by Sasha Burke
One day, I really want to see one of those infamous shopping trips go down.
“Diarrhea or not,” he continues, sounding equally exasperated and amused, “If I put another unmarked jar in there, I wouldn’t put it past them to roll the dice all over again.”
Laughing at the memory, he holds the lobby door open for me and then does that unconscious guy thing, where he puts his hand gently on the small of my back as I walk past. Can’t speak for other women, but for me, that touch tells me everything. If I feel a tiny jolt from that brief contact, I know there’s some chemistry there.
I don’t feel a jolt.
I feel a veritable lightning strike.
Totally oblivious to his effect on me, he finishes with a grin, “So, my vote is yes for the cooking every few days plan. I can grab a beer and keep myself entertained watching them go all Hunger Games over the extra food every night.”
Maybe it’s because of how he kissed me to within an inch of an orgasm earlier, or maybe I’m simply losing my mind, but now, I can’t stop thinking about how exactly I’ll ‘keep myself entertained’ every night while I’m staying at the ranch, a mere bedroom away from him.
Seeing his gaze abruptly drop down to my parted lips for a beat as we step into the elevator isn’t exactly helping. Neither is his hand on the small of my back again.
“Damn it, woman,” he mutters darkly, eyes dilating when my breathing stutters to a brief stop. “You best start thinking some different thoughts right now if you don’t want me to stop this elevator and do something about it.”
Oh god, am I that transparent? Bad, Katelyn. Leave the nice hot cowboy alone. All you asked him for was some quality time with his rocks. That’s it. The part about you staying with him for two weeks didn’t have anything to do with how close he’d gotten you to the big O.
Really, it didn’t.
Okay, good. Now, maybe if I repeat that to myself enough, I’ll start actually believing it.
Thankfully, the ding of the elevator door opening on my floor saves me from that doomed mission. “Hey, Glenn.”
My sleepy building super barely spares us a glance before using his spare key to open my door and then shuffling into the elevator behind us before it closes, mumbling instructions for me to put the lockout fee in an envelope and slip it under his door later.
I valiantly ignore the universe’s attempt to remind me about everything that happened with my index cards under the door earlier, knowing it’ll inevitably make me think of handcuffs and insanely hot kisses, and all sorts of other things I shouldn’t be thinking about.
This time, I avoid making eye contact with Cade entirely. “C’mon in. Ignore the mess. I wasn’t expecting company. Just give me a bit to get everything I need.”
I quickly throw some clothes in a duffle bag along with a few tools and books and return to the living room a few minutes later to find him studying the different rocks on my dining table.
“You have a rock collection,” he says, looking puzzled.
“You sound surprised.”
“I just didn’t think you were a collector. You’re always putting the rocks you find on my land back exactly as you find them.”
I shrug. “Because they’re not mine to keep.” Nodding at the table, I add softly, “You are right though. I’m not a collector. That’s my granddad’s collection. What’s left of it, at least.”
He’s at my side an instant later, his entire frame tight with tension. “Were some stolen?”
“My father took some with him when he left me and my mom. Along with a majority of our savings, a lot of my mom’s family heirlooms, a few of my great grandma’s jewelry pieces, and all the big electronics in the house that he could pawn.” I walk over to the collection and eye all the vacant spots where there were once gemstones and crystal geodes, back when they were displayed all around my childhood home. All that’s left are the index cards the missing pieces used to sit on, written in granddad’s precise handwriting, the words cataloging details about the rock and the location it was found in.
“He only took the things he considered valuable,” I explain. “Which is why he didn’t bother with any sentimental things.” Playing it off like it hadn’t devastated me at the time, I paint Cade and even clearer picture. “The day he left, I found the clear vinyl wallet insert my mom had given him one Father’s Day with photos of me as a baby and us as a family tossed in the trashcan.”
Cade swiftly pulls me into a hug, but doesn’t say a word.
“I’m fine,” I insist, even as I burrow against his chest for a bit before letting go. “Even at twelve years old, I knew we were way better off without him. He used to fight with my mom all the time. And with me, he was just…apathetic. At best. Partly because I was the unplanned product of a no-strings bar hookup that resulted in him ‘doing the right thing’ with a courthouse wedding. But also partly because he blamed most of his subsequent failures in life on my birth.”
Other than a brief jaw clench and a flexing of his fists, Cade remains silent so I keep going. “He used to talk about his young hotshot glory days in advertising all the time. According to him, he’d been at the top of his game, headed for the big leagues, until he screwed up a few huge campaigns for some important companies right after I was born. Claimed he’d been sleep-deprived because I did that whole infant thing of crying at night.”
I pause to regroup, shoving down long-buried daddy issues I thought I’d gotten over ages ago. “Anyway, after those projects tanked, no one wanted to hire him anymore. But, he just kept at it, desperate to get back in the game. It was all I remember him ever really caring about.”
