Ranch Hand For Auction: A Western Romance Novella

by Kimberly Krey

  “Would you go out with me?”

  Meg made her way to the counter without dropping a single egg, which felt like a big accomplishment even with the carton fully closed. She also didn’t trip or slip or faint though suddenly she felt close to doing all three.

  “Why? Aren’t you committed to somebody? You’re railing on Michael because he’s not committed, but now you’re telling me that you aren’t either. So what makes you any better?” Sure it was a dumb argument. A weak attempt to shift things around but what else did she have?

  From her peripheral she saw him drop his arms, pull away from the counter, and start walking toward her. “I haven’t been stringing some devoted woman along for the last two years. I’m not committed because I haven’t met the person I’d like to commit to. Have you?” He’d lowered his voice for that question, in volume and pitch. Yet he’d simultaneously (and quite magically) heightened the sensuality of it, causing an explosion of goosebumps to break out over her skin.

  At last the two-worded question sunk deeper. The sound of it echoed in Meg’s head, giving life to a lurking fear within her. One that was hidden behind walls so thick and deep, even she couldn’t see past them. What would happen if Michael wasn’t the right one? And why did the thought terrify her so completely?

  Meg kept her gaze on the carton of eggs, unwilling to respond to his question. Jake’s focus was set on her, and she wanted nothing more than to look unaffected. But she couldn’t get herself to move. She felt paralyzed, locked in a puzzle that could take years to solve.

  Jake turned away from her, and Meg’s shoulders dropped a notch, the tension in them starting to ease. He set a small bowl on the counter, grabbed an egg out of the carton, and held it before her. “Would you like scrambled or fried?”

  It took a moment for the egg to come into view. “Huh?”

  “Or poached? I make a mean poached egg.”

  She hid a grin, appreciating the topic change, and glanced over in time to catch that dimple sink into his cheek. “Surprise me.”

  “There’s some deli ham in the fridge,” he said. “How about a ham and cheese omelet?”

  Meg let the reluctant grin slip. “That sounds wonderful.”

  She got out the bread, put a few slices in the toaster while Jake worked on the omelets. Soon he switched the conversation to talk of his little brothers and sisters, and began asking about what it was like growing up with only one sibling. While she was enjoying the conversation (and the omelet), a part of Meg was stuck musing on the mystery he was. She couldn’t help but replay the encounter in her head. Jake’s challenge where Michael was concerned. The way she’d clammed up in response. Jake had nearly cornered her with his question, and just when she’d reached the point of unraveling he’d given her a way out.

  But why?

  Had he sensed her distress? Taken pity on her? Pity – Meg despised that word. Yet her position with Michael – someone she couldn’t even call her boyfriend – was nothing short of pathetic and Meg knew it.

  Would you go out with me? Jake’s question repeated in her mind again and again, each time sending a thrill through her body anew. And as breakfast finished up, she and Jake starting the task of picking the next batch, Meg came up with a surprising answer to that question: Yes.

  Sure, she hadn’t gone out with someone other than Michael in close to three years. But something about this cowboy had her aching to give it a shot. If he was really interested, that is. For now, it was hard to say. But still, she felt good about her new position on the prospect. If Jake actually did ask her out on a date, Meg would say yes.

  Chapter Seven

  Jake set a freshly sealed jar next to the line of others. The marble counter – covered with a spread of hand towels – now held dozens of quarts of grape juice. Day number three and things were running better than clockwork with a kick. Throughout the full day he’d picked over half-a-dozen bushels, helped process several quarts per bushel, and beyond that – he’d managed to go the entire day without razzing Meg over her pathetic excuse for a boyfriend.

  Some boyfriend. Refusing to commit after years of dating. Tied her down with invisible strings is what he’d done. The poor girl didn’t dare look at another man, it seemed. Though even as the thought crossed his mind, Jake knew Meg Bolton had done her fair share of looking at him.

  He glanced up at the clock on the wall, noting the time before letting his gaze drop to the framed painting below, a piece that had caught his eye nearly each time he checked the clock.

  “Tell me about this one,” he said, making his way around the corner to stand before it. The square-shaped canvas – accented by thick, grey matting – was a solid plum color, the shades varying slightly around the edge. What made it interesting was the intricate pattern covering the surface – clear bead-like spots ranging from pearl-sized to miniscule.

  Meg stirred in the kitchen a bit before making her way behind him. Quite close behind him, he noted. His belly stirred with heat. He pulled in a deep breath of her sweet, vanilla scent, willing her to step even closer, but all too soon she was gone, heading back toward the stove.

  “I’ll show you.”

  Jake’s brow furrowed. “Show me?”

  “Yep.” She pulled a kettle from the back of the stovetop, filled it with water, and set it back on the burner. “It’ll just take a minute.”

  With a small nod, he joined her back at the stove. The oven was open wide, a rack pulled out where a cookie sheet served as a work base. Meg, standing on the other side of the workspace, nodded to the processor. “Think we’ve got enough left in here to fill one more?”

  He lifted the lid and looked inside, seeing nothing but shriveled grape skins and wilted vines. “Definitely,” he said.

  Taking hold of the processor, Jake tipped it forward while Meg placed a heated jar beneath the short, pliable hose. She released the clamp, allowing a slow stream to come through. The dark, heated liquid filled the jar in a steady flow until it was halfway full, the juice slowing down to a trickle.

  “Hold on.” Jake secured the lid and tipped it further toward her until it flowed through once more.

