by Nicole Helm
He kissed the tip of her nose and eased away. “Be right back.” He disappeared into the hall, and she heard the squeak of what she assumed was his bathroom door.
She stared up at the ceiling, trying to pull together a thought through the hazy, lazy warmth enveloping her. She should get out of bed, but the sheets smelled like Dan, and that was kind of nice. To curl up here and wait for him to come back.
And then what?
Her drooping eyes popped open. Yeah, she was not dozing the night away in Dan’s bed. Geez, what was wrong with her? She scrambled out of the bed to find her clothes, except he had piles of crap everywhere, and she didn’t see them in the dim light.
She had to get out of here. This was… Oh, damn it, it had been so much bigger than anything she had begun to anticipate.
She wanted to chalk that up to orgasm, but it was more than that. Some warm, gooey emotion centering in her chest. The kind of emotion that wanted to snuggle into his bed, and breathe the smell of him, and all the things she couldn’t allow herself, because that was not what this was about.
Forgetting not wanting. Doing something irresponsible. Certainly not letting herself dwell.
She’d gotten what she’d come for, no pun intended, and now it was time to get the heck out.
When he returned, unabashedly naked and just so damn gorgeous, it was not fair. Not fair that he could look like that and her brain would grind to a halt.
“Clothes. I can’t find my…clothes,” she said lamely. He might stand there having no qualms about his nakedness, but she felt…weird. Exposed. Like he could see through to that gooey center.
He wrinkled his nose and looked around, then grabbed a lump of fabric from one of his half-opened drawers. “Here, this’ll do for bed.”
He pulled the T-shirt over her head, dressing her as though she were incapable. It should be insulting, but all it did was make the warmth spread, a completely nonsexual ache centering in her chest. It was such a sweet gesture. Why did he have to go and be sweet?
She looked down at the logo on the shirt. Some athletic company in Chicago. So far away. The place he’d return to.
She had no doubts about that.
He pulled the band that had already lost half her hair all the way out, raking his fingers through released strands.
“Oh, don’t,” she said, pushing his hands away. “It’s all crinkly from my braid earlier.”
He chuckled, smiling down at her like…something special. “I like it.”
She needed to get out. There were all kinds of alarm bells going off in her head, but they were drowned out by that special feeling.
Had she ever felt special? You’re not.
Before she could begin to analyze the complications that went along with that thought, he was cupping her face—he did that a lot here, so easily, like his palms belonged on her cheeks, his fingertips belonged in her hair.
He kissed her, light and sweet. No deep, dark meaning, no demanding—it was just nice and comfortable.
Every kiss from Tyler had come to mean something, weighted with something. Always like he was searching for something, and she could never find whatever it was within herself to give to him.
It had become smothering, something to avoid or soldier through because he was a stable partner—and that was what she’d wanted. Kissing had become a chore.
But kissing Dan was like a treat, and maybe that meant affection was okay. Light and easy couldn’t be a sign of something more. Relationships were hard and painful, so the weird feelings weren’t something to worry about, probably, because they came with ease and felt good.
Maybe this meant nothing. Wouldn’t that be nice? Something light and fun and, overall, meaningless. Nothing in her life was all of those things.
So she kissed him back and let him lead her to bed. If this was her rebellion, why not rebel to the fullest?
* * *
He couldn’t imagine any scenario in which Mel would be happy with him for letting her sleep in. After all her lecturing about ranching being something you didn’t get a break from, et cetera, et cetera, she’d probably be pretty pissed he let her sleep while he went to feed and water Mystery Llama.
But he also remembered how desperately she’d said she needed a sleep in, how that would be so damn nice.
So he’d give it to her and incur whatever wrath that provoked. He was pretty sure that was taking care of someone, and it kind of shocked the hell out of him how good that felt. How much more he wanted to do for her. It didn’t feel weighty or complicated, like everything with his family. It felt right.
She deserved that, someone to take care. Lord knew she didn’t let anyone do that if she could help it, so he’d press his advantage while he could.
He jogged up the hill to the llama enclosure—his strange morning routine that he was beginning to enjoy. It wasn’t all that different than getting up and going to the gym, the rink, or for a run.
Prettier view. Fresher air. He missed the ice, the smell of it, the feel of that cool air on his face, but even late June mornings in Montana weren’t too hot.
He walked inside of the enclosure, still not quite trusting this llama’s humor. It’d stopped biting at him, but there was still a off-putting staring thing, the occasional spit. Usually the thing didn’t spit while Dan was trying to feed it, though.
He pitchforked some new hay into the space. Possibly the grass in the newly opened enclosure would be enough food for one, but he still felt like making sure there was new hay each morning.
He pumped new water into the multiple buckets, placing them around the edge of the fence, all the while chattering along. He found the more he talked, the more the llama kept away from him, and despite wanting to grow one llama into a pack of llamas, the thing still unnerved him.