I choose my next words carefully, not wanting to say more than I need to about that segment of my life. “Until they got divorced, we lived with my mom’s family out in the country. The way I understand it, my father agreed to live with my grandparents temporarily—rent-free with meals included, I might add—so they could essentially raise me until I was old enough to go to school. His goal had been to move the three of us to the city after that, but it never happened. To be fair, it wasn’t like he’d planned to be unemployed on and off for the better part of a decade; his intention had originally been to be the breadwinner and have my mom handle the child-care stuff. That said, he took his continual career failings really badly. Over the years, he turned into…not a nice guy. And the more his professional life fell apart, the more he took it out on my mom. And me.”
“I’ll kill him if he laid a hand on you.”
The solemn, matter-of-fact oath slips past Cade’s lips so softly, I almost don’t hear it.
As soon as I take in his harsh expression and fully process his vow of violence, however, I quickly clarify, “No, no. He didn’t abuse us or anything like that. He just complained about, well, everything. Nonstop. He was a snob about life outside of the city and disparaged my grandparents and their country lifestyle behind their backs every chance he got.”
A loaded look crosses Cade’s face. “I know how that goes.”
I frown sympathetically. “Your father was like that, too?”
“Both my parents, actually. My dad grew up on a ranch in Washington and flat-out detested his childhood. My whole life, he called everyone he grew up with hicks and hillbillies, and the more successful he became, the more embarrassed he got about his relatives, his roots.”
Deep-seated disappointment filters into his voice then. “I still remember how he used to make these really dick remarks about how far he came despite his folks ‘just’ being ranchers and crap like that, with my mom being his biggest empathizer. Don’t get me wrong, I loved her but my mom was a rich, pampered city girl who practically broke out into hives in the great outdoors. To her, my dad’s rural upbringing had been nothing short of tragic. And the way she and her stuck-up friends used to tell it, his ending up with her was his very own Cinderella story.”
Gaze dropping down to his weathered work boots, he gives me a wry smile. “Maybe it skips a generation, or maybe
the universe just felt like fucking with them because I fell in love with that ranch in Washington the second I saw it. In fact, I used to beg to spend every summer there clear until my grandparents passed away. It used to baffle my parents, how much I loved everything about ranch living, but they allowed it because it meant they could ship me and my brother out at the start of summer and be totally kid-free for a couple of months every year.”
I do a double take. “I didn’t know you have a brother.” The guys never once mentioned it.
He goes completely silent then, and I can tell he didn’t mean for us to get here.
It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about his family history, and I don’t push. After all, I’m keeping certain details of my past from him, too. Some things are just private. I get that.
So, instead of letting the silence get any more awkward, I up and change the subject.
“Hey, can I drive your truck back to the ranch?” I ask, not giving him a chance to reply before swiping his keys and heading out the door. “I’ve always wanted to try driving it.”
He’s shadowing me in an instant. “Have you driven something that big before? Or even operated a stick, for that matter?”
“No to the first. And yes to the second. How much harder can yours be?”
“Mine is bigger than most. No offense, but I’m just not sure you’ll be able to handle it.”
I ignore the distinctly porny turn our conversation has taken and pick up the pace to try and beat him to the driver’s seat. Lordy, the man has a long stride.
Even with me practically jogging at this point, he still gets to the truck before I do, swiftly caging me against the door with his tall, musclebound frame. “Is this a preview of how the next two weeks are going to be?” he demands. “You driving me crazy every chance you get?”
I just give him a perfectly angelic smile. Along with a few innocent eye blinks.
His lips twitch in humor before he steps back and opens the door. “Don’t kill my clutch.”
I hop in, surprised he gave up so easily. Until I see him rooting around the backseat as soon as he’s seated. “You’re going to polish off the rest of the meatloaf while I’m driving, aren’t you?”
“God willing, yes,” he replies reverently.
He really has to stop being so cute. “Aren’t you worried that’ll distract me?”
I feel my face go habanero hot when he stops and looks at me quizzically.
“B-because,” I stammer. “When you eat, the sounds you make are…um…that is, you sound like you’re having…err…” Son of a biscuit, there’s no possible way I can finish that sentence.
He tilts his head and waits for me to try. Evil bastard.
“Sweetheart, are you trying to tell me I make sex noises while I eat?” He leans over to turn the key in the ignition, lips grazing my ear as he asks curiously, “Is that how you imagine I’d sound if I were to eat…say, that slick little pussy of yours?”
For heaven’s sake, the man should come with a warning label.
I maintain radio silence.
And almost hit an innocent telephone pole while backing out of my stall.
“Told you it’s a lot to handle for a tiny thing like you.” His husky tone goes from teasing to utterly wicked. “If you want, you can sit on my lap and work the stick while I pump the clutch.”
Oh. My. God. “Don’t you have a meatloaf to defile?” I suggest, shamelessly hopeful.
“Nah, I don’t want to ‘distract’ you.” (Yes, I hear the air quotes—grr).
And with that, he settles into his seat, choosing to ‘not distract me’ by keeping one big, burly arm slung behind my seat and both eyes fixed on me…the entire remainder of the ride.
It’s a miracle I get us back to the ranch in one piece.
11
| Cade |
The woman is a damn miracle worker.
