Conquering Love

by Willow Summers

  Instead, she sent off another and threw her phone on her bed. She didn’t know if she could go through with it. If Greg turned away from her because he didn’t like what he saw, it would be worse than if she’d never let him in at all. And when he saw how she lived, he’d get a rude awakening. He’d know all her secrets.

  Black thoughts and concerns about the glimmer of hope in her future dwindling away, she went through the motions of getting dressed.

  Bing.

  Greg took his phone out of his back pocket and glanced at it as he made his way past the tethered horses and into the barn. His body was dragging from the long day of helping Richard with the petting zoo. He was a good kid, and worked hard, but before he felt comfortable being on his own, he wanted a million and a half questions answered. Greg really wasn’t sure if he was cut out for the ranch life.

  “Hey, bro.” Noah dropped a saddle into its place as Pete was filling up feed trays. A third person was moving around in the back.

  “Hey.” Greg saw Christie’s name and felt a grin bud. It was probably the list she’d mentioned. He opened it, slightly confused that it was a video. “What’s going on with the horses?” he asked Noah as he waited for the video to load.

  “We’re running a little late. The trail ride took longer than expected.”

  “Any problems?”

  “No, just an older couple who didn’t see the point of rushing. Or moving, sometimes. We had to basically—”

  A moan sounded from Greg’s phone. He jerked it up, seeing Christie’s hand run from her nude breasts and down to her equally nude sex. “Hmmm, Greg,” she said, her finger dipping into her body.

  “Fuck.” Realizing that all the guys in the barn had frozen, and knowing they were tuning in as intensely as he was, he quickly hit the video to stop it. His press was too hard, though, and in his haste, he hit too high. It wobbled in his hand as another long, intensively erotic moan rang through the barn. “Shit,” he said, starting to sweat now. The phone got away from his shaking hand, sending the image of Christie’s gyrating hips end-over-end. It fell onto the ground and bounced, heading toward Noah.

  Noah bent as Pete stepped closer, trying to get a look.

  “Fuck off you guys!” Greg hollered, capturing the phone as quick footsteps sounded from the back. His name was called again in ecstasy, and then, “I’m almost there, baby. I’m—” Panicked, he jabbed the pause button, stopping the video.

  Chest heaving from adrenaline, he stared at the phone for a second. The barn was dead silent. Even the horses outside were quiet.

  Greg delicately put the phone into his pocket. He wasn’t sure what to say.

  “You are one lucky freaking bastard, man,” Pete said with wide eyes. He had a feed tray half lowered with a stream of feed spilling out onto the ground.

  “She’s going to lose her shit when she hears you opened that around other guys. Good-bye girlfriend.” Noah shook his head slowly. “I know that from experience.” He blew out a breath and then adjusted his package.

  “Texting me that is out of the question, right?” Danny said from the back.

  “If you guys mention one word of this, consider yourselves unemployed, got it?” Greg’s voice was rough with the threat.

  “I’m not trying to embarrass her, but dang, Greg.” Pete looked at the phone in Greg’s pocket. “That’s not the kind of thing you view in public. Not cool, bro. Now I’ve got wood, and soon I’ll have blue balls. Not freaking cool.”

  Bing.

  Greg exhaled loudly and kept his eyes from the other guys. He should ignore the text. If he left the barn they’d know why, and if he looked anything could come out of that phone. He’d already known she was expressive, and now he knew that included sex, too. And she hadn’t even gone all the way.

  As if hearing his thoughts, Noah asked, “Aren’tcha gonna answer that?” A sly grin spread up his face.

  “Nah. I’ll wait.” Greg cleared his throat, trying to stop from adjusting himself so his hard-on wasn’t so uncomfortable. “It’s probably just the details about tonight.”

  “Uh huh.” Noah’s grin got broader.

  “She’d said she was going to text me a list.” Greg checked over the saddles without seeing them. He glanced at the feed trays, going through the motions. “Right. Well, you guys got it, right? I might head out.”

