Whatever It Takes (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 1)

by Lindsey Pogue

  “Sam, don’t be like this—”

  “Guys? Where’d everyone go?” Nick calls out just in time, his voice drawing closer. I turn back to camp, desperate to put some distance between us before I do something else I regret.

  Twenty-Four

  Sam

  “See ya, Sam!” Sarah calls as she ducks into her car parked across the drive, by the house.

  I wave goodbye as her Honda putters down the drive and back down the mountain, leaving me alone with the sounds of Shasta’s tail whipping at the flies and her heavy, lethargic breathing. I squirt her underbelly with the hose, but my thoughts are far away.

  It’s been three days since we returned from camping, and I’ve kept myself busy on the ranch with cleaning out stalls, refilling food bins, and exercising the horses, since Alison only had time to feed them while we were away. But as grueling as my workdays have been, they haven’t really helped keep my mind busy, not like they usually do.

  Everything from horseback riding by the lake to walking by Target’s freshly patched paddock or the sounds of construction drifting over from the other side of the hill seems to remind me of Reilly, of everything that happened between us in those two days, and most of all our kiss.

  On cue, Shasta whips me with her grey and white tail, and I’m brought back to a half-bathed horse anxiously pawing the dirt in front of me.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know you’re hungry. Hold your horses,” I say, shaking my head at the horrible pun.

  Like I’ve been doing since Mac dropped me off Sunday afternoon, I focus on my task, trying to keep myself from drowning in the sinkhole of what was I thinkings and never agains that seem to seep into my thoughts, uninvited. But what if . . .

  Hosing Shasta down again, I contemplate my date with Adam tomorrow night, wondering where he’s taking me and why I’m not more nervous about it.

  I need to call Mac, I remember. I need to pick up the dresses she’s lending me to choose from, and I need to find shoes to match. Staring down at the dirt beneath my fingernails and the horse hair covering my hands, a flit of anxiety brings to mind the list of all the other things I should probably be doing in preparation, too. I imagine the nerves I’ll have the moment he pulls up the drive, the surprise of where we’re going, if it’s fancy, if it will be awkward.

  “Ugh!” It’s so hot, it’s like my mind, my body, is melting, and everything is annoying me today. I have no idea what the hell I’m thinking by agreeing to go on a date with a client. A wealthy, committed client we rely on to keep the ranch going. But then again, Alison’s reaction when I told her was indifferent, so maybe it isn’t such a big deal.

  I drop the bristle brush in my hand, letting it thud onto the gravel. I’m not sure if it’s persistent nerves or if it’s just so hellishly hot outside, but I’m having a difficult time concentrating. Using the front of my damp tank top, I lean forward and wipe my brow. I’m somewhat calmed by the fact that Adam asked me out, knowing who I am and what I do. I’m sure he doesn’t expect to open the door to a princess tomorrow night.

  “Sam!” Nick calls, making me jump.

  “Jesus! I thought you left already.”

  “Nope.” His boot steps echo through the stable before he appears in the doorway. The neck and sides of his t-shirt are drenched with sweat. “I have to run to the feed store before they close.” He takes his hat off and uses the sleeve of his t-shirt to wipe his forehead. “Damn, it’s disgustingly hot today.” He lets out a deep breath. “I could really go for a dip in the lake right about now.” He sighs, resigned. “All the other horses are sprayed down, in their stalls, and fed. Can you manage things for the rest of the day?” He gives me a cheeky grin.

  “I’ll try my best,” I say, leading Shasta toward the automated walker to dry after her rubdown. “I guess we’ll just have to chance it, see what happens.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  I wink at him over my shoulder, and he offers me a crooked grin in return. “Well, then, unless you need me, I’m headed home after the store. But I’m taking your truck. I’ll bring everything up tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, tying Shasta to the metal arm of the hot walker.

  “Hey,” Nick says. “Do me a favor and take a damn break, would ya?” He turns and heads into the stable. “You’d get heatstroke if it was left up to you,” he grumbles. “It’s like having a damn child.”

  “You love me, Nicholas!” I sing, and his chuckle echoes from inside.

