Her full lips press together a bit and I can’t help but look at them. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and touch her lower lip with my thumb as if brushing away the stressed expression. It works. Her lips relax and she’s beautiful. My thumb travels toward the middle of her lower lip and there’s a sense of wonder in me that she’s softer than she looks somehow.
And she shivers.
Her lip is so soft, so kissable. My thumb leaves her chin to trace down her slim, pale throat, no longer even pretending at having a reason or right to be touching her. I look into those big, blue, trusting eyes and see she’s looking at my lips like she wants nothing more than for me to kiss her.
I snap out of it and my hand drops from her satin skin. Somehow, my voice sounds like nothing happened between us, but my throbbing cock begs to differ.
“I’ll be out of cell service,” I say without missing a beat. There’s disappointment in her big blue eyes and I suddenly wish I’d kissed her after all. But perhaps that would have left her disappointed for other reasons.
“But there are other emergency numbers you can call on the fridge.” I gesture past her toward the kitchen and the fridge. I’m sure she’ll explore when she’s ready. Her eyes follow my gesture before snapping back to my face like she’s trying to decode the sudden distance I’d put between us. I’ve been hurt before. It’s not like me to just put myself out there. There’s no way she’d take on someone with baggage like mine.
But fuck if I didn’t wish otherwise. “Other than that, I’ll set you up in the guest room and you’re free to make yourself at home.” The thought that she’ll be sleeping down the hall hits me like a tractor tire to the gut. I wish I’d thought that through. Hell, if I’d thought first, I’d have paid to have her stay in town… far away from me.
Her tongue darts out to trace her lower lip and I feel a sudden wash of desire rush over me. The soft sheen of dampness makes my heart start thumping. Damn. This girl is going to ruin me.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
Wrestling to keep my reactions to her in check, I lead her back toward the guest room. She follows and when I glance back, she’s looking at pictures along the walls, tears sparkling in her eyes.
Facing forward, I remind myself that it’s none of my business what she’s doing here. But I’d bet my bottom dollar she’s running from something… or someone.
May
Of everything I expected, I think that watching my boss’ child was near the end of the list. But then again, I’m not afraid of kids. It’s hard to screw up; make sure they eat and drink. Make sure they’re entertained. Get them to bed at a reasonable hour.
How hard can it really be?
I walk to the window of the room I’m going to be staying in. The half circle of guys are slouched in the saddle like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. I scan the group, looking for Clint. He’s shockingly good looking. And the way he looks at me, like he’s able to look past my skin, down deeper than bone to my deepest, darkest buried secret.
It’s indescribable.
As I watch, Clint walks over to a saddle horse that’s standing beside the man who’d asked him if he needed his horse saddled while Clint and I talked.
He takes the reins of the grey animal with the spotted backside and he plants a foot in a stirrup before hauling himself up. He throws a leg over the horse, who sidesteps as if in an attempt to escape. Clint’s hands on the reins steady the animal and I admire the way he leans forward a bit and pats the horse’s neck.
From here, I can see his lips move and I know he’s talking to the horse. Closing my eyes, I imagine how his voice might lower, that he’s saying something akin to it’s okay. Relax.
Sudden tears sting behind my eyelids and I blink. My eyes meet the dark gaze of Clint, who’s watching me even as I stand here, watching him. Everything in me screams to hide, but I stand, arrested by his stare as if he’d grabbed my arm again and held me at his mercy.
Even now the spot above my elbow tingles, as if he’s still holding onto me, refusing to let me go and walk out of his life.
I stare at him as the guys begin to ride off. He hangs back, flanked by the same man who’d saddled up his horse for him and bought him ten, whatever that means. The man looks in my direction, then at his boss, then at the ground like he’s intruding.
But all I can see is Clint. His eyes are narrowed a bit, as if he’s trying to figure me out. The whole time we’d talked I’d been terrified he knew or puzzling at the way he made my belly flip flop and my heart dance. Still - past all the thrill of him reacting to me like I’m a woman - with every passing second, I felt more secure that he didn’t remember.
