Before I can get a word in she whips the covers off her. Her eyes turn wide as she looks down to her half-naked body, possibly realizing she is in fact only wearing a bra and panties. She quickly grabs the sheet under the blankets and looks up to me to see if I’ve caught a glimpse. In my defense, I wasn’t expecting her to just throw the blankets off herself. Her pale cheeks redden. She stands from the bed as if the embarrassing moment has passed in a flash and begins to move rapidly around the room. I’m dizzy watching her.
“You crazy or something?” She stops suddenly and gives me an expectant look.
“What do you mean?” I ask, clearly confused.
“I mean are you okay in the head?” I’ve never been asked a question like this before. I don’t have an answer for her.
She grabs a new pair of underwear and bra out of a drawer then pauses to look at me. She’s waiting for an answer. Was that even a real question? When I don’t answer, she drops the bra and panties on the bed and stalks over to me, placing her palm on my forehead. She goes from investigating me to sweetness in a nanosecond.
“How you feeling, darling?” she asks with a bit of an accent. Her voice is sweet and caring. It triggers my memory and details of last night come back to me.
My car must have run out of gas after I took the sleeping pill. Fuck! Of all the stupid things I’ve done, this one tops the list. She got me out of the car and brought me here. My body felt cold … I was so out of it I could barely walk, but for some reason I remember that sweet voice of hers calling me darling. She took care of me.
“Shit, you’re burning up.” She turns to look out the window. “Snow isn’t going to let up for the next few days. You should get back into bed and I’ll bring you some Tylenol,” she says and she doesn’t wait for me to answer. Better yet, I don’t understand why she’d want to take care of a complete stranger. “You don’t say much, do you?” she asks while her blue eyes stare at me.
She holds the blanket up in front of her half-naked body. A body I got a peek of this morning. I now know she has voluptuous breasts, curvy hips, and a fine ass.
“Sorry.” My voice comes out scratchy and quiet. “I’m not feeling too well.” I hold my throat. “I want to thank you for saving my ass out there last night.”
She eyes me as if she’s trying to get in my head. “You on drugs or something? You sure didn’t smell like alcohol. If it’s drugs … I’m sorry I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” Her head tilts to the side in an assessing way.
“No, I don’t do drugs. I took a sleeping pill. I’ve had some troubles these last few months and can’t sleep. I thought if I got a few hours of shut eye it would clear my head, the snow would stop, and I’d make it out to my sister’s cabin,” I explain, still holding my throat. I feel weak and woozy.
“It’s gonna snow hard for days. We won’t be able to get that car of yours out of the ditch until the snow slows,” she begins to explain.
Someone is going to steal my car or part her out. She’s the only thing I have left that’s actually worth something.
“Um … it was kind of you to bring me to your home. I should leave and figure things out,” I say and stand up from the bed. My lightheadedness causes me to sway.
She stands in front of me, and I get a closer look at her. She’s beautiful. “You’re too sick to go anywhere.” Her hand lands on my shoulder and our eyes meet. It looks like her breath hitches and before I can say anything else, she pulls her gaze from me and directs my body to the bed. “Stay in bed. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you,” she says, and I see a sadness hanging heavy in those blue eyes.
My brows furrow. “You don’t know me.” Was this girl fucking crazy? She was beautiful, but she must be out of her damn mind to insist a complete stranger stay in her bed.
“So?” She shrugs. Yup, she’s a looney.
“That isn’t an answer.” I scrub my fingers on the morning scruff of my chin. “You’re a beautiful woman. You shouldn’t allow a random stranger to sleep in your bed. That’s dangerous.” My tone almost sounds parental. If I wasn’t feeling so bad, I would be inclined to laugh at myself.
Her throat bobs and the palm of her hand lands on her chest. My eyes drop to her chest before looking back up to her eyes. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asks and her brows raise. She looks at me like I’m an alien. She’s definitely confusing, and I thought I was good at reading women.
