by Nika Rhone
After his mother had died.
And just like that, all of the tension came flowing back in. Why had she opened her stupid mouth and said anything? They’d been having a lovely afternoon, and then she’d gone and ruined it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”
“It’s fine.”
Amelia didn’t buy that for a second. There were some serious emotions still wrapped around his mother’s death. Maybe in part due to the fact that after losing her, he’d apparently also lost the stability of the only home he’d ever known? Why had Hank left the Marine Corps? Why had he brought his son to Hayden, and how had they ended up on the Circle R?
She wanted to ask, but caution urged her to remain silent. It wasn’t any of her business, but she wanted to know anyway. Because she had a curious mind. It had absolutely nothing to do with the tiny flutters that struck watching him eat that apple, or the avid fascination she felt when he’d run a dampened bandana over his face and neck while the horses had been drinking their fill from the stream.
Absolutely not.
After a few minutes of tense silence, Daryl relented. “Dad was born on the Rez. So when he had to leave the Corps to take care of me, he went back to the only place he knew. But there isn’t a lot of work to be had there, and being a Marine didn’t exactly give him a lot of marketable job skills, so he ended up here, doing the only other thing he knew how to do. Wrangle horses.”
That was probably the most she’d ever heard him say at one time about himself, and yet it raised more questions than it answered.
“So, you went from living on military bases to living on a ranch. That must have been quite an adjustment for you.”
“I hated it. For the first few months, I hated everything about this place.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I saw my first horse being born. I helped my first horse being born.” A small smile of remembered pleasure quirked his lips.
“You helped? You had to have been what, seven years old?”
“Almost eight. But that was why I was able to help. The mare in labor was having trouble. The foal was caught up inside and wouldn’t come out. The vet was a no-show, and the foal was so big that nobody else could get a hand far enough inside to straighten out the leg that was stuck. But my hands were a lot smaller than theirs.”
Realizing what he meant, Amelia felt a little queasy. “Oh, my goodness. So you had to…” She couldn’t voice it out loud. The picture in her head was bad enough.
“Foal came out slicker than snot after that, as Zeke would say.” Daryl laughed at the face she made. “Jasper was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I never wanted to leave the barn after that. The hands were always chasing me off so they could work, until one day Zeke put a muck rake in my hand and told me if I was going to be underfoot anyway, I might as well make myself useful.”
There was an air of happiness about him as he spoke that Amelia hadn’t seen in him before. Which was a shame because it was a very good look for him. He seemed younger, somehow. Freer.
“Zeke, huh?” He’d been back in the bunkhouse resting when they returned from church. The stitches in his leg would keep him off his feet for a few days, but as he predicted that had been the worst of it. “So he was even working for your father all the way back then.”
And just like that, the happiness and ease were gone, replaced by the stone-faced mask. “No. He worked for Kim.” He gave Casper a nudge, sending the horse into a trot.
Cleo, distressed at being left behind, pranced a few steps and gave the reins a mighty tug. Amelia let Cleo have her head. Zeke had worked for Kim? Amelia had just assumed Hank had purchased the ranch on his return to Hayden, but that didn’t seem to be the case. If Kim had owned the Circle R, did that mean Hank had worked for her, too? Her brain turned over all of the possibilities, but she refused to ask any more questions, no matter how much she wanted to know.
Daryl opened the gate between two of the grazing fields, securing it behind them before riding on again, all still in the stony silence that had descended over them. Amelia’s throat ached. She just never knew when to keep her mouth shut and leave well enough alone.
Charles had flung that accusation at her with increasing regularity as the wedding plans had swung into high gear and she tried to involve herself in at least some way. It hadn’t seemed like a lot to ask, seeing as she was the bride. But Charles blamed Amelia for any strife that arose between her and his mother, telling Amelia she needed to learn the art of compromise.
Dipping a hand into the bag slung around her saddle horn, she popped an antacid out of its roll and quickly chewed, the once delicious sandwich starting to bubble around in her stomach. Charles hadn’t wanted compromise. He wanted a pretty puppet that would do whatever he wanted without question or argument. When he didn’t get his way, he either yelled or went totally silent to punish her. Not that Amelia thought Daryl was trying to punish her for being too nosy. The end result, however, was the same. Just like a dog beaten one too many times flinches at a raised hand, her body reacted to any perceived disapproval with an overabundance of stomach acid and nerves.
Casper drew to a halt. Cleo followed suit without Amelia’s direction. Looking over at Daryl was difficult, since she knew she probably hadn’t been able to compose her face back into its usual calm façade, but she managed a credibly inquisitive smile. At least, she thought she did. It was too difficult to tell from his expression, which was well shaded under the brim of his hat in the afternoon sun.
“Look.” He nodded off to their left.
Amelia let out a small, delighted gasp. About a half-dozen horses grazed in the field, and romping around them were four gangly-legged yearlings. Two were chasing each other in large circles around the group, while the other two played what looked like a horsey version of hide-and-seek between the legs of the adults, who were ignoring their antics with the quiet aplomb of seasoned parents.