But now, with the sensation he’s peering into the depths of my soul, I’m not so certain. Lifting my chin, I study him, thinking about how kind he’d been. He was everything I could have hoped for and more.
Suddenly, he faces the direction the guys had gone and in a fluid motion with his hips, he urged his horse on. As they galloped down the dirt road that I have to guess leads deeper into their land, I’m left picking up the shards of composure I still possess. I need to keep my distance. Clint is trouble with a capital T, I’m certain of it.
Sinking onto the bed, I stare at my lap. The painful memories of the last few weeks rise up and I feel the tears threatening. They’re always just there, behind my eyes, ready to pounce on every unguarded moment of thought.
A shower. That’ll help. I can wash away the grime of traveling and steam out the toxic thoughts. I’m on my feet quickly and I head toward my car. In the back, I grab my duffle and bring it into the room I have now. It feels weird, the thought that I might be able to unpack the bag. I might be able to stay more than a night.
Grabbing some questionably clean clothes, I begin to hope that there’s a washing machine close by. With the change of clothes in hand, I head across the hall and lock myself in the bathroom. The room is white, reasonably clean, and airy. A huge window open to rolling pastures and a few horses are the only peepers in sight.
I close the curtains anyway and stare at the faucet. It’s pretty standard, thankfully. I’m used to homes where only the person in residence knows how to make theirs work. Hell, the last hotel was stupid; the hot was labeled cold and the cold labeled hot.
I turn on the water and instantly feel better. I missed this bit of normalcy. It’s such a simple thing we take for granted. I undress with shaking fingers and climb under the hot spray. With the water rinses away the fears and a new hope begins to bubble up in me.
Maybe it will be different this time.
***
When I get out of the shower, I dress and start wandering the house. It’s a beautiful sprawling ranch house. I pass on peeking into bedrooms, but assume that there must be a separate place for most of the help to sleep, since there aren’t enough bedrooms to house them all, unless there are tons of bunks tucked away somewhere.
The dining room is warm partially due to the sunlight streaming in and partially due to the buttery accent wall that leaves me some hope that there’s a woman around. Then again, if there is, why does Clint need me to watch his daughter?
The kitchen is standard, though more modern than I expected. Clearly there are a lot of meals made here. The range is a six-burner gas-powered beast that belongs in a high end restaurant. The whole place is well kept, clean, and - as I open a cabinet - well stocked.
I could get used to this, I think. It’s beautiful, it feels like home, and right now, while it’s quiet, I’m feeling relaxed.
“Who are you?”
I spin, my heart slamming at the little voice. A girl stands behind me, her warm brown eyes accusing. Suddenly, I know why the mother isn’t around. I know who Clint created this child with. I know everything.
Clint
May’s stare shook me straight to the core. Never has anyone looked at me like that, with a mix of desperation, fear, and tenuous hope. There was something else there, some shrouded secret that’s haun
ting her.
But her secrets are her own. And so long as she can handle Grace, I think things will go fine. Grace isn’t a difficult girl. She’s grounded and outspoken, tempestuous, even. She speaks her mind, she’s quick witted, and is often the bane of her teachers. But she’s sweet under it all.
Perhaps I haven’t raised her right. I don’t force her into dresses. I don’t pigeonhole her into feminine roles. She’s been in the saddle since she could walk. She’s mucked out stalls, she’s able to feed horses, brand mustangs, and tell the men the best move with a new plucky stallion. And she’s still pint sized. But she spends more days with me than without, and I guess I rubbed off on her.
Which drives Gertie crazy, but I feel that May will have no problem with her.
“Boss?”
I glance over at Carson who’s staring ahead. Shane’s riding hell bent for lather where we’d agreed to set camp. As the sun settles toward the edge of the horizon, I feel the tension stirring up around the men.
