“Miah, I have to go,” she tried again a little louder.
“Damn, babe,” he chuckled against her skin. “Need more of me already, huh?”
She blushed to her toes, thankful he couldn't see her in the dark even as she snorted and pushed his arm off of her and slid out of the covers. “I have to go to work. Do you think I could wear one of your t-shirts or something?”
She crouched down and felt around on the floor for her skinny jeans and tank top.
Jeremiah pushed up on one elbow and watched her for a second before leaning over and turning the lamp on. Ryan spotted her bra and snatched it up, turning her back to the bed.
Jeremiah's arms wrapped around her stomach from behind and pulled her back to his warm chest. “You have to go right now?”
She fought the instinct to yank out of his grasp. “Yeah. Doc sent a text.”
Jeremiah sighed, not even attempting to disguise his frustration. She stuck her arms through the straps of her bra and clipped the front closure. Turning around she hesitantly ran her hands over his muscular and tanned shoulders stopping at the side of his neck. Every time she moved to touch him, it felt stuck, like gears grinding together instead of switching smoothly. She wondered if that would ever go away. Was it just because she wasn't used to it? Or was her head broken?
“You know I'd love to stay, but this is my job,” she said softly.
His stared at her for a second before nodding. His eyes dropped to the swell of her breasts and his hands flexed on her hips.
She dipped her head and touched his lips with her own, forcing the contact. Making her best effort. Just like always. “What time do you leave?”
“Just before lunch. Cole is picking me up. We're taking his truck this time.”
“Call me when you leave. I'll take my break.”
He nodded, his hands roaming over her skin and dipping into the back of her panties. She grabbed his forearms in her hands as she took a step back.
“I really have to go. Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” She stepped into her dark blue skinny jeans and began to tug them on.
“What's that?” he asked, sounding distracted.
“A shirt,” she repeated, glancing up to catch his eyes. “Can I borrow something so I don't have to wear the one I wore last night?”
She had two reasons for not wanting to wear the one she wore last night. One, it was really nice, flowy, white and looked fantastic on her tanned skin, so she really didn't want to ruin it. Two, she was afraid someone would think she wasn't taking her job seriously. That someone being her dad.
Jeremiah's eyes clouded over with something Ryan couldn't identify. His jaw set and he lifted his chin. “Yeah. I know exactly which shirt you should wear.”
***
Ryan yawned and rubbed her eyes before looking back into the microscope. Nothing. She saw nothing abnormal.
Wait.
She saw nothing!
Hooray! This meant that Red's diet had transitioned completely and he was well within the parameters of Doc's special guidelines.
Ryan lifted both arms above her head in a victory pose and held it. Then she turned it into a stretch that elicited another yawn.
“Late night?”
She looked up to see Jesse grinning at her. She dropped her hands to her sides and smiled sheepishly.
“More like early morning. Normally I'm still sleeping.”
“I figured as much,” he said, placing a travel mug of coffee on the table. “Thought you might need that.”
“Thanks,” she said, reaching for it. “You're a life saver. I didn't have time to make coffee at Miah's before leaving.”
Jesse's posture straightened just noticeably. “That explains the shirt,” he said flatly.
Ryan tried to read his tone but found that she couldn't. And he was right. It was like Jeremiah had gone through the closet and found the one shirt that would scream, “I AM TAKEN BY A BULL RIDER.” It was black and four sizes too big with pearl snap buttons. She had to tie it at the front and wear her white camisole underneath it. Thankfully she'd left her fawn colored cowboy boots at his place the last time she'd spent the night so she didn't have to wear her ballet flats. Still, she looked slightly ridiculous in the skinny jeans and billowy men's shirt.
“I feel a little like Zorro,” she confessed with a slow blink.
Jesse barked a laugh and she brightened instantly.
He smiled a small smile at her and sighed just slightly. Like he had a sad secret he couldn't tell her. Sometimes Jesse Hart was the most mysterious man in the world.
“I have a confession. I brought the coffee as kind of a bribe,” he said, his deep voice remaining unchanged in tenor and tone. No wonder the horses responded so well to him. He spoke with such solidness and conviction. She'd be hard pressed to argue with anything he said.
But all she did was raise her eyebrows, signaling him to continue. He took a couple steps towards her.
“I need to get Red an early workout and none of the guys are here yet. I don't want to wait, he's raring to go.”
“The guys” being the jockeys or stable boys.
Yeah, it was that early.
Ryan felt her mouth get dry as Jesse took another step towards her, his eyes scanning her hair, her face, her clothes.
“Unless you're scared,” he said softly. Again, she felt that instinctive pull. Something in his voice that compelled her to lean a little closer, trusting him implicitly.
“Scared of what?” she whispered.
Jesse eyes went to her hair again. “Do you have a something to tie you hair back with, Ryan?”
She licked her lips as she thought about it. “No.”
“You might want to find something, beautiful. And that giant shirt is gonna have to come off, it'll spook the shit out of him.”
“'Kay,” she agreed readily. She was going to get to ride Red. Faramir's Fire. Holy shit.