  “I would,” Danny called from the back.

  “It’s been a long day.” Greg took off his cowboy hat and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “All right then.”

  “Have fun,” Noah called after him.

  “Lucky bastard,” he heard Pete say again as he hurried away.

  He waited until he sat in his truck before he clutched his phone in front of him with utter excitement. It was like being a kid on Christmas morning and was about to open what he thought was a BB gun.

  In a shaking hand, he opened the messages and held out his finger to touch the video when he read the second message. It said, “Sorry for being so forward. Something came up. Let’s postpone.”

  He sagged against his steering wheel with his phone still held out. Crap. It must’ve seemed like a great idea in the moment—which was correct—and when the thrill had gone, she’d had second thoughts. Now she was trying to push him away. It was a familiar dance to a well worn tune. Stupid of him to think she’d suddenly be all hearts and flowers after years of hiding herself away.

  He sent a message back:

  Greg: Keep being forward. I like it. Nothing came up. See u at ur house at 7. Let me in or prepare to get new door. Luv U.

  He waited for a moment, wondering if she would respond back. Nothing showed as activity, so she either didn’t get it, or was ignoring it. He didn’t care. He was pushing the envelope on this one. It was okay for her to be scared, but no longer okay to push him away. Not now, after he knew why she was doing it. She’d confronted the worst of her fears, now she just had to reconcile to it. He’d lend a shoulder to cry on and buckle his desire in, but he wouldn’t be distant. That was not an option.

  The next call was to Jake.

  Jake answered on the second ring. “Yeah.”

  “Hey, I need a favor. Christie is getting cold feet, so I’m pushing. I’m going to meet her at her house, but she needs a way to get there. I’d ask Mike, but she has no problem saying no to him or Sara. You’re the only one she thinks twice about refusing.”

  “When.”

  “I’ll be there at seven. I’m not sure what she had planned for tonight, so I’m not sure how long she needs.”

  “Probably gonna cook.”

  Greg rested his forearm across the steering wheel as he watched some guests cross the parking lot, wrestling their rolling suitcases through the gravel. “Why do you think that?”

  “She’s got a gift for it and she don’t have money.”

  The fact that Jake had called it a gift meant she was exceptionally good. He didn’t think much of others as a general rule, and when he did, he rarely commented on it. For him to do so now meant he’d been impressed. “I must’ve missed a damn good meal the other night.”

  “Thick headed.”

  Greg pulled the phone away to stare at it, as if he could see Jake’s expression to know who he was talking about, Christie or him. He put it back to his ear—it didn’t really matter. “Then you’ll probably need to give her enough time for that. Let me know if she won’t bend.”

  “Yup.” The line went dead.

  That taken care of, he glanced around to make sure no one would approach his truck, and tapped the video.

  A couple of hours later Greg stepped out of his truck with some flowers and a bottle of wine. He’d heard from Jake that, although Christie tried to say she didn’t need a ride, she had been picked up, taken to the store, bullied into shopping, and then finally dropped off at home. After that, Jake had apparently sat in the driveway to make sure she stayed put. If it wasn’t in his best interest, Greg might’ve thought that a bit heavy handed. It was pretty clear Jake had
trained a lot of stubborn horses in his day. It was also clear why so many ranches would hire him in an instant.

  Taking a deep breath, and with his phone burning in his pocket from the contents stored on it, he knocked on her door. His hope was that she would open it. His fear was that he would have to break in.

  Scratch that—his fear was that she had a gun.

  A metallic click sounded through the door before it popped open. Christie slid out as she’d always done, wearing a plain white T-shirt that hugged her delicious chest. Her breasts hung free, unencumbered by a bra. His mouth started salivating as she stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets. A light dusting of makeup coated her beautiful face and her silky hair was pulled up into a ponytail.

  “You look beautiful,” Greg said, holding out the flowers.

  “I’m mad at you.” She smiled and took the flowers.