After watching the young horses frolic for a few minutes, Daryl and Amelia turned their mounts toward the barn. By the time they dismounted in the stable yard, Amelia felt like some sort of peaceful balance had been restored between them. She accepted Ned’s offer to remove Cleo’s saddle for her because she wasn’t certain she could manage it on her own, and the last thing she wanted was to end the ride landing on her butt in the dirt.
She did, however, insist on handling Cleo’s grooming herself. It was dirty, monotonous work, but it was the price you paid in return to the horse for the service it gave you. That, and a nice flake of hay. It was a toss-up which of the two Cleo enjoyed more. But at least the mare tore herself away from the treat to give Amelia a friendly head-butt as she patted her neck in farewell. Daryl was nowhere in sight, so she walked by herself back up to the main house, squelching the small pinch of disappointment.
After a glass of cold water in the kitchen to quench her parched throat, Amelia retreated to her bedroom, where she shed her borrowed boots, jeans—now well-secured thanks to a belt from Kim—and top, all of which smelled too much of horse to continue wearing for the rest of the day. She was dirty, sweaty, her muscles ached, and she was pretty sure she smelled as bad as her clothes.
She hadn’t been happier in years.
After a quick shower, she’d go back to the kitchen and help Kim with the evening meal. There had already been a few pots simmering on the stove, but she knew the chickens had yet to be seasoned for roasting, and there was a twenty-pound sack of potatoes that had her name written all over it.
Pinning her hair up to keep it dry, Amelia opened the door to the bathroom. She was reaching for the clasp on her bra when her brain caught up with her eyes and she realized there was already somebody else in the bathroom, stepping out of the shower.
And he was naked.
She froze. Time stopped. The world tilted. Every reasonable thought she’d ever had went flying out of her head. All she could do was stare at the long expanse of caramel-colored skin th
at faced her, still gleaming wet with water that ran down a strong back to the taut globes of his—
She must have made a noise because Daryl’s head whipped around, his eyes first widening then narrowing as he saw her standing there. With slow deliberateness, he reached over and dragged a towel off the bar and wrapped it around his waist. Only then did he turn to face her.
The view was even better from this side, although some heretofore unknown part of her mourned the fact that he’d put the towel on first. His black hair was slicked back from his face, revealing its stark beauty of strong cheekbones and piercing eyes. There was a small smattering of the same dark hair running across a chest that was impressively well proportioned with his shoulders, which looked even broader now that there wasn’t a shirt hiding them. That line of hair arrowed down his belly and disappeared under the knot in the towel, leaving her imagination running riot over just what was concealed below it.
Oh God!
A small squeak erupted from her lips. She was ogling the man. But really, how could she not? He was in her bathroom. Naked. It wasn’t her fault that her eyes wouldn’t look away from his body. Not that she’d tried. Reluctantly, she did, managing to raise them back up that expansive chest and all the way to his face.
“I, ah, was going to take a shower.” The words were barely a whisper. “Why are you in my bathroom?” Because, God, he’d been naked.
One of Daryl’s dark brows raised in what might have been amusement. “It’s a Jack-and-Jill.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means it’s our bathroom.” He gestured behind him to the door standing open on the far end of the room. She’d just assumed it was a linen closet or something. Evidently, it led to another bedroom. His bedroom. Why hadn’t she considered that possibility?
Because she was an idiot.
“Oh.” There was no etiquette lesson for her to draw on that covered walking in on a naked man in the shower. “I’m sorry.” She stammered, even as that other naughty-minded part of her was willing the knot in the towel to give way. “I was going to take a shower.” She was repeating herself, but at this point she was lucky there were actual words coming out of her mouth.
Daryl’s lips twitched at the corners. “I can see that.”
He could…oh. Oh! She was standing there in nothing more than her bra and panties, which meant Daryl was getting almost as big an eyeful as she was. Horrified, she squeaked out, “Oh, my God!” and spun back into her room, slamming the door and leaning against it, hands covering her face in mortification. Not only had she walked in on him, but she’d stood there, staring, in her underwear.
She was never going to be able to face the man again.
Chapter Fifteen
Dinner was awkward.
Forking up a mouthful of potatoes that were just a little lumpier than usual, Daryl did his best to act as though nothing had changed between himself and the woman sitting next to him, but it was impossible. Amelia hadn’t been able to meet his gaze for more than two seconds since he entered the kitchen. And him?
He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her.
From the normal tone of the conversation around the table, it didn’t seem as though anyone else noticed the strained silence that enveloped the two of them like a bubble waiting to burst. Which was good, because really, what could he possibly say to explain? Sorry, but Amelia walked in on me buck-ass naked in the shower and she’s a little weirded out by it?
Hell, he was a little weirded out by it.
Not so much that she’d seen his naked ass. Years with the rodeo pretty much cured him of any body-shyness, especially with regard to women. No, the weirdness came from the fact that it was Amelia who had been staring at his naked ass. And, judging by the way her eyes had been dilated to a dark, smoky green, she liked what she’d seen.
Amelia freaking Westlake.
Could his life get any more complicated?
Evidently yes, because if he was honest with himself, Amelia wasn’t the only one in that bathroom who’d gotten a little turned on. Part of it had been the way she looked at him with such feminine appreciation. But the other part, the weird and uncomfortable part, was that she was an attractive woman, and she’d been close to naked herself.