His lips twitched with humor even as that sadness in his eyes became more pronounced. “Are you wearing anything underneath it?”
“Yeah, I have a cami on,” she confirmed.
“Good.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but he just slid his bottom lip in between his teeth and then swallowed. “Meet me outside.”
He turned and sauntered out of Doc's office, leaving Ryan out of breath. And she hadn't even gotten on the horse yet.
***
Jesse watched Ryan take Red around the track at a slow gallop, getting used to how he felt, how she felt.
She looked great up there, totally at ease on a beast that massive, her tiny body moving in perfect rhythm. Without that ridiculous shirt on, Ryan's light frame highlighted by the bright white of her tank top, floated like a fairy on Red's back. It was an image straight out of Narnia or Middle Earth — a fantasy come to life. And she had no idea. So unlike most women he was acquainted with, who were normally very aware of the image they were projecting or intending to project on the world around them. It was a strange connection she had to her body, aware of herself, without being aware of herself as a sexual being. What he wouldn't give for a glimpse into her psyche, a peek at the inner workings that made up her impulses and dreams and ideas.
His jaw ticked as he was reminded that it wasn't normal for him to want to get to know a colleague that deeply. The interest he had in her wasn't strictly professional and he knew that. He also wasn't trying too hard to avoid it. He liked her. He liked being around her. He sought her out all too often, allowing her to be an unnecessary distraction, nearly crossing the line into “creepy co-worker” territory.
But his senses had been honed to her rhythm the moment she'd hit his radar. Which had been about five seconds after they'd been introduced and she smiled at him.
That smile.
Fuck him.
That smile was the most open and beautiful thing he had ever seen. It transformed her already angelic face into something so powerfully blinding he was shocked he didn't fall at her feet every t
ime it happened.
But she didn't belong to him. Which he was okay with. A woman like that, with all of that to offer? She deserved someone a lot better than him. Someone who could handle that wild heart and sweet spirit without breaking it.
Which was why he was so pissed off that she was engaged to that idiot bull rider. The guy's job description was pretty telling on how he was going to handle Ryan's restlessness in the future. How he was already handling her, like she was something to be conquered.
What kind of a guy asks a woman out and attempts to build something with her on the heels of her mom passing away? It wasn't right. It was all sorts of messed up.
And Jesse's hands were tied.
“How's he looking this morning,” Caleb Zacherson interrupted Jesse's thoughts as he joined him at the fence.
“Looking good, sir,” Jesse responded, waiting for the man to realize who was on the back of Red.
“That doesn't look like one of our regulars,” Caleb remarked.
“Nope.” Jesse looked down at his stopwatch and signaled to Ryan to return to the start for the first sprint, then he turned his eyes to his boss. “I put Ryan up there today.”
Caleb sucked air in through his teeth as his eyes flashed his displeasure. “You mean to tell me that you put that clumsy intern on the back of a two hundred thousand dollar horse?”
Jesse narrowed his eyes. “I would venture a guess that the girl on the horse is worth more than that. But it's just a guess.”
Caleb lifted his chin, holding Jesse's stare. Clearly he wasn't happy with his trainer's inability to be intimidated by an expensive suit. “You know who you work for, don't you, Mister Hart?”
Jesse nodded once. “Work for. I don't worship.” He faced the track again and held up the flag getting ready to drop it. Ryan's eyes were trained on him and even from this distance, he could sense her anxiety at seeing her father at his side. Red was feeling it too, because he started to step sideways, his mouth working the bit in his mouth.
Jesse cursed under his breath and put the flag back down. He ducked under the fence and jogged out to them.
“Whoa,” he murmured to Red, letting the colt sniff his palm, as his other hand came out to slide up Ryan's leg. She looked at it, then up to him. He jerked his hand back, sensing that had been the exact wrong move.
“You're as turned up as a rain cloud, beautiful. Just relax. Red will do all the work.”
She swallowed and nodded, looking out across the open field in front of them.
He jerked his chin up slightly, getting her attention again. “You got this.”
His words hit their mark because she visibly relaxed.
Jesse grinned and jogged back to his place outside the fence. He lifted the flag again. He waved it and the two took off, a pounding blur of muscle and sunshine.
It was moments like these that reminded Jesse why he did the job he did, working for men like Caleb Zacherson.
So that he could see beauty like this.
three
“I believe most people would be inclined to being disheartened right about now, but not me.”
Ryan,
First of all, please dispose of all forced niceties when you write to me. I wouldn't waste my time replying to you if I wasn't interested in what you have to say.
Secondly, of course the characters talk to you, cheeky bastards. That's what they do. They get in your head and start to meddle until it's all you think about. Next thing you know, you've smoked a pack and a half of Reds and downed a bottle of bourbon and you had started out the day having never been a smoker and the bourbon was entirely too expensive to have ingested all in one sitting, which led to a very costly trip to the toilet.
But it's also left you with the beginnings of the roughest draft ever written. A draft that will need to be re-written a dozen times or more before you're even slightly satisfied with its content. And maybe not even then. But eventually you'll get past your insecurities and you'll let someone read it.
