I, along with every woman in existence, knew exactly what she meant.
Glancing down at my outfit, I suddenly felt self-conscious. “You don’t like the way I dress?” I asked, though it should have been more of a statement. Most people didn’t like the way I dressed. Despite everyone advocating uniqueness and marching to the beat of your own drum, that only went so far.
“Are you kidding me?” Rose said, raising her brows. “I love the way you dress. I love that you know who you are and aren’t afraid to show it.” Man, did I have Rose fooled. “But I also know a fair share of those guys are going to love it, too. Love it in the inappropriate way.” Her eyes fell to the hem of my plaid, pleated skirt. It was short. Short even by a call girl’s standards. I had an opaque pair of black tights on below it, but I’d cut and slashed them, so just as much skin showed as was covered.
“Oh,” I said, fingering the hem of my skirt. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”
“Don’t you worry about it, Rowen. I’m not here to tell you how or how not to dress. If this is what you wear, that’s great.” Rose ran her hand up and down me, making her silver and turquoise bracelets jingle. “But Neil and I are also responsible for your safety and well-being while you’re here. I’ve got a household to run, and I can’t be worrying at every meal that one of those guys out there will try to sweet-talk you into his bed at night.” Rose paused. Tucking her hand under my chin, she lifted it until I looked at her. “Do you understand, Rowen? I want to respect who you are, and I need to look after you. If this is how you dress every day and will continue to dress while you’re here, that’s just fine. There’s always plenty of laundry and household chores that need doing every day that would keep you out of the guys’ sight.”
“I understand.” I suddenly felt very aware of the hoop pierced through my eyebrow and my shirt’s low neckline. “Thank you for respecting me enough to not order me to go change.” When I’d started dressing differently and wearing my hair and makeup darker than other girls, Mom went so far as to hold me down and remove what I was wearing, one piece at a time. A lot of good that had done. “But even if I wanted to, what you see is what I packed. I can’t remember the last time I bought a pair of denim-colored jeans.”
“Then let’s do this today. I’ll have you manning the laundry room, and if you decide you just can’t imagine doing another load of laundry come tomorrow, we can figure out a way to get you some boring blue jeans. Then you can rotate through the chores like me and the girls do. Whatever you want to do, I’m good with it.”
As Rose started for the door, I said, “That’s right. You’re good with chaos.”
“So long as it’s organized,” she added, lifting her finger.
“See you later then. I’ll try not to break your laundry room.”
“I’ll check in with you after breakfast to see how you’re doing. You can get started with the clothes in that cart.” She pointed at a cart, an actual cart the size of a couch, filled to the brim with clothing. For the third time that morning, my mouth dropped open. “Oh, and Rowen . . .”
“Yeah?” I managed after pulling my jaw off the ground.
“I really do like the way you dress. If I had your figure and your courage, I’d wear the same thing.”
“What are you talking about?” I said, taking a good look at her. “You’ve got a great figure, and any woman brave enough to cook twenty-one meals a week for twenty people has a heck of a lot more courage than me.”
Rose waved her hand dismissively. “I used to have a great figure. That was before having kids.” She patted her stomach like it was anything but flat.
“For a woman who’s given birth to four . . . four,” I emphasized, “babies, you look amazing.”
Rose’s face fell for a moment, just barely, but I took note. That warm smile of hers lit up her face again before she waved and closed the door behind her.
I DIDN’T CARE if I had to wear overalls, pig tails, and rename myself Peggy Sue for the rest of the summer. I would do it to avoid spending another all day stint in the laundry room I was quite certain would haunt my nightmares for years to come.
That one ranch could keep four washers and four dryers in non-stop rotation didn’t seem possible, but after being up to my elbows in suds and sheets, I discovered just how possible it was. If I never saw another white undershirt in my life, I’d be good to go. Really.
I’d barely made it through the small vehicle-sized cart of laundry before the girls walked in with another full cart of sheets and towels. Willow Springs didn’t only provide meals for the ranch hands; they provided living quarters in some bunkhouse I had yet to see and, as I’d gained firsthand knowledge of, laundry service. The girls all took a break from their chores to help me fold the first four loads, and if speed folding was a competitive sport, each one would have a first place ribbon. They were still shy, casting a few sideways glances my way, but Clementine actually braved a few words. With a concerned face, she inspected my tights before offering to let me borrow a pair of her tights if I wanted. Hers didn’t have any rips or tears.
I thanked her for the offer and said I’d have to get back with her.
After another eight hours stuffed inside that torture chamber, I didn’t care if her tights were pale pink and dotted with cutsie white bows. I needed out of here. I had to figure out a way to get some “ranch appropriate” duds unless I wanted to spend another day in laundry hell. I had no clue how far away the nearest store was, but I didn’t care if I had no other way to get there than on foot. I would whistle every step of the way.
Rose had brought me breakfast and lunch and checked on me a few times in between. I guessed dinner was getting close because the room filled up with food smells again. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be in here, but the new dirty laundry arrivals had stopped coming a few hours ago, so maybe . . .
I was folding my last pile of clothes when a sock fell off the side of the island. I’d dropped as much laundry as I’d folded.