“That isn’t the point. You don’t have any clothes on and you don’t know me.” I continue to lecture her, unsure where any of my need to protect this girl comes from. Maybe because she looks so young. Fuck! My brows dip together. That’s all I need is to be caught in bed with an underage girl. “How old are you anyway?” I ask. My head is throbbing, but I need to get this squared away. Even with sickness, she’s causing my dick to harden at half-mast.
“Twenty-three,” she says, but it sounds more like a question.
I exhale. “Phew.”
“Huh? Look, mister. If you’re crazy or want to hurt me, you should leave,” she says, still holding that blanket up in front of her body. It makes her look vulnerable and I don’t like it one bit.
“And if I told you I was crazy and wanted to hurt you, what would you do?” I ask just to test her. I don’t even know why I’m bothering other than her naiveté pisses me off.
“I’d grab the gun I have tucked away and shoot you.” She looks me square in the eyes when she says those words, and I swear my dick twitches. Maybe I’m a sick fuck or just turned on by her no bullshit personality.
“Try me,” I challenge her. Fuck, what am I thinking? It must be my fever. That, or I have a death wish.
I move slowly toward her because I can’t handle fast right now. She moves so quickly I’ve barely blinked, and she has a shotgun pressed between my eyes.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I murmur. This is a dream. A sick fucking dream.
“Answer the question now,” she says as the cool feel of the gun presses against my clammy skin. “Are you crazy?”
“Do you think if I was crazy I would tell you? I don’t think that’s how crazy works.” I shake my head. “Look, I really do appreciate you saving me and bringing me here. I hope you don’t bring strangers home often. I’m safe. I swear to you. I am the …” I pause. “I assure you, I would never hurt you.” I hold my hands up in surrender. I’m about to tell her that I’m the ex-chief of staff to the governor of Illinois, but I don’t because the idea of being in a place where my family name and old job don’t hang over my head is refreshing.
She looks down at me and slowly withdraws the gun. “Okay,” she says, and it looks like too many thoughts are rolling through her head now.
“Look, I’m really not feeling well. Could I get that Tylenol from you?” I hold my neck.
“Yeah, sure, sorry. Let me just get dressed.” She smiles sheepishly.
She turns away from me and drops her sheet, giving me a view of her fine ass. The panties she’s wearing drop to the floor and she puts on a new pair. She releases her bra strap and her bra meets the floor next. I gasp. She clearly isn’t shy, and if she isn’t crazy, then she is one fearless woman.
“I’m pretty sure you were suffering from hypothermia last night. I was trying to keep you warm that’s all. Don’t get any ideas. I live with my papa, and I wasn’t about to walk out in the hall draped in a sheet,” she explains. My mouth gapes open. My half-mast dick turns to a strong, stiff morning wood. Thankfully it’s covered by these enormous flannel pajamas. She dresses in a thermal shirt, a pair of snug blue jeans that hug her fine round ass, and finishes the outfit with another plaid flannel shirt. She takes long, assured strides back to me and lifts her chin. She’s over a head shorter than me. Her chin only reaches the top of my chest.
“What’s your name, darling?” She smiles gently, and I wonder if people call each other darling around here or if that’s what she calls me specifically. Either way, I like the word rolling off her tongue.
“
Al.” I cough. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed a pineapple whole. It hurts so badly. “Albert Walsh the …” I stop myself. “Just Al,” I murmur, not wanting to throw her off with my high society name that means shit anyway.
She chuckles. Her brows draw together, clearly confused by my name introduction. “Well, Al Walsh, nice to meet ya. I’m Sam. Short for Samantha Belmont. I live on this ranch with my papa, Joe Belmont,” she explains.
“I’m on a ranch?” I should be at the cabin with Izzy. My eyes widen as I add this fuckup to a long list of fuckups.
“Yup, come on.” She waves for me to follow her out of the room. Her movements are quick and efficient where mine are slow and straggling. I follow her down a hall to what looks like the main area of the house.
“Um, does your dad know I’m here?” I mutter.