No one needs to tell me, but I know that slowing us down was a bad move on my part. Still, this was an unexpected issue and they would have had to wait regardless. Either waiting for me to call Gertie or waiting for me to talk to the new girl.
Waiting either way.
Drawing my revolver from the holster, I lift the barrel and pull the trigger. The sound of it reverberates through my skull and under me, Thunder shies a bit. I hold him firm and study the faces that have turned to me.
I push on, seeing Shane ahead. His horse had startled with the gunshot, and I wait for him to regain control. He does quickly and hauls the animal around to head back to me.
As the guys form a ring around me, I ignore Shane and his refusal to actually move into line with the rest of the guys. “We’ll ride until twilight,” I say, and the men nod, while some mutter under their breaths.
I know it’s going to be a long ride, but there’s no reason to kill ourselves or risk a horse stepping into a prairie dog hole. The guys disperse and we all prepare ourselves for this ride. I shove May out of my mind, but something of her nags in the back of my skull.
We ride out, the guys whooping and hollering as they race each other in good fun. By my side, Carsen keeps close. He’s kind to the old nag he insists on taking out. There have been plenty of jokes about him riding the ancient mare, but he swears she’s the only horse that he trusts. I don’t give a fuck. So long as they can keep up, I don’t give a damn.
Dad always said the measure of a good animal is its willingness to follow a man, whether or not it’s into battle, or to the barn for dinner.
If only the old man wasn’t such a thorn in my side.
He’s got too many demands. For a man who hadn’t built his empire on his own, he’s sure hell bent on protecting it. Protecting it… from me.
Not that it needs to be protected from me. I’ve got my own empire. I’ve built my fortune. But it would be nice to finally claim my part of the family fortune. But that’s a pipe dream. Dad’s three requirements for me to take my place at the table are just too much.
I can see him in mind’s eye, his gray hair short and carefully kept. His rich brown eyes reflecting the honey colored lights in the study of the family’s mansion. The stubble he works so hard to keep close to the skin, everything of him reeks of privilege and cushy living. But make no mistake, he’s a shark and he’ll chum the water with you before you can so much as blink.
He’s never been particularly warm. Not to me, at least. Kate, my little sister, got much closer to him, perhaps because she’s the baby, or may there’s just something different about daughters. Her place at his right hand will be sealed once she’s back from college. Her list wasn’t nearly as stringent as my own.
Dad required three things of me: I had to prove I’m an asset. Done. I’ve made myself as a business man. I’ve got land, horses, and a net worth in the billions. I had to prove my manliness. Done. Many times over, done. Rough Texas living makes a man or breaks him. But the third thing… that’s the killer.
The third requirement is that I can be a family man. And being a father to Grace isn’t enough. No, I have to be a husband. After the messy business between me and Amanda… dad’s got no confidence in me, and I’m not all that confident in myself either.
Kate had it much easier. She had to finish college. And she’s well on her way to graduate early with an impressive degree in engineering. I love her dearly, but she’s always been too brainy for me. But she loves what she does, and it shows every time she opens her mouth. When someone asks her about school, her face lights up.
But I don’t blame dad for his lack of confidence in my ability to be a family man. The messy fall out of what happened between Amanda and I is proof he was right to be nervous.
Again, an idea nags, and I latch onto it.
What if… I asked May to marry me? Not for real, of course, just a sham to get dad to let me in, let me be a part of what I’m owed anyway?
Still, something whispers in me that I’m not being totally honest. There’s something about May. I want to be near her. I want her to keep looking up at me like she’s begging me to show her how a man like me would touch her.
And I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to.
May
I stand before the girl, my mouth hanging open like I’m some special kind of idiot. She stares up at me, her eyes lit with a fire I can’t even begin to describe. It’s like she knows who I am, why I’m here, and how to destroy me.
