austin pads along beside me, his tongue out.

  Lucy's client emerges from the spa just as I'm heading up the path. She flicks back expertly dyed hair and runs a hand over her dress. Damn. I thought I'd be in the clear. The lady arrived two days ago with her husband, but whenever he’s away, she entertains herself by flirting with me.

  Her eyes light up when she sees me. “Mr. Morris himself, if I'm not mistaken?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Reston. How was the treatment?”

  “Oh, just wonderful. It's important to stretch every now and then, release all the tension. But then, I'm sure you know that.”

  I don’t return her smile. “Sure.”

  She glances back to the spa, and then towards me. I don't like the heavy meaning in her gaze. “Is it time for your treatment, Oliver? May I call you Oliver?”

  "Just checking up on my employees. Have a good day, ma'am."

  She chuckles. “Ma’am. I'm not that old. See you later, then.”

  As she passes me, her hand grazes my arm, across my bicep. It takes considerable willpower to resist pulling away. She saunters off and I head towards the spa.

  Lucy is standing right inside the door. She’s wearing an amused smile, her eyes alight with mischief.

  “What?”

  “That must happen all the time, right?”

  I shrug. “Occasionally.”

  She's still smiling as she folds a large white towel. “It must get tempting.”

  “Do you think I'd sleep with my guests?”

  Lucy looks up. “No. I didn't mean to imply that you did.”

  “Don't worry about it. But for the record, I don't.”

  "Good to know." She puts a stack of clean and folded towels away. "What's up?"

  “Are you done for today?”

  “I am, yeah.”

  I lean against the doorframe. “Let’s go horseback riding.”

  A grin spreads across her face. “Really?”

  “Yeah. If you're still up for it.”

  “Of course I am, are you kidding me? Let's go.”

  I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Come on. Austin can be our guide.”

  She gives me a wide, warm smile as we head to the stables. Her happiness is infectious. “I'm going to insist you wear a helmet, you know.”

  She scoffs. “I’d be mad if you didn't. What kind of establishment are you running here, Mr. Morris?”

  “I ask myself that daily.”

  She chuckles. “Well, you’re rated close to five stars on TripAdvisor, so you’re clearly doing something right.”

  We’re greeted by the familiar smell of hay and horse. Two of the mares whinny loudly, probably in the hopes that we’re bringing food. Lucy stops by Ginger and runs a hand down her smooth, auburn neck. “Aren't you a pretty girl?”

  I stop at Whiskey’s pen and watch as they interact. “Do you visit them often?”

  “I try to swing by every day, actually. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “No, they need company.” Whiskey is nibbling at the pocket of my jeans and I gently push him away. “I didn't bring anything, boy. Next time.”

  “Is he yours?” Lucy asks. “Well, technically, I guess they all are, but—”

  “He is, yes. About half the horses belong to the ranch. The others belong to people in town. They use this as a boarding stable.”

  “That's nice of you.”

  “We have the space, and most horses like company. Come on. Let's saddle up.”

  I'm ready to help her up onto Ginger, but Lucy swings up gracefully on her own. She's still in those tight pants and the visual nearly gives me a semi. I'm far too attracted to this girl for my own good, or for hers, for that matter. Last night I had woken up hard and panting, the image of her half-soaked dress seared into my mind.

  I need to get a grip.

  “Are you good up there?”

  “I'm great. This really is like riding a bike, isn't it?”

  “It is. Don't let the horses hear you compare them to bikes, though.”

  Lucy laughs again. We set off down the path behind the farmhouse, Whiskey taking the lead. He knows these trails just as well as me, and I won't have to give much direction, which leaves plenty of time to talk to Lucy—to get her to laugh again.

  She’s tracing patterns along Ginger’s neck. “Did you ride often as a kid?”

  “Yes. My dad was big on that sort of thing.”

  “He was the mayor, right?”

  My voice is dry. “You caught that, did you?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don't be. It's practically associated with the Morris name here. My grandfather held the position for about a decade, too.”

  "The first family of Claremont," she teases softly, but I hear the hesitancy in her voice. I hate that it's because of me; because she doesn't know how I'll react. I hate that people are careful around me. I hate that I've given them a reason to be.

  “Exactly. My mom was practically a First Lady, hosting town luncheons and organizing church bazaars.” I hold up two intertwined fingers. “She was like this with Mrs. Masters.”

  “It can't have been easy to grow up with parents like that.”

  It takes me a moment to reply. “It wasn’t always, no.”

  “Did they have high expectations?”

  I nudge Whiskey on ahead and tug at the saddle. The only way to stop making people uncomfortable around me is to stop shutting down.

  “Some,” I finally say. “My father wasn't thrilled when I enlisted after college.”

  More like ballistic. For a long while, all communication had passed through Sarah. And then they'd passed, far too early, in an accident that never should have happened.