Over the last few days, like a beautiful little drill sergeant, Katelyn has managed to get my men to set and clear the table at each meal (yes, they sit to eat together all civil-like now) and even do the dishes without belly aching or making crazy-ass wagers to get someone else to do it.
Her secret? From what I hear, she’s found a way to incentivize chores with a clever combo of nightly desserts, cooking them their favorite dishes, and a healthy serving of her sweet smiles.
As a result, hazmat suits aren’t needed to enter the guys’ bunkhouse anymore, and they’ve finally appeared to have mastered how much is too much clothes to stuff in the washing machine.
I know I should be stoked about these new developments but ever since she made us the best stew of my life her first night here, my guys are even more fucking in love with her than ever. And they aren’t the only ones. Between them and my dogs, I don’t know who’s got it worse.
Before Katelyn came along, I used to characterize my two watchdogs as the meanest mutts around, capable of literally making grown men piss their pants. Frankly, I didn’t think they possessed a different behavior setting, let alone a tail-wagging, tricks-for-treats one that involves them plunking onto their backs and shamelessly begging their now favorite human for belly rubs.
My guys’ behavior isn’t all that far off right now.
Since I’ve been too slammed with things to take her out on my own, I’ve been forced to have them escort her around my land. So far, of the lucky bastards who’ve been able to spend time with her, four (that I know of) have proposed to her and two are now utterly fascinated with rocks.
No, really.
Not saying those two will choose rocks over horses any time soon, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them starts getting interested in minerology or geological engineering one day.
To be clear, I’ve never claimed to be a typical boss; I can’t imagine there are many ranch owners who run their ranches the way I do. But, I figure, what’s the point of having a few billion dollars in the bank if I can’t use a few bucks to help my men pursue their outside interests? If they want to learn about rocks, shoot, I’ll foot the bill so they can take some courses down at the same college Katelyn goes to. I’m already doing that for Jonah, who’s been taking ranch and farm management classes, and I’ve been talking to Jacob about looking into some part time vet tech programs to see if he wants to put his natural skills with animals toward a degree in the future.
Just because I want to run a ranch for the rest of my life, doesn’t mean I expect that from all my men. If one of ‘em wants to study rocks like Katelyn, good for them. I’m happy to help.
That said, me being a generous boss doesn’t mean I don’t have my moments to the contrary.
And when it comes to Katelyn spending more time with the guys than me, I’m finding that I don’t just feel selfish, I feel downright surly. Borderline irrational. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. Being possessive over a woman is an unprecedented and altogether unnatural feeling for me, and one I’ve got serious doubts about being able to control anytime soon.
“Hey. You’re home early.”
I jerk myself out of my thoughts and look over to find the woman making us all nuts waving at me from the kitchen. “Just taking a break,” I respond, crossing the living room to join her.
Between expanding our horse rescue operation, building the new boarding stables, dealing with an increase of illegal wild game hunting going on in the area, and word getting out that my head trainer’s been training not just the best horses in the state, but the best apprentices as well, I’ve been burning the candle at both ends overseeing everything.
“Woman, how many times do I have to tell you to stop cleaning my house?”
The stubborn little thing just keeps right on smiling and mopping until she finishes the last stretch of tiled floor. This is by far the cleanest the place has ever been and I admit, it’s kind of nice, but I don’t want her thinking she needs to do this kind of thing just to stay here. “I can hire a housekeeper if the house is too dirty for you. Just quit with all this housework.”
She simply laughs. “You do remember that I’m the woman who likes rolling around in the dirt, right? Trust me, I’m not a clean freak.” Nodding over at the flour-covered kitchen counter, she explains, “The twins wandered over for a bit so we baked some cookies. I’m just mopping up the ‘magical fairy dust’ they got a little prance-happy with so none of the guys slip and fall.”
“Winston’s grandkids again? Really?” Huh. That’s twice their folks have brought them by to see him this week. Which would bring their grand total to four whole visits in the last four years.
Her lips dip down at the corners. “Turns out, Winston’s son is selling the place; that’s why they’ve been around so much fixing things up.” She sighs heavily. “I chatted with the twins’ mom and she said they’re moving Winston into an assisted living center as soon as they get an offer.”
That’s news to me. “Don’t they know that he’ll try to break out of there the first chance he gets?” And if he’s half as good at sneaking himself out of places as he is sneaking, say, cute rock-loving trespassers into my property, that nursing home won’t stand a chance.
“I told her that, too. But he’s refusing to move out East with them, and they’re not exactly trying to change his mind.” She shakes her head sadly. “They just don’t see how sweet he is.”
Katelyn getting this heartbroken over my grumpy neighbor going to a senior home has me putting yet another checkmark in the ‘not a one-night-stand kind of girl’ column. Needless to say, there are a lot of friggin’ checkmarks in that column. Precisely why I decided to keep my distance and let her focus solely on her rocks since the start of her two weeks staying under my roof.
That’s right, I’ve kept things strictly platonic between us this entire time. I’m serious. No molten hot kisses (not since that first night). No wayward dirty flirting (that one’s been tough, but I’ve been managing). And definitely no cuffs (which I can’t seem to find, so it’s just as well).