  I dust the matted horse hair from my hands off on my cutoffs, and with a scolding glance up at the sun, I head back over to the hitching post. “Your turn, Target.” I unhook the cinch around his mahogany girth when the truck’s engine grumbles to life and with it the sound of modern country, immediately switched to rock ’n’ roll. I pat Target’s neck, humming the familiar tune as the sounds of the truck disappear down the road.

  Target cranes his neck as much as the lead rope will allow and watches me.

  “What, my humming voice not good enough for you?” I ask, stroking the side of his face. Target is a handful for sure, the most demanding of all eight horses on my time, but if the foam around his mouth and under his saddle is any indication, he’s been worked sufficiently today and is in want of his dinner. “I’ll hurry,” I whisper.

  “Hey—”

  I whirl around and gasp. “God!” My heart bumps an extra beat and I let out a breath.

  “Not quite,” Reilly says with a smirk. He’s standing in the mouth of the stable, his jeans and green t-shirt spattered with blue and white paint.

  “Obviously. What’s with everyone sneaking up on me today?” I blow away the wisps of blonde hair hanging in my face. As the adrenaline begins to wear off, unease settles in its place. I straighten and meet his gaze. “What are you doing here? I mean—sorry—did you need something?” I roll my eyes, knowing that question doesn’t sound any better.

  One of Reilly’s eyebrows rises.

  I turn back to Target.

  “Was that Nick just leaving? I was hoping to get his help with something.”

  I nod my head, lugging the saddle off of Target’s back and setting it on the hitching post. “You just missed him. It’s only me, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah.”

  I pick up the hose and spray Target’s back, trying to focus on the drying sweat and salt on his coat, on the way his skin shudders like the water tickles, instead of Reilly standing quietly behind me. “Um, do you need tools or something? You can check the shed if you want.”

  Footsteps crunch the gravel behind me. “No, I needed the muscle.” He clears his throat. “Do you need any help?”

  “Nope,” I say quickly, immediately shaking my head. “And since when do you know anything about horses?” I smile and move around to the other side of Target, slowly moving the spray up his neck so as not to startle him.

  “Can we talk for a minute?”

  My grip on the nozzle falters. “About what?”

  “About the other night.”

  I shrug, squinting at Target’s damp coat so not to look at Reilly. “If you’re going to tell me it was a mistake, I already know that.”

  “What if I don’t think it was?” He steps closer, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his baseball cap.

  Dropping the hose, I reach for the scraper and start wiping the remaining water from Target’s shoulder. The cool water feels good against the hot sweat on my skin.

  “I guess it really doesn’t matter,” I say, coming back around, toward him. I finish scraping the remnants of water from Target’s side when I hear footsteps and feel the dry air shift and maybe enliven as Reilly steps up beside me. He reaches out, placing his hand on mine, stilling it.

  “Please,” he breathes. “There are a few things I’d like to say.”

  I drop the scraper into the tack bucket and step away from him like his touch burns, because it does. I haul Target’s saddle up into my arms and carry it toward the tack room.

  “Sam?”

  �
�What, Reilly?” I turn around to face him. “What is there to say? That kiss was magical? Yeah, sure, I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t, but it was still a mistake. You’re leaving soon, and things are too complicated between us to be anything other than that.” I continue toward the tack room to put the heavy saddle away. “You should probably go. I’ll tell Nick you came by. Okay?” When I step out of the tack room, Reilly’s leaning back against the hitching post, his arms crossed over his chest. His smugness only irritates me more. I untie Target and head over to the walker.

  When I look over my shoulder in Reilly’s silence, he’s smiling at me, unabashedly. “So, you’re kicking me off your property now?”

  “Is that an option?” I flash him a smile. After tying Target up and giving him a quick pat on the butt, I schlep toward the strewn about tack and straighten out my rumpled t-shirt.

  “God,” he says, “you sure can be a brat when you want to be. It’s hard to get used to.”

  I laugh bitterly and bend down to pick up the hose. “You can leave, you know.” He’s making this too easy. I’m smiling to myself when I turn to walk the hose back over to the faucet and stumble over the rest of it snaked behind me. My fingers grip the nozzle in my attempt to right myself, and I squirt myself in the face.