“Wonder if you’ll be nicer if I get you some friends.” He’d read that llamas were herd animals and liked company. The vet who’d come by to check her out had confirmed that. Dan still needed to work a few things out first, but he had a to-do list, some potential breeders, and everything.
He was not a one-trick pony. He could do more than hockey, and if he missed the skating and the thrill of competition, well…
Yeah, he didn’t know what to do about that well, so he finished up his chores and headed back to the house. If Mel was still asleep—and he kind of hoped she was—he would make her breakfast.
When he stepped into the house, he was met with silence. He paused for a few seconds to see if he heard any movement, but not a peep.
Pleased, he went to the kitchen and found the pan of eggs he’d forgotten all about last night. Pleased did not begin to cover it.
He wouldn’t wonder what had brought her here, what little thread of control had snapped in her.
Okay, so maybe he wondered a little bit, but it didn’t have to matter. Maybe she’d tell him. Maybe she wouldn’t.
She probably won’t.
He ignored that voice in his head. Maybe if he focused on this whole taking-care thing enough, she’d tell him. Maybe if he got really good at it…
What? What do you hope would come of that?
He wasn’t sure. A mix of unease and hopefulness centered in his gut. He wasn’t sure if the unease was caused by the hopefulness or if they were just dual feelings fighting for prominence.
Either way…he didn’t like it. Didn’t like conflict or indecision or any of it. He wasn’t a five-year-old kid anymore, making it too hard on his parents to stay together. He wasn’t a teenager avoiding his grandparents. He was an adult, and he was going to learn how to do this taking-care thing.
One step at a time.
He focused on washing out the skillet, making a new batch of scrambled eggs, making toast.
When he heard movement in the hallway, he didn’t bother to turn around. “Good morning,” he greeted, forcing himsel
f to sound cheerful. Forcing himself to feel the cheer instead of the weirdness in his head.
“What time is it?” she asked through a yawn.
He glanced back at her, standing in the entrance of his kitchen, the hem of his T-shirt skimming the pale skin of her thighs. He liked her legs, the long, muscular length her sturdy work jeans never gave him a glimpse at.
“If I tell you that, you’re going to kill me.”
She looked around the kitchen, presumably for a clock that was set to the right time. She scowled when her perusal came up empty. “The time, Sharpe.”
“Eight thirty.”
“Eight…” She blinked like she’d never heard such a thing before, as if this was impossible, to wake up at eight thirty. “How could you let me—”
“Before you blow any important gaskets, I already fed and watered the llama, called the lumber company to make sure they had those extra few things we needed—which they’ll have ready for us around noon—and”—with a grand flourish, he presented the skillet of eggs—“I made breakfast. After I threw away the eggs you made me forget about last night and cleaned this pan, since I only have one.”
The shock on her face didn’t dissipate, though some of the irritation did. She looked at the eggs, then back at him. “No one…” She cleared her throat. “Well, anyway, thank you, I guess.”
“You could rephrase that so there’s no ‘I guess.’” He grinned at her before scooping the eggs onto a plate. The toaster popped and he slid the piece of bread onto her plate. “I have peanut butter or…well, I have peanut butter.”
“I can—”
“Sit down and tell me what you want on your toast. I’m waiting on you.”
“Why are you waiting on me?”
“I’ve never done it before. Nice change of pace.” And it was. Probably because she was so damn baffled by it, and probably because he’d felt ineffectual and useless since he’d come here. Well, scratch that, since he’d screwed The Game—so being effectual and useful had its appeal.
“What do you want on your toast?”
“I guess peanut butter.”
He slathered it on the toast for both of them, then puttered around getting everything on the table in front of her. A big plate of food and a full cup of coffee. He could feel her watching him, but, much like he had with Mystery Llama, he chattered and worked and pretended like he didn’t notice.
And because he knew at least a thing or two about women, he didn’t mention that he was comparing her to a llama in his head.
“You’re…shockingly good at this.”
He slid into the chair next to her, trying to ignore the warmth the compliment offered. It was no big deal. Who couldn’t make eggs and toast and serve it to a beautiful woman he’d had sex with last night?
Twice.
She rolled her eyes. “Smug smile, Sharpe.”
“Just…remembering.”
“Oh jeez,” she muttered, focusing on eating her food, drinking her coffee. He liked the way the messed-up hair and his T-shirt made her look more…human, less like the machine that usually steamrolled into his life.
He liked that too, in a weird way, but he couldn’t deny seeing the softer side of her, this, last night, made her less…intimidating.
Not that he’d ever admit to being intimidated.
“Can I ask you a serious question?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Why llamas? Really? I mean…that thing is so creepy.”
He chuckled. “You don’t believe all the reasons I gave you the other day?”
“Cattle or horses or, hell, crops would be more sensible.”
“Dan Sharpe is not known for being sensible.”
She screwed up her face in mock disgust. “Oh God, you just spoke about yourself in the third person.”
He donned his best hockey-announcer voice. “Dan Sharpe does that sometimes. Dan Sharpe is a pretty important person, and the third person emphasizes that.”