  “You sound mad.”

  “Yeah. Dirty play sending Jake.”

  Greg ran a thumb against her cheek and then around to the back of her neck. He pulled, having her step forward so he could kiss her. Her lipgloss tasted like berries and the smell of wildflowers and femininity wrapped around him in dizzying ways.

  “I accidentally opened your video in the barn. With the guys.” Greg grimaced. It just came out! “But I was standing away from them. They just heard. They didn’t see anything.”

  “Huh.” She sighed and leaned against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his middle. “That’s embarrassing.”

  “If they tell anyone I’ll fire them. Somehow. I’ll frame them or something.” He twisted her ponytail around his fingers. “I should’ve promised to beat them up. But anyway, they won’t tell.”

  “Even just sending it to you is a little embarrassing. I don’t know why I did it.”

  “It’s hot. And fun. I like that you did it. I’ve watched it…a few times.” That was an understatement. He’d watched it almost continuously since he got home, and once at the stoplight.

  He put his finger to the bottom of her chin and applied pressure, tilting her face up. He kissed her again, deep and passionate, thinking about that video and wanting to reply with his body.

  Her hands ran up his chest then hooked around his neck. She leaned back, having him stepping forward to brace her against the door so he could put his body tightly against hers. As they leaned against the cracked and pocked surface, the door latch released, dumping them inside.

  Greg grabbed her tighter while he staggered forward, trying to keep them upright. Instead, he stepped on her sneakered toe, stumbled, and fell on top of her and into the entryway. The wine rolled, thankfully unbroken.

  “Ouch,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “Oh my God—” Greg got to his knees and put a hand to her cheek, seeing a scrape from one of his buttons. “Shoot, sorry, baby. Does it hurt?”

  She didn’t speak, just stared up at him with wide, fear-filled eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, removing himself to the side and pulling her up. “I didn’t mean to fall on you. I thought the door would hold our weight. It needs to be fixed. If that good-for-nothing landlord won’t do it, I can easily get it done, Christie. I’m sure it lets in all kinds of—”

  “It’s not that,” she whispered. She glanced to the side and then looked at her fingers, currently picking her nail. “It’s not much, but…at least I don’t have any roommates. But I’m going to look for a better job after this season, so I should be able to get some new things.”

  Greg glanced around, and then his mouth dropped open. He got to his feet slowly, taking a few more steps into the tiny house. The layout didn’t allow for much, with only a small living room, a tiny square add-on for a dining room, and through a far archway, the kitchen. He didn’t see the door for the bedroom, but it was bound to be there somewhere since she didn’t have anything bed-like in view.

  The door closed behind him as he was piecing together what he was seeing.

  “Did your grandmother leave you a lot of money or something?” he asked in a daze.

  “Funny.” She did a sort of huff-sigh that he recognized as her being intensely embarrassed and uncomfortable.

  He turned to her and yanked her into a hug while he went back to surveying what was surely impossible. “You don’t still steal, do you?”

  “Even funnier,” she whined, her voice quivering as though tears were encroaching.

  He grabbed her shoulders and straightened his arms. “Have you gone blind and I didn’t know it? Look at this place, Christie. Why the hell haven’t you let people in here?”

  He moved her under one of his arms and took the step toward the couch. It was a vintage thing with straight lines and flat arms. There was an interesting lean to it that he’d never seen in a couch before. Kind of futuristic, almost. It was covered in a deep brown fabric that seemed appropriately stressed. If he wasn’t looking so closely, he’d assume it was high-end leather. The two end tables were different styles and heights, and also painted differently, with two tones and splashes of color, but somehow they worked together. The colors and shapes played off each other and worked with the couch. They should’ve looked as weird as his tables were, but instead, had a type of weirdness mixed with elegance that only an outrageously priced store could boast. There wasn’t room for a coffee table, and instead of a TV, she had an artful stack of books that made a statement about watching TV in general. He actually felt a little stupid for watching so many programs instead of reading more.