Blowing out a breath, I kneeled and crawled around the side of the island. I’d just snagged the escapee sock when the door to the laundry room flew open. But it wasn’t Rose.
Nope. Definitely not Rose.
Jesse tossed his hat onto the island before tugging his shirt free of his jeans. They were just as tight as the ones he’d worn yesterday. I was ready to bolt up and demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing stripping in front of me when he pulled the dirty, damp shirt from his body and tossed it into one of the laundry carts.
He didn’t know I was there. I wasn’t exactly making my presence known by staying motionless in my hiding spot. I might have been on all fours on the floor of a laundry slash torture room, but right then, I had the best damn view in the house.
Making his way over to the utility sink, Jesse cranked on the water before leaning down and splashing his face and hair. Hello, fine, fine ass. How I’d missed you.
He turned off the water and grabbed a towel hanging over the edge of the sink. As Jesse straightened up, my eyes shifted from the denim suctioning that backside up the seam of his back.
Hot damn, did that man have more than his fair share of muscles. As my eyes explored his back, lingering on the shadowed groves and highlighted peaks, I had the nearly uncontrollable urge to touch him. To feel him. To scroll my finger through the lines making up Jesse Walker.
My heartbeat picked up, along with my breathing, and the space below my navel started firing to life in a familiar way.
What the hell?
Was I about to get off in a laundry room spying on the back of some cowboy I’d known for all of a day and a half?
After Jesse finished drying his face, he tossed the towel into the cart, too. Okay, he was done. He’d removed his filthy shirt, washed up, and he could get out of here so I could get back to taking full breaths again.
That was when he unfastened his belt buckle and moved for his fly.
Ah, hell.
“Stop!” I sho
uted right as his thumbs hitched beneath the waist of his jeans. If I had to watch the rest of the Jesse Walker strip tease, I would moan the alphabet.
Jesse spun around. His look of surprise fell when he saw me peeking my head around the side of the island.
My gaze shifted from his face down. And I thought his back had been worthy of building the pyramids all over again. The wide chest, flowing down to his tapered waist, trailing down to his . . .
The undone belt buckle and button of his jeans did not make it easy to not think about certain pieces of anatomy I really shouldn’t be thinking about when he looked at me like that.
“Are you spying on me?” Those sky blue eyes sparkled as he took a few steps my way.
I forced myself to close my eyes because I seemed incapable of looking away from his general navel area. Those deeply grooved muscles angling their way to his . . . ahem . . . weren’t making it any easier for me to not think about it.
“No,” I replied, my voice three notes too high. “I was looking for some stupid sock I dropped, minding my own business, when you burst in and started taking your clothes off.” In addition to my voice being a few notes too high, it was also a few notches too loud.
“And you decided to stay silent and hidden for the entire time I was stripping and washing because . . .?” he asked, but he wasn’t really asking. That smirk of his gave away that he knew exactly what I’d been doing. When I didn’t answer, his smirk grew more pronounced. “Because you were enjoying the free show.” Not a smidgeon of doubt.
My eyes snapped open, and I forced them, upon penalty of plucking them out, to stay north of his neck. Not that Jesse’s face calmed my heartbeat, but at least my lady business wasn’t about to bust something.
“Not even,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “I was waiting patiently for you to be on your merry way.”
“Sure you were.”
“Sure I wasn’t doing whatever you so egotistically think I was doing,” I snapped back.
“Whatever, Rowen. You were checking me out so hardcore your face is still red.” Jesse took a few more steps my way. Crouching down beside me, his smirk shifted into a smile. “Mind if I join you down here?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” I lied. “Besides, I don’t think there’s enough room for your big head and bigger ego down here.”
He leaned his arms onto the tops of his legs, making his shoulders roll forward. So much for keeping my eyes in the safe zone.
“Not to mention my big muscles,” he replied in that tone that was as infuriating as him smirking at me. To drive the point home, the muscles spanning his chest popped a bit more to the surface.
My throat went dry.
“If you’re going to hover a foot in front of me, put on a damn shirt or something.” I wrote off playing it cool because I’d failed miserably. Jesse knew exactly what he was doing to me, and from the look on his face, he was enjoying the way I was unraveling.
“If I put on a shirt, will you do something for me?” His eyes, for the first time since he’d kneeled beside me, shifted from my face. They skied down the plane of my back and bend of my legs. His eyes went a shade darker before he clamped them closed. “Could you sit up? Or, better yet, stand up?” When his eyes reopened, one side of his face lined when he found me in the same position. On my hands and knees. With a short skirt on and my ass practically hanging in the air.
I don’t know if I’d ever sat up so quickly in my life.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, skimming my hands down the front of my skirt before standing. I didn’t know what the big deal was. It wasn’t the first short skirt I’d ever worn, and I’m sure it wasn’t the first time I’d been in an inappropriate position wearing one, but Jesse had a way of making me more self-conscious about it. He made everything a bit more intimate.
“I guess I see why Mom’s got you hiding out back here.” He flashed me a wink as he popped up beside me. “And no need to apologize.” He grabbed a white undershirt from the top of the pile and tugged it over his head. “I wasn’t complaining.”