“Your dad wanted me to watch you,” I say, and she blinks, as if this answer is a total surprise. She tilts her head to the side and her thick, dark hair shifts, revealing a length down her back with some curls near the end, like her heavy hair can’t quite hold the curls but clings to the few it can near the bottom.
I watch her little face scrunch up as if she’s internally poking holes in my story. “Where’s Gertie?” she asks, and I find myself at a loss.
“I’m not sure,” I say, deciding honesty is the best idea. She continues to stare me down, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I don’t like Gertie. She always smacks my bottom when I’m not ladylike,” she says, her honesty melting my heart.
“That’s not very ladylike of her.”
Instantly the girl smiles and it feels like the sun is shining down on me. While I’m doing well, I decide to keep things rolling. “So, what do you usually do when you get home?” I ask, but she pushes toward me, thrusting her hand toward me.
“I’m Grace.”
I take her hand and shake it, surprised that her little fingers feel strong. “I’m May.”
“May flowers,” she giggles, and I smile at her sweet little face. She’s too stinkin’ cute. I want to pinch her chubby little pink cheek, but I’m not going to put hands on her. I know better. Besides, I remember how demoralizing that felt to have people touch me without my permission when I was little.
“Are you hungry, Grace?” I ask, and she nods. With quick hands, I find some foods that’ll go over well. Comfort food that I choose because she’s adjusting to something new; me. Mac and cheese and hot dogs. The kind of stuff I have fond memories of as a child.
“Want to help me?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at her. Her little face lights up and I pull a chair into the kitchen for her to stand on. Shoulder to shoulder we stand before the stove, opening a box of Mac and Cheese, dumping noodles into a pot of water, busy work. Simple work. Things that’ll help her feel independent while she’s safe from harm.
Things I wish I could have had when I was little.
“Do you have kids?” She asks me, her little face full of curiosity.
“I don’t.” I say, my tone bright as I tackle the hard question. I wanted kids. But that bastard… I clamp down and shut out the painful memories. I’m not ready to face them. Besides, little Grace doesn’t need to see me lose it.
“Are you married?” she asks, and I can’t help but be in awe of her. She’s so very mature. She
speaks like an adult. Her mind is bright, curious, and she’s very quick to just talk rather than hang on propriety. It’s refreshing.
“I’m not.” I say, then turn her game on her. “How about you? Kids? A hubby I need to know about?”
Her face scrunches up and she laughs. “No!” We laugh together and I realize that this is the first real laugh I’ve had in longer than I can remember.
***
In bed, I listen to the house. It’s totally quiet. No traffic noises, no loud, party loving neighbors, nothing. Every once in a while the house settles on a sigh, like it too is winding down from the day.
Grace had fallen asleep on the couch, but I’d wandered quickly and found her room. One I knew where to take her, I’d carried her into her room and settled her in her pretty bedroom. The whole place had been decorated with horses right down to the blanket on her bed.
It had been a good night. I felt confident that she would make being here easy. And if this was the work Clint wanted from me, I’d be more than happy to stay on and work as long as he’d have me.
Outside, I hear what sounds like the slam of a car door and I bolt upright. My heart settles into my gut and I feel like throwing up as I sit straight, straining my ears to listen for anything that might be a sound.
He couldn’t be here.
There’s no way he followed me. I was so careful…
I creep out of bed and toward the living room. The curtains give me a view into the front of the place where my car sits, dejected and alone. The slam happens again and I realize the barn door is ajar. When it catches the wind, it bangs on itself. I can see a chain locking it closed, but the noise still makes my hands tremble like I’m going to barf.
I’d thought it was him.
I sink onto the couch, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth as if I can keep back the bile backing up my throat. Tears stream down my cheeks as I think about the fear, the absolute helplessness I feel. He has power over me and he’s not even fucking here! I got away from him and he’s still controlling me across a distance so great I can’t even imagine it.
Cowboy's Barmaid: A Small Town Military Romance (Lucky Flats Ranchers Book 2) Page 33