She turns to look at me, a small smile curving her lips. That isn’t an answer. My body aches as I follow her down a short hall to a main living area that has a bunch of couches and armchairs and a medium sized TV on the wall. She heads toward a kitchen area and opens the fridge. It’s one of those older style fridges that has the freezer on the top and fridge on the bottom. She sticks her ass out and even in my sickly state, my dick twitches again. All I can think is, Down, buddy, she’s too young and clearly too kind for you.
She straightens and turns to me. “What would you like for breakfast, darling?”
Before I can answer, the front door opens. A blast of cool air shoots into the kitchen. A shiver rolls up my spine and spreads through my entire body. It must be the fever. An old guy, who is just as tall as me, strolls in wearing a cowboy hat and a corded jacket lined with white fur. His white hair peeks out of the sides of the hat, and he has the craziest white mustache I’ve ever seen. He looks like an older, albeit intimidating, cowboy.
“Who the hell is this?” he barks, looking between us.
I remain rooted in my spot. He looks like he has a shotgun close by.
“Papa, this is Al. He was stranded out by Route 68 last night. I helped him out.”
“Nice to meet you, sir. I would shake your hand, but I fear that I’m under the weather.”
He looks to Sam and a slow smile erupts on his lips. “Where did he come from, Sam? Is he for real?” Then he goes on to imitate me … “I fear I’m under the weather.” He gives me an incredulous look as if I just told him to fuck off and shakes his head then laughs to himself. “That’s Sam. She brings in the strays, and I apparently have to pay to feed them.” His voice is deep and monotone with no hint that he is friendly or pleased to see me here. I stiffen and when I look down, a dog is smelling my feet.
“Sorry? Strays?” I’m not following. Probably the damn fever. My legs feel weak, like I need to take a seat before I fall over, but I don’t feel comfortable doing that now that her father doesn’t approve of me being here.
I look down at the dog. It’s a beautiful husky with the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Meet Snow, our other stray,” her father says in a curt tone.
“Ignore Papa—” Sam begins to explain, but then he cuts her off.
“Don’t ignore Papa. This man is in my pajamas, Sam.” He gives her a scolding look like a parent would their small child. “And he’s too damn old for you. Did you notice that?” Now his tone drips sarcasm too.
“It’s not like that, Papa,” Sam begins again.
“Oh, it’s not like that, Papa …” He imitates her voice, and I’m beginning to really dislike him to the point that my fist clenches and I want to knock him out.
“Sir …” I clear my throat, feeling the need to explain or maybe protect her from him, even though it makes no sense because he’s her father.
Sam gives me a look that says shut up, so I do. I also drop into a chair at the kitchen table so I won’t fall over.
“His car got stuck in the snow off Route 68 last night. He was passed out and freezing to death. He would have died out there,” she explains, and I cringe at how idiotic it was of me to take a sleeping pill in that situation. Especially when I know they hit me hard, and I turn into a zombie.
“I’m not having sex with him, Papa. He is too old.” She pauses and looks at me apologetically. It makes me uncomfortable that she just spoke so openly about sex with her father.
In my family, anything that has to do with sex is very discreet and done behind closed doors. My family is prim and proper at all times in public. What irks me above all else is that she says I’m, “too old.” I’m fucking thirty-five. That’s hardly over the hill.
Her father turns his attention to me, a smug smirk on his old face. “Where you from? I pretty much know everyone in this town.” His voice is gravelly and sounds very much like John Wayne—and just because I made that connection doesn’t mean I’m old. Dammit. His eyes drop to my wrist where my Rolex shines.
“From Chicago,” I say with a scratchy voice. “I was on my way to my family’s cabin when that storm hit. My car didn’t handle very well, and I was forced off the road by a crazy driver.” I cough at the end of the sentence and hold my throat, which feels a lot like I have rocks being scraped across the inside of it.
The old man throws his head back, laughing. It’s a hearty chuckle and it pisses me off that he’s so amused by my misfortune. “What kind of car you drive, City?”
I actually didn’t want to answer his question. And did he really just call me City? He looks at me with intense brown eyes that say I’m a guest in his home and he expects an answer. I relent and with a sigh. “Porsche Boxster.” This makes his laugh intensify.