  Feeling her tenseness, he figured she wasn’t going to show him around, so he moved them the few steps to the round table. It was also painted, and instead of the divots and scratches being obvious problems with the item, they were a slightly different color so they’d show up more. It was a strange sort of artistic quality that, again, made it seem high-end. He didn’t know much about fashion, trends or furniture, but he was well-versed on what he couldn’t afford. And this table he knew he could not afford.

  “How did you get all this?” he asked Christie, trying not to be accusatory. But he needed to know if the police might crash their party.

  She shrugged and then leaned harder into him, embarrassed.

  “It’s okay if you are still stealing. We’ll deal with it, okay? I just need to know what I’m getting into.” He supportively kissed the top of her head as he peeked through the archway. Steam rose from pots simmering on the old, dilapidated stove. Mustard colored counter tops practically burned his eyes after what he’d just seen, and stained, mustard-brown linoleum covered the floor.

  “What happened to this room?” he asked, looking behind him at the artful and extremely stylish furniture. It was then he noticed the orange, shag carpet peeking out from under a few strategically placed if well worn floor rugs.

  “He won’t let me do anything to the house, for some reason.” Christie picked at his shirt. “Clearly he likes the seventies.”

  “How did you get the furniture?” He noticed a bedroom on the far side of the kitchen. “And was the architect on acid? Why is the bedroom off the kitchen?”

  “It’s an old shed or barn or something. They just did whatever they could to turn it into this. The price is right.” There was that uncomfortable tone again.

  He crossed the kitchen and peered into the bedroom. A queen sized, four poster bed took up most of the room, with an interesting scarf, drape situation that was far too feminine. “I don’t know about that, now.” He chuckled as he saw a dresser with a strange kind of lean. Taking a closer look, he saw a nail sticking out at one place, and some Duck tape in another.

  Releasing her, he then turned to the bed, running his fingers over the surface. Sure enough, by the joints, there were nails and tape, like the dresser, just a lot less noticeable. “No way,” he breathed, heading back out to the living room and checking each piece of furniture. The chairs and tables were different not because they were some fashion-forward piece of overly expensive craftsmanship, they were just plain different. Differe
nt eras, different original sets, and different wood.

  “The couch came with the place. It’s weird, but it works.” Christie stood just inside the kitchen, looking out at him with a solemn face. “I’ll have to pull off the fabric when I move out. He’ll probably hate it.”

  “You did all this?” He ran his hand through the air, trying to encompass the whole house. “You made this furniture?”

  “No. I…got it.” She shuffled a little to the right, half hiding behind the wall. “Found it.”

  “Are you embarrassed by this for some reason?” he asked, incredulous. “Because that is just harebrained. I have thrift store crap that looks like thrift store crap. It looks like a bum threw it away and then I moved it in. My mother snuck me twenty dollars because she thought I needed it more than she did. And then there is this, which looks like high-end furniture. It is artistic and eye-opening—it’s…it’s gorgeous, Christie. I’m kind of irritated that you haven’t helped me out, actually.”

  She looked around slowly, her face still shut down, as if she didn’t believe him. “You at least got it from a thrift store. I scraped it off the curb and tried to hammer and glue it back together.”

  “God, you’re annoying. Seriously. I’m having a hard time not throwing something at you right now.” A tiny smile worked at her lips. “How did you know how to do this? I’m handy, but I wouldn’t have been able to make furniture out of furniture.” He put his hands on his hips and laughed for no reason. Then he shook his head and huffed out a breath. “All this time you wouldn’t let me in here because you were embarrassed? Sometimes you are so absurd.”

  The smile worked bigger. She looked around, her eyes often going to the joints, the splashes and pops of color, or the odd angles that made the furniture so interesting. She was noticing all the issues that only an extremely close examination could find.

  “Why did you say Sara would know what your furniture looked like?” Greg asked, stopping halfway to sitting on the couch. “And will this re-done furniture hold my fat ass?”