  Lucy makes a small humming sound. “That must have sucked, Oliver.”

  I can't help it—I let out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, it did. It sucked.”

  The teasing is back in her eyes, and it’s like she knows I’ve reached my limit. “But then you ended up back here anyway. Circle of life.”

  “I'm not mayor yet.” I tip an imaginary hat. “Just a common rancher, at your service.”

  Lucy nudges her horse closer to mine. “I wouldn't know about common.”

  “No?”

  “No. You made quite the impression, you know. Walking into By the Rhode on my first day.”

  I’m not looking at the trail at all at this point. If Whiskey wants to take us to hell and back, I'll let him. “I remember.”

  “I had no idea whe
re your order was.”

  “No, that much was obvious.”

  Her eyes are sparkling. “And all the while, you just stood there, looking at me. You ass, did you know how nervous I was?”

  “Why do you think I took matters into my own hands?”

  “Right, you stormed into the kitchen because you’re altruistic.”

  “Call me Mother Teresa.”

  Lucy laughs. “You’re impossible.

  “You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be. What I assumed on that first day.”

  She shields her eyes from the sun. “And what did you think I’d be like?”

  Whiskey sidles closer to Ginger, nibbling at her harness. “A big-city girl. Afraid of getting dirty. Vegan.”

  “What’s wrong with being vegan?”

  “Nothing in particular, I guess,” I say. “But you’d be hard-pressed to fit in here.”

  “I didn’t think you were that narrow-minded. You're probably the most well-traveled in this town, you know."

  She’s likely right, but I don’t want to think about my postings. “Why did you come back here?

  “I heard there was a reception hall being terribly misused. I had no choice but to step in.” Her green eyes dance with mirth. Our legs touch, wedged in between the horses. I could reach out and rest my hand on her thigh.

  “How kind. You’re so generous,” I say dryly.

  “I’m very philanthropic.” She flutters her lashes in a dramatic gesture, and I can’t help but smile at her. Our eyes catch and hold. Her gaze is warm in mine, and for a few eternity-long seconds, there’s nothing but this. Us together on a leafy trail in the middle of summer.

  Austin barks loudly. The sound breaks the tension between us, and we look towards the dog instead. He’s pacing in front of us, tail wagging excitedly.

  Lucy urges Ginger on. “What have you found, boy?”

  Whiskey and I follow mutely. It gives me time to recover from her freckled skin and rosy lips. She’s like a cursed mirror in a fairytale; if I look too long, I’m caught.

  “What did he find?”

  I hear Lucy’s intake of breath and smile. We’ve reached the look-out spot. She halts Ginger and jumps down, reins in hand, walking to the edge of the glen.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathes.

  Fields stretch out endlessly, the afternoon sun making the wheat look like liquid gold. It smells like summer, the sounds of nature all around us, soft earth beneath our feet.

  “It is.” I swing down from Whiskey. “It’s one of the things I missed most when I was away.”

  I’ve seen this view a thousand times, but it still has the same heart-stopping effect. The horses are happy for the break and start to nibble at the grass lining the trail.

  Lucy sits down on the ridge, cross-legged, her back to me. Her hair shines in the sunlight. I take a seat next to her, a hand on the ground to steady myself, and try to ignore the ache in my shoulder.

  We watch the view in silence for a few minutes. Our knees touch, but she doesn’t move away.

  “Have you ever done physical therapy for your shoulder?”

  Of course, she still noticed. "Yes. I worked on it after the surgery."

  “But it still hurts?”

  “Not really,” I say. I’d rather hack the damn arm off than admit that to her.

  She nods like I’ve confirmed something—but not like she believes me. “I could try massaging it some time, if you want. I’ve had patients before who’ve had scarred muscles that needed careful manipulating.”

  The idea of her soft hands on my skin sends a pure shot of desire racing through me. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Lucy nudges me. “Or you could do yoga with Sarah and me tomorrow. We’re running a trial session with Mandy before next weekend’s grand opening.”

  “Yoga’s not really for me.”

  “There are some great positions for your shoulder,” she says, but laughs when she sees my pained expression. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I won’t push you.”

  It’s not the yoga that pains me—it’s the mention of positions. My over-active imagination has more than enough fodder already. She doesn’t say anything else, and I try to focus on the view and not on her warm body sitting so close to me.

  “What’s the best view you’ve ever seen?”

  “Ever?”

  “Yes.”

  The image comes to me immediately. It’s of a distant time, on distant shores, but the view is brandished in my memory. “I saw the sunrise over the Wadi Rum desert in Jordan once. We were stationed there, and during a full-night of training and drills, the sun rose across the dunes. The desert looked red, colored by the dawn.”

  Her eyes are soft. “That sounds beautiful.”