“Papa, leave him alone,” Sam scolds and comes around the table to check my forehead. “You’re burning up,” she says her lips turning into a frown. “Let me get you that Tylenol and then back to bed, mister.” I want to smile, but I don’t because her old man is looking straight at me with what seems to be an assessing look, and I don’t want to piss him off.
“I should really go. I’ve taken up enough of your time and you’re too generous,” I say because clearly her father doesn’t want me here, and I know when I’m not welcome. What I don’t understand is why I feel disappointment over leaving Sam and that removed look in her eyes.
Her father cuts in. “Like I said, she likes to pick up strays.” His eyes drop to the dog lying on the floor.
“Papa, stop it now. I work this ranch same as you. This home is as much mine as it is yours. Now please respect my guest,” she snaps at him, shocking the hell out of me. I begin to understand why she isn’t scared of a stranger. Her frustration is written all over her face. “Your car is still in a ditch. You aren’t going anywhere. I can’t call the tow company to help because conditions are still really bad out there. You need to stay put and get well,” she insists. “Then you can leave.” She gives her father a look that says she means business. Who am I to argue? Even with the John Wayne lookalike piercing me with his stare.
“Maybe you should wait in my room? I’ll bring the pills there,” she suggests, and I hear her father mutter something along the lines of fucking great under his breath.
I shrug my shoulders and make my way back down the hallway that leads to her room. I climb into her bed and cover myself with the pile of blankets. I stare up at the yellowing ceiling. Another fuckup. Now I’m stuck on a ranch in Nowheresville.
I hadn’t realized I dozed off when a nudge on my shoulder startles me awake. Sam’s sweet voice and breath are close to my face. “Hey,” she whispers, concern etched on her face. I look into her warm blue eyes that carry a heaviness that irks me.
“Brought you medicine, some tea, and toast,” she says, waiting for me to clearly sit up. “Tea, isn’t too hot. I don’t like drinking it really hot when I’m sick. I popped a few ice cubes in it. You should be able to swallow the pills. Plus, I added some honey to your tea so that should help with your throat. I don’t think Dr. Stu is around today. Hopefully this tides you over until he’s available.”
“Thank you.” I swallow the pi
lls. She waits, watching me like she wants to make sure I’m okay. I never even got that kind of treatment at home from my mother. Usually the nannies or maids brought me stuff when I was sick, and they weren’t this sweet or pretty that’s for sure.
I take a few small sips of tea. It hurts to swallow. Sam looks down to the toast like she’s expecting me to eat it. I can’t imagine swallowing crunchy toast with my throat being in the state that it’s in, but I eat the toast not wanting to disappoint her. I pause. “You never did answer my question. Why are you helping me? And why aren’t you scared of me?” I was a big, strong guy. I would never hurt her, but she didn’t know that. It makes me angry for some reason that she’s so naïve.
“I’m a good judge of character, and my mama always taught me to help people in need. If I would have left you out there last night, you would have died,” she explains. Well shit.
“How can I repay you for helping me?” I ask, looking up to her. Where I come from bottom lines are all about money.
Her brows crease together and her nose crunches up with distaste. This girl is adorable and too good. “I don’t need you to repay me …” She looks down at my watch and her face scrunches up further. “You think just because you have a nice car and a nice watch that us simple folk need what you have? Well shit, City, you are dead wrong.” She huffs and turns to her closet where she takes out a heavier jacket.
Did she just call me City too? And how had I managed to anger her? I have to fix this. I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just where I’m from, people don’t take in complete strangers and nurse them back to health.”
“Well, it sucks to be where you’re from, then. Here in Holston, we take care of people. It’s a town of one hundred and forty-five people. We all know each other, and we pretty much take care of one another,” she explains with a defensive stance and a snap to her voice.
“It sounds like it’s better to be from Holston than Chicago. Where I’m from, people cheat, lie, and stab you in the back. Well, except for my best friend, but he’s an odd case. Will you forgive me?” I push out my bottom lip out for extra effect.
Mr. So Wrong Page 3