  Mouth gaping, I stand there, frozen—shocked—stunned. “Are you serious?” I stare down. My upper half is dripping wet. It’s actually amazingly refreshing.

  And Reilly’s laughing, completely amused.

  With what sounds like a snarl, I glare at him. I drop the hose, pull my clinging gray t-shirt away from my body, and shake the water off my arms. I’m about to bend over and collect the hose again, but Reilly’s too fast.

  “I think you missed a spot,” he says, holding the nozzle up like a pistol aimed and ready to fire.

  “Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.” My gaze narrows on him with the promise of bad things to follow if he even considers it, but I don’t like the way his mouth twitches at the corner and his eyes illuminate. Their unnerving glint has me scrambling, trying to tear the hose away from him in desperation.

  Reilly’s laugh is booming and his grip too strong. “Why are you so worried? You’re already wet,” he says, a big-ass grin engulfing his face. He takes a step back as I lunge forward, his hand on my shoulder, holding me away from him.

  Profanities are pouring out of my mouth as I try to grab the hose, and I threaten him within an inch of his life.

  “Oh, really. I think I’d like to see you try,” he says, no longer attempting to hide any of his amusement whatsoever. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

  But he will, I can see it in his eyes—the mirth, the impending joy. I grab a bucket of soapy water by the hitching post and turn back to him, tossing the contents on him before he can step out of the way.

  Reilly’s smile falters, and what I just did slowly hits me. He stares down at his drenched, soapy clothes, and I straighten, my hand already covering my mouth. I’ve started a war. “I’m so sorry.” I scour his body, his face. “I shouldn’t have—”

  My semi-frantic apology is cut short by the sound of Reilly laughing, a deep, surly sound I’ve never heard before. Is that an angry laugh? I begin to panic.

  He shakes his head and stomps toward me, his eyes filled with the promise of revenge.

  I scream and race the dozen yards to the side door of the stable, toward the other hose I know is coiled outside.

  Water sprays the backs of my legs, and I can hear Reilly’s footsteps fast approaching behind me. I scream again, and the horses startle in their stalls, neighing as we run by, but I’m too riled up to care. Thankfully, Alison isn’t home, so she doesn’t think I’m being murdered out here.

  “Shit,” he bites out.

  I peer back at him just as I reach the side door. Reilly’s hose won’t reach any further. “Ha. Ha. Sucks for you!”

  The instant our gazes meet, I know I’m in trouble. “Oh, that’s it,” he says and he drops the hose, heading right for me.

  I squeal in anticipation and fling the side door open. The sun beats down on me, and I can feel the water already drying on my clothes and skin as I fumble with the rusted spigot.

  “Crap,” I hiss. It isn’t working. Reilly’s only feet from me, I can hear his footsteps approaching more quickly. I make a mad dash for the buckets by the giant water trough a few yards down just as Reilly steps outside.

  “Oh, hell no,” he mutters. He’s not running, but his footsteps are closing in behind me, and I yelp; the thrill of it all makes my heart race and peals of laughter escape my throat.

  “You started it—”

  Reilly’s arms wrap around me from behind and I screech, frantically trying to squirm out of his hold. “No you don’t,” he says. His arms are solid and his hold relentless.

  I wriggle wildly, attempting to reach the bucket only a few feet out of my reach. But struggling against Reilly becomes pointless. He’s taller and he practically lifts me off the ground as he takes a step backward to steady himself. He handles me like I’m no more than a feral, squirrelly animal cub.

  I’m laughing so hard my face hurts, and I try to catch my breath as he effortlessly turns me around in his arms, until my chest is heaving against his.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, breathless, though not as much as I am. His irises are bright, his pupils wide, and he’s scouring my face.

  Our laughter slowly ceases and my body stays as the adrenaline drains away. I’m painfully aware of our proximity. All that’s between us are panting breaths and a sexually charged tension that sobers me to the point of excited fear.

  I hold my breath, afraid to move.

  Reilly’s eyes narrow on me.