He was more than a little rewarded when she laughed—a full-bodied, cheerful laugh he didn’t think he’d ever heard come out of her mouth.
He would do a million goofy things to have that happen again.
But she stood, her plate and mug empty. “Well, enough of this leisurely morning. There is work to be done.”
“No rush.”
She placed the dishes in his sink, her eyes caught on something outside the window. “Not true, Dan. It’s nearly nine a.m. I haven’t started a day this late in…ever. Even when I have the flu, I get out of bed and do chores before nine.”
“Well, that’s just sad, darlin’.”
She shook her head, shoulders back, and fixed him with an I’m-the-boss glare. “We have work to do, and it’s long past work hours.” Some of her surety faded and she smoothed a hand over her hair. “I’m going to need to go home for a little bit. I don’t have…work clothes.” Her cheeks were pink as she fiddled with the hem of the shirt, pulling it down. “I’ll work overtime.”
“You know that’s hardly necessary.”
“It’s very necessary. You’re paying me to do a job, and I intend to do it. Otherwise…” She looked off at some point past his shoulder, expression pained. “Paying me and having sex is weird without work.”
He pushed away from the table, irritated at what she was insinuating. He wasn’t sure what the odd mix of discomfort and twisting in his stomach was, but he didn’t like it. “I’m not so hard up I have to lure women to sleep with me.”
She didn’t even falter when he stood toe to toe with her.
“I’m sure you’re not, but nevertheless…”
“Honey, your nevertheless always wants to make me beat my head against the wall.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Mel,” he said, cupping her face. He liked that for some reason, the feel of her cheeks under his palms, the way she looked up at him when he did it. She always felt warm and real and…alive, with a kind of current that seeped into him, something akin to the feeling he got when he was on the ice. Like there was some untold source of energy there.
“Mel,” he repeated. He’d lost his train of thought on what they’d been talking, er, arguing about. So, he kissed her instead.
He had been braced for an argument, but she didn’t give it. She sighed against his mouth, and he wanted her again. Again and again.
“I need guidelines. For me,” she said against his mouth, not pulling away, not uncurling her fingers from his forearms.
“All right. Name them.”
“I need eight hours of every day that are spent on working your ranch. No touching, no flirting, and definitely no sexing.”
How she said that with a straight face was beyond him. “Sexing,” he said with a snort. “You are something else, Mel Shaw.”
“Deal, then?”
“One question.”
“Yeah,” she said warily, but remained still against him, still not backing away or putting distance between them.
“Do they have to be eight straight hours, or can there be…breaks?”
The slight pink to her cheeks went darker, but her eyes just drifted down to his mouth. “Um, well, I guess. As long as the breaks were specifically delineated.”
“All right. Specifically delineate.” He backed her into his bedroom, more than gratified at the sound of her laugh, the wideness of her smile.
Yeah, taking care wasn’t half bad.
Chapter 13
The stars were out in full force, and Mel knew she needed to head home. She had snuck home after Break #1, managed to avoid Caleb and Dad, and had returned to Dan—no, Dan’s ranch—and put in eight full hours of work on preparing his stables for llamas.
Okay, and two breaks.
Really awesome breaks.
How much longer could she let
that go on?
Worry about it later. Yeah, much later.
“Did it ever freak you out as a kid?” he asked.
She glanced back at Dan, who was sitting on the fence they’d just expanded, the llama not too far to his right. The damn thing still tried to bite her if she got that close to it, but it seemed to understand Dan was its meal ticket.
“Did whatever freak me out?” she asked, patting down her pockets to make sure she had her keys and wallet. She couldn’t deny she didn’t want to head home any more than she could deny she needed to go check in on things.
He motioned his chin toward the sky. “Look at all that. So big and vast and bright and we’re just…these little blips. Gives me the creeps. Like aliens are watching me.”
She snorted. “City boy. Just wait till you see the Northern Lights.” Oh, wait, he probably wouldn’t be here to see those, would he? She turned her gaze back to the sky. It was vast, with bright dots and trails of stars and cosmos and whatever else was up there, the world around them completely dark.
It had never been her favorite part of the day. Darkness had always meant too much time for thinking. The fuzzy reminder of something she wasn’t sure was a dream or reality.
Mom whispering good-bye in the dark.
“I have to go.”
“You could stay.”
“Unfortunately, I really can’t. Dad’s nurse quit yesterday, and…” She had never mentioned Caleb’s issues to Dan, not in detail, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to now. “I just need to make sure he’s okay, start trying to make some alternate arrangements.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
Tempting, but she needed to be careful about where she let Dan help. Distractions, yes. Family stuff, that had to be a no. Because it was her family, and she would always be bound to them. She would not always be bound to Dan. She wasn’t bound to Dan, period.
She might do good to remind him of that as well as herself. “Not unless you can find some pretty nurse to charm into working for me three days a week.”
“I’m only interested in charming one pretty rancher at the moment.”