Sure, he’d always acknowledged she was pretty. But never, not once, had the thought of her being sexy ever entered his brain. Ever. Dainty. Fragile. Ethereal. But never sexy. But as he turned around to face her and her eyes had traveled a path down his body like he was a sculpture in a museum she was trying to memorize, he’d been free to look his fill at hers without her realizing it. And what he’d seen, he liked. A lot.
Too much.
She wasn’t a buckle bunny, or a bar pick-up, or even just an ordinary woman. She was the Westlake Princess. Someone so fucking far out of his league that he was surprised lightning didn’t come straight down from the sky and strike him dead for the lustful thoughts he couldn’t seem to keep out of his brain.
Because she’d been perfection.
He knew from the times he’d helped her in and out of his truck that she had a tiny waist, but he hadn’t noticed her hips flared back out in a pleasant curve, giving her a bit of an hourglass shape despite the fact she was so obviously underweight. And her breasts. Dear Lord, her breasts. Even encased in plain white cotton they’d been delectable looking little treats. A perfect handful. He couldn’t see what color her nipples were, but judging by her almost translucent pale skin, he could imagine them being the most delicate shade of pink, like the inside of the seashells he’d used to pick up on the beach as a kid.
Put all together, she was a package that could tempt any man to insanity. But the fact remained he wasn’t just any man, any more than she was just any woman. He was her bodyguard. True, he wasn’t protecting so much as babysitting, but the same basic principles applied. She was a job. End of story.
So why, then, couldn’t he seem to stop thinking about her? Or looking at her? Or thinking about looking at her?
Amelia, on the other hand, wouldn’t even meet his eyes when she passed him the peas, not skipping a beat in her conversation with Chaz, the bastard, who’d once again claimed the seat on her other side. Passing the dish on to Horace, he stabbed a piece of chicken and forked it into his mouth, chewing hard enough to make his teeth hurt. Wasn’t it just like a woman? She’d walked in on him, and here she was, giving him the silent treatment as though he’d been the one who’d been in the wrong.
By the time large wedges of apple pie were served for dessert, Daryl’s skin felt about two sizes too small for his body. His temper, the one he’d tamed and caged so many years ago, was jerking its leash, trying to break free. If Amelia thought he was going to put up with her high-and-mighty act for the rest of their time together, she had another think coming.
After escaping the house for the barn, he wished there was still enough light left for him to take one of the horses out and pound out his foul mood with a good gallop. Riding obstinate bulls and bedding willing women had also been useful outlets for his frustration, but since none of the three were currently an option, he’d have to settle for the simple monotony of grooming. The frisky stallion that had put Zeke out of commission that morning might be enough of a challenge to brush out to serve as adequate distraction, but a plaintive nicker for attention had him changing directions.
Stroking his hand down the palomino’s nose, she blew a frustrated puff of warm air into his face. Daryl chuckled.
“Feeling out of sorts, Miss Delilah?” He slipped inside the stall and ran his hands over the mare’s swollen sides. She shuffled restlessly, her tail flicking in irritation. “I know you’re uncomfortable, darlin’,” he crooned. “But you’ll be having this baby real soon.” Very soon, if the firmness he felt was any indication.
Gathering up his tools, he set to work giving the mare a gentle but thorough brushing, taking the extra time to massage muscles that were likely tight and sore from carrying all the extra weight of
the foal, and finished by wrapping her tail. Her rump muscles hadn’t started to soften yet, so she wouldn’t be foaling tonight, but with horses it was always better safe than sorry. He’d seen mares fool everyone and go into labor without having shown even one of the usual indicators.
By the time he made it back to his room, he not only had his temper back under control, but he was feeling a little foolish for letting himself get so bothered by Amelia’s snub. Why the hell should he care if she preferred listening to Chaz than say two words to him? So what if she’d looked at his naked body with the hot interest of a woman thinking of claiming what she saw? It wasn’t as though he wanted her to do any claiming. Theirs was a working relationship. Period.
He’d been lying on his bed, hands stacked under his head, staring at the ceiling and trying to will himself to sleep for almost an hour when he heard the faint knock. It took him a second to realize it hadn’t come from the door to the hallway, but the one that led to the bathroom. Which meant it could only be one person.
Looking at the sky for patience, he pulled on his jeans before stalking to the door and pulling it open.
Amelia blinked at the abrupt opening. “I, ah, I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No.”
“Oh. Good.” She fidgeted with the belt on her robe, her gaze darting to his face and away several times. “I, ah, I just wanted to, ah…” She yanked on the belt again as though she didn’t know what else to do with her hands before blurting out, “Could you maybe please put on a shirt or something?”
The perverse part of him that enjoyed her discomfort made him say, “Why? It isn’t anything you haven’t seen before.” Red stained her cheeks, making him feel like an ass. Muttering a curse under his breath, he retrieved his shirt from the floor and yanked it on, buttoning two buttons to hold it closed. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She cleared her throat and raised her eyes to meet his. “I wanted to apologize. For earlier.”