  “It was,” I murmur. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of that morning. “How about you?”

  “This view.”

  “You can’t say that.”

  “Why not? It’s the truth.”

  “Because you’re making me look bad. Now my answer sounds unappreciative.”

  “You’ve probably seen this view a thousand times, Oliver. It’s my first time. Cut me some slack,” she says, shooting me a teasing smile.

  I feel an overwhelming urge to wrap my arm around her, to pull her close and see if her hair smells as good as it did those weeks ago. If she’d melt into my side.

  I resist.

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “I have two older siblings. I’ve had to learn.”

  “Youngest of three?”

  She nods. She has a band of freckles from the sun, smattered across her nose.

  I clear my throat. “Well, you know what they say.”

  “What?”

  “Third time’s the charm.”

  Her eyes soften, looking into mine. “Flatterer,” she murmurs.

  There’s no thinking anymore. There are only her eyes, her lips, and the distance between us closing as we lean in. I can feel the faint exhalation of her breath against my lips.

  One heartbeat. Two heartbeats.

  I kiss her.

  Her lips are soft and tentative against mine. She tastes like sweetness and she’s kissing me back so gently it hurts. I can feel my chest tighten, my stomach dip, and I’m lost. I want more—I want everything.

  I pull her against me, align our bodies so that we’re touching. Her heartbeat is wild against my chest. Every part of her is soft, soft where I’m not, and it’s exactly like I suspected—she melts into me. Her breasts flatten against my chest and I can’t help the faint groan that escapes me when she runs her tongue along my lower lip.

  All of my blood rushes south. I usually pride myself on my cool head, but it’s a thing of the past as our mouths move in sync. Her tongue meets mine hesitantly, but I’m too hungry for her to give any respite.

  Her fingers in my hair drive me wild and I'm tugging, lifting, fitting her onto my lap. My shoulder has sure as hell never felt less pain than it does right now. Her legs wrap around me and I'm conscious of my hands around her waist—of forcing them to stay there, of not grabbing a hold of her luscious ass. I want her closer still; I want to know what her skin feels like, what she tastes like, and it's taking all of my self-control to go slow.

  Her kisses turn sweet again. She’s tugging at my shoulders and releases a soft, faint sigh of pleasure against my lips. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

  Lucy pulls back, but I’m not ready yet. I lean forward and press a final kiss to her soft lips. She laughs breathlessly when we break apart. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen, but her eyes are teasing when she looks at me. I keep my hands around her waist. They belong there—she belongs in my arms.

  “Whoops,” she murmurs.

  I smooth my thumbs up her ribs, just barely grazing the underside of her breasts. “Is that a good kind of whoops?”

  Lucy blushes further, and I’ve changed my mind. It’s not a sunrise over a distant, foreign desert. It’s this;
Lucy with tousled hair and flushed cheeks, nestled in my arms.

  “I didn’t mean to come on to you,” she says.

  “Does it seem like I mind?”

  She laughs and extricates herself from my hold. She stands, reaching out to hold onto a tree trunk as if she’s unsteady. My hands are still warm from holding her.

  “Lucy?”

  “Wow,” she says, and I want to tell her that I feel the same way. That nothing has gotten my heart pumping like that for ages; that I want to kiss her until I can’t see straight.

  I get up too, but she steps past me when I reach out to take her hand, grabbing Ginger’s reins instead. She murmurs something to the horse and runs a hand down the speckled neck, her back turned to me. I stand there and watch her for a long moment. My heartbeat slows, and it takes a few painful breaths before I get my desire under control.

  I can take a hint. “Do you want to go back?”

  “I think that’s for the best. It’s probably getting late.”

  Judging by the sun, it’s not even five o’clock, but I humor her. “Sure. Lead the way.”

  We stable the horses in silence, and although it's not strained, it's not exactly companionable, either. Somehow, I seem to have fucked it all up, and I don't even know how it happened. We’d been so close at the ridge.

  She turns to me with a smile. It’s carefree, but it doesn’t really reach her eyes. It pains me to see.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Right. You’re doing the trial class with the girls?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll do great, Lucy.”

  We walk out of the stables in silence. My hand aches to take hers, to pull her close and make sure she doesn't think it was a mistake. To know that she feels the same way I do. She’d been so soft, so responsive in my arms—I had been so sure she wanted what I wanted.

  Lucy stops by the courtyard and looks up at me with those wide, green eyes. “I’m sorry again, Oliver.”

  “Why are you apologizing?”

  “It was unprofessional. I—“

  “If it was unprofessional, then we were both to blame,” I say. “I don’t regret it and I hope you don’t either.”

  Her eyes warm and she bites her lip, looking up at me. She’s so unexpectedly sexy that it feels like a punch to the gut. I need to get a grip.