  The silence between us is unbearable. And I find myself once again grappling with what I want and what I shouldn’t. I decide I don’t care what the repercussion are—how much I’ll hate myself later. I kiss him.

  The kiss is desperate, hungry, more demanding than I mean it to be, but I can’t stop. I want this. I want him—the taste of him, the feel of him. I miss him—this. He’s real and strong and virile and warm, and I want it all.

  The memory of our last kiss sends a wake of chills over my body. Each stroke of his tongue against mine makes my insides burn and tighten with an unimaginable wanting that sends every nerve ending into a frenzy. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, but he slows down. Worried he might stop, I pull him snugger against me, wordlessly pleading.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he breathes against my lips.

  “Please . . .” I pull his mouth back to mine. He tastes salty and somehow sweet, and I don’t care what happens when it’s over, I just want him. I’ve always wanted him, and this is my chance to have him. To feel alive again.

  “Sam,” he rasps.

  I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, not giving him a moment to think and change his mind. “Please,” I repeat, begging. I hate myself for it, but I can’t turn it off, I don’t want to stop. Even if he leaves later, he wants me now, and I want to be wanted. I can feel his desire coiled in the tension of his body, in the constant drumming of his heart in his chest and the hardness in his pants pressed up against me.

  All hesitation vanishing, Reilly pulls me up into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist as he steps back into the stable and inside an open stall. He fumbles around then sets me on a stack of feed bags, solid and unyielding beneath me, but I don’t care.

  There are no words, only sounds—impatient moans and incessant panting as his fingertips press and caress and explore my body, his lips devouring every inch of my exposed skin.

  I gasp when his hands cup my breasts, the searing warmth of his palm through the wetness of my top making me shudder. He leans in, kissing me again, making my body burn with a deprived, salacious hunger that makes me moan with wanting. I yearn for a release so badly.

  Fumbling for the hem of his wet shirt—needing to see all of him, wanting to run my hands ove
r the hard muscles I know are hidden beneath—I grab hold, pull away for only a panting breath, and tug it over his head.

  He grins, leaning forward, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth. What sounds like a growl emanates from his chest and his hands rake down my body, searching for more bare skin.

  Impatient, he yanks my top off and grabs onto my hair, pulling my face to the side as he kisses his way down from my earlobe to my collarbone. The hot, humid air around us is arousing against the wet trail left by his tongue, and as his kisses descend between my breasts, I arch back, further. I whimper, lost in a lustful land of fantasies and ecstasy come true.

  My fingers rake through his hair, grabbing hold of what little there is, and I pull him toward me with the power of my legs. Reilly grabs my hips and tugs me closer to him.

  “I need you, Sam,” he growls, his lips devouring mine before he dips his head down to my chest—sampling me, licking me, sucking on me until I can’t contain myself and I cry out. The feel of his hot breath against my breast, the warmth of his tongue against my sensitive flesh, nearly brings me to tears. How have I survived without this? I want Reilly inside me. More than anything I’ve ever wanted, I need to feel the pleasure-pain I know awaits. I need him to fill me, to ravage me into oblivion.

  When his fingers trace the waistband of my shorts, warmth pools between my thighs, and I can feel myself unraveling in his arms. He unbuttons my shorts and struggles to get them down my sweat-dampened legs. I laugh and lean back, only opening my eyes again when I realize he’s stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” I prop my elbows up on the feed bags. “Why are you stopping?” I half-smile on an exhale, and just as my vision begins to refocus, Reilly’s fingertips brush over the cuts just below my hip. I wave his concern away, refusing to let anything ruin this. “It’s nothing. I must’ve scraped it.”

  I try to pull Reilly closer to me, but he pulls away, all his attention on the angry, raw skin.

  “You have scars,” he says quietly, not taking his eyes off my hip.

  I groan. “So do you. It’s fine.” I reach for his arm, but he doesn’t budge. The instant I realize this horrifyingly uncomfortable moment isn’t going away, dread washes over me, my passion and desperate desire to be with him receding with it. Now, I’m just naked and exposed under his scrutinizing stare.