I rolled my eyes and gently punched him in the stomach. Yep. It was as hard as it looked.
“And here I thought you cowboys were supposed to be gentlemen.”
Jesse lifted an eyebrow. “Emphasis on the men.” He was tucking his shirt into his pants when he paused. “Whoa. This is the whitest, most wrinkle-free undershirt I’ve ever slipped into.”
I patted the stack of shirts and pants on the counter that I’d taken a bit more care with. The clothes labeled with a JW on the inside tags. “I might have bleached your shirts and ironed them after.”
“You . . . ironed . . . my shirts?”
He looked and sounded a little shocked. All I could do was nod.
“Why?”
Exactly. Why? Why had I taken such care with Jesse’s clothes? My immediate answer scared me, so I decided it was time for a conversation change. “By the way, thank you for mentioning you’re not just a ranch hand at Willow Springs, but you’re the owner’s son.”
“You didn’t ask,” he said, tucking his shirt into his pants before buttoning and buckling his pants back up. It was a relief. And yet, it wasn’t.
With Jesse properly covered again, I had an easier time keeping my eyes on his. “Are we back to that whole question and answer thing? Because I don’t think the fact that you’re a Walker is something I should have to waste a question on. That should be common knowledge. A freebie, or something.”
“A freebie?” he repeated, like he was unfamiliar with the idea.
“Yes, a freebie. Things like last names, pedigree, shoe size, et cetera, et cetera, shouldn’t have to be revealed through this sick game of Q and A you forced me into. Some pieces of information should qualify as freebies.” Crossing my arms, I leveled him with a look. “Things like your last name being Walker.”
He crossed his arms, too. “I didn’t realize this was a rule to the game I made up. My bad. It won’t happen again.” He was amused. By me or the conversation or who knows what, but I could tell from the way only one of his dimples was on display. “And you expect me to believe you would or will give me any freebies in the getting-to-know-you department? Because really, Rowen. I’ve seen brahma bulls that open up easier than you.”
I knew that was true. I had a million issues, the most apparent one being my inability to open up to others, but hearing it from Jesse still hurt like hell. In a little over twenty-four hours, he had figured that out about me.
Only because I felt a little belligerent did I snap back when I should have shut my mouth and gotten back to folding. “Oh, really? Two ton bulls who can’t talk, have kiwi-sized brains, and basically want to kill you if you come within ten feet of them open up better than I do?” I stepped into him, trying to get into his face. I stepped back when I realized just how close that put me to his mouth. “What do you want to know then, Cowboy? What are you so certain I’ve been hiding from you? What could someone like you possibly want to know about someone like me?”
The words spilled from his mouth like he’d only been waiting for me to ask. “Why are you here?”
That was quite possibly the easiest hard question to answer.
“I want to go to art school in the fall,” I said, hoping that answer would appease him. Knowing it wouldn’t.
“And what does Willow Springs have to do with art school in the fall?” He searched my face like he expected the answers to be there if he looked close enough.
I inhaled slowly to give myself a chance to put together my answer. “The school I want to go to is expensive. My mom only agreed to fund it if I came and worked here this summer.” I did an internal cartwheel; honest, yet vague. Just the way I preferred my answers.
“Why would your mom only agree to pay for school if you worked the summer here?” Jesse asked with genuine curiosity. He leaned into the island and waited for my response.
“Your dad and mom didn’t tell you why I was coming here?” I found that hard to b
elieve.
He shrugged his shoulders. “They told the girls and me that the daughter of one of Mom’s old friends was coming to spend the summer with us. There weren’t any additional details.”
“They didn’t tell you why?” If it wasn’t for the innocence of Jesse’s expression, that would have been utterly impossible to believe.
“No,” he said with another shrug. “And I didn’t ask.”
I didn’t know what was worse: assuming Jesse knew what a bad egg I was all along, or realizing I’d have to tell him face-to-face.
Either way, I was about to find out.
“I’m here because I mess up, Jesse. I mess up a lot. So much my own mom has pretty much written me off as a lost cause. I’m a failure at pretty much everything—I barely graduated high school—and, for whatever reason, she chose Willow Springs as the place I could redeem myself and prove to her I’m not the piece of shit failure she thinks I am.” The words came out strong, but I felt anything but. Admitting that to Jesse, a person I wanted to like me, I really wanted to like me, made me feel weak and vulnerable.
Jesse’s expression didn’t change. His eyes didn’t leave mine. Nothing I said ruffled him. “Rowen,” he said, moving his hand toward mine like he wanted to grab it. At the last moment, he pulled back. “I’ve known you a solid day and a half, and I would swear on my life that you’re not a lost cause. Or a failure.”
I opened my mouth to interrupt.
“Or a piece of shit failure,” he said, making air quotes with one hand. “So why are you really here?”
Just like that, he’d moved past the whole Rowen-Sterling-Is-A-Waste-Of-Space topic. Apparently it was settled in his mind I was not the person my mom, ninety-nine percent of other people I’d come in contact with, and myself, as of late, thought I was. The only thing that mattered to him was why I was there.
Lost & Found Page 5