I'm lying of course. You never get past your insecurities. You'll be drunk and tired and end up emailing it to a friend in the middle of the night.
But now you've hit the next step and you know there's no going back.
So what does it take to get you to write that first draft? Should I send you an expensive bottle of bourbon?
Please advise.
Triston
It had been a week since her last message and Ryan couldn't stop grinning at Triston's unexpected reply. She wasted no time in typing out a quick response.
Triston,
Bourbon unnecessary at this juncture, but I'll keep your offer in mind.
I suppose I'm just not as brave as some. My mom was the brave one. And now that she's gone, I'm sort of faking it.
How about loads of chocolate? Do you suppose (in your expert opinion), that might be a decent writing fuel? I have a hankering for a cake.
Ryan
She hit send as she shook her head. She hadn't been expecting him to reply, especially once it had reached the one week mark. It just seemed ridiculous to think otherwise. Not only had he responded, he'd done so with humor and familiarity.
Ryan loved it.
She picked up her coffee cup and held it to her lips as she read his words again, jumping slightly when her inbox indicated a new message. Setting her cup down, she clicked on the highlighted message. He'd replied again already?
Ryan,
Cake is an excellent choice as long as you have plenty of coffee to wash it down with.
I'm sorry about your mum. I'm an orphan as well. I wonder if that's why I was drawn to your original message. Kindred spirits and all.
Anyhow, based on these new revelations, I need to alter my advice. It is imperative that you read Call of the Wild. I don't care if you read it as a child. Read it now. Right now. Not tomorrow. Today.
I'm attaching a link to a website where you can write fictional stories anonymously and receive feedback. Build yourself some confidence and get used to being critiqued. Your first assignment is to write a short story about your mum.
Trust me.
Send me the link when you've finished.
Triston
Ryan swallowed hard, feeling her heart beat heavy in her chest. Then she closed the laptop without responding.
She needed to think.
And she needed to get ready for work.
She didn't have time for things like that right now. Or today. Or this week.
***
Jesse heard muttering as he entered the far end of the stables. He automatically grinned, recognizing the mutterer instantly.
He slowed his pace and eased his arms over the stall wall with the single, sweaty occupant as she spread fresh shavings down. She'd been avoiding him for a couple of days. He suspected she was upset about him having her ride Red in front of her father. But until she said so, he could only guess.
“There,” she said, pushing her damp bangs off to the side with the back of her hand. “That looks nice.”
“Well done,” he agreed.
Ryan sucked in a loud breath and spun to face him. He grinned at her.
“You scared me,” she stated the obvious, a hand covering her heart.
“Your reaction was too hilarious for me to even be sorry,” Jesse replied.
Her glare was priceless and he found himself laughing outright.
“I wonder how hard you would've laughed if you'd accidentally sent me into cardiac arrest,” she said dryly, setting aside the pitchfork.
“I'm sure I could find a way to restart it.” He waited for her to cast him a look of disapproval at his obvious flirtation, but she just focused on returning the water and feed to their places. Not the first time that had happened. He cleared his throat. “You know, we have people who do this as their job.”
“I know,” she said. “It's been a quiet day and this one was left, so I told George I'd do it.”
“You volunteered?” he asked, eyebrows lifted.
&n
bsp; She shrugged and he noticed the tired lines around her eyes and her slight frown. Not answering him, she grabbed the pitchfork and made her way towards the outdoor sink to clean it. He followed.
He shouldn't ask. It was none of his business. She wasn't his and she wasn't ever going to be. But Jesse had an instinct that he couldn't ignore.
Interestingly enough, it didn't often work with people. People confused him. They were rigid and scheduled and they played games. Animals didn't have those things. They were fluid and honest.
So it was disconcerting to feel that knot in his gut — the one that told him very clearly that he needed to proceed with care — when he looked at Ryan.
“Have you had lunch yet?” he asked, taking the pitchfork away from her as she was headed to the storage room.
“Uh, no.” She rubbed her hands together and then on her jeans, confused.
He pulled his keys to his truck out of his pocket and tossed them to her. “I have a cooler in the back and I hate eating alone. I'll meet you there.”
He didn't wait for the argument that he knew she would give. He continued into the stable and replaced the fork, hoping she'd just do as he told her. If she decided to argue or blow him off, there was really nothing he could do to stop her. Not without arousing suspicion that this was more than an honest lunchtime break between coworkers.
Damn, he hated that word — coworker. He had never done well in the traditional workforce. He performed better when left to his own ideas and motivations. The standard hierarchy of employee/supervisor/boss never appealed to him. He was always going to be his own boss, there was no way around it. Even though, technically, he required employment from someone else in order to make his dream really work. It was a stupid line that he hated to walk but accepted as fact.
It also made relationships at work murky.
Jesse rounded the corner of the barn and saw her fidgeting nervously next to his passenger side door. She hadn't blown him off, but she wasn't exactly committed. He could work with that.
Stubborn Hearts Page 3