  “Almost there,” Meg said. Her lashes were lovely from this angle. He freed one hand from the pot, let the back of his fingers glide gently along her wrist, and watched her unconscious reaction come to life. That soft, rosy glow.

  She smiled, biting at her lower lip. “And… perfect.”

  Jake gulped. Yes, she was. He set the steamer upright, glad to have her so near. Sure, the open oven put a bit of distance between them, but with both leaning over the same task, they’d eliminated that with ease.

  “Thanks,” she said in a whisper.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Meg reached for the spoon, scooped a few bubbles off the top, and then wiped down the rim. Before she could reach for a lid, Jake held one before her with a set of tongs.

  “Here’s a lid,” he mumbled. “And the ring,” he said next, handing over a canning ring. After Meg placed it around the rim, he leaned down and twisted it on with one hand. “And… we’re done.” His lip grazed the outer curve of her ear as he’d said it, and a trail of goosebumps spread over her arms.

  There went that heat in his belly, roaring hotter than the stovetop beside him. His gaze drifted to her lips as they straightened up, and he’d be damned if hers didn’t do the same. Jake reminded himself of why he was there – her father. He’d put down good money for him to help his daughter with this task. Not to make-out with her the first chance he got.

  A blasting whistle pierced the air like the call of a foul play, startling him until he remembered the kettle she’d put on.

  “Oh, it’s ready,” she said, seeming to snap out of some sort of spell. Whatever it was, Jake knew he’d fallen victim to it too.

  “Let me show you.” She went to work, grabbing a mug, a bag of tea, and a saucer that was precisely the same color as the painting. In went the teabag, the water came next, and then came the plate on
top of the mug. Meg folded her arms and looked at the clock. “We’ll let that steep for a couple of minutes, then you’ll see.”

  He nodded, enjoying the quiet moment with her, even if she had moved to the opposite end of the counter.

  Suddenly, as if she’d just remembered something, Meg threw a hand to her forehead and tipped back with a groan. “I keep forgetting about dinner. Sorry, I’ll have to grab a few cans of soup to heat up, I guess.”

  “That’s fine by me.” Only Jake actually had something else in store. Something that should arrive any minute.

  Meg grabbed the edge of the plate, flipped it over, and walked toward him while holding it under the light. “See that?”

  Beyond the windows it was dark out, but the lights in the kitchen seemed to mimic the outdoor glow. He leaned down a bit, scrutinizing the saucer as they came together. “Condensation,” he said.

  She nodded. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Do you see how teeny tiny those outer drops are? And it’s almost in this crazy pattern, like an animal print or something.”

  “I’ll be damned,” he mumbled, recognizing the look of it right away. Boy, did he love her passion. “I can’t imagine noticing that type of thing on my own.”

  Meg shrugged modestly, her eyes lingering on his face once more. Jake knew there was no pulling his gaze off her. It was like hypnosis minus the words. Some unspoken trance when their eyes met.

  “Guess it’s uh… time to scrounge up some dinner.” Yet just as Meg said it the doorbell rang. Her eyes widened before she broke their gaze with the slow turn of her head.

  Jake cleared his throat and strode toward the door. “I’ll get it,” he mumbled. “It’s for me.”

  ~ + ~

  Meg’s curiosity rose as Jake pulled open the door. She heard a bit of mumbling, but couldn’t decipher what was said. Mere seconds later he closed the door and made his way back toward the kitchen.

  Suddenly a delicious, familiar aroma cut through the tart tangy scent that had permeated the home since they’d started the grapes. She worked to place it as she saw a plastic sack in his hand. Chinese food.

  His smile widened. “You mentioned that you ate Chinese takeout with your mom when you made juice with her,” he said. “Thought we may as well keep up the tradition.”

  Swoony, melty, tingly things were happening to her insides, the kind gesture reaching every possible corner of her heart. Branding it with a moment she would never forget. “That was so thoughtful.” Emotion tightened her throat. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She noticed him eyeing the clock, recalling a conversation she’d overheard between Jake and her dad, something about a college football game that would be on that night. “What time does your game start?” she asked.

  Jake tilted his head in question.

  “College football,” she said. “You better watch it so you can let my dad know how it goes.”

  Jake looked as if he was fighting off a smile. “It starts in ten minutes.”

  “Then how about we take this downstairs and eat in front of the TV.”

  He nodded, unleashing that grin after all. “Sounds good to me.”

  ~ + ~

  Meg reached for the remote as credits scrolled down the massive flat screen. She was about to turn it off, but opted to mute the thing instead. The closing song blasted so loud she feared it might wake up Jake. He’d made it through the game just fine, the following sitcom, not so much.

  Once the sound was off, the screen still offering its generous glow, Meg climbed off her corner of the couch. Empty takeout boxes stood scattered along the coffee table, chopsticks and napkins lay nearby. She got to her knees and tidied the area up as quietly as she could, stacking boxes before placing them in the sack they came in.

  Once the table was nearly clear, a small, white slip caught her eye – the fortune she’d found in her cookie earlier. She took hold of the slip, curling the edge around her finger as she read it once more: It is foolish to resist change in life. Embrace new things, and you will find what you’re looking for.

  She turned to look back over her shoulder, smiling at the way Jake was sprawled out. The sofa had seats that reclined the way a lounge chair did, and though Jake’s was fully reclined, his long legs didn’t quite fit, everything from the mid-calf down protruding over the edge. Parts of the fortune played through her mind as she climbed back onto the couch – the center seat this time. Foolish to resist change…

  Her gaze ran over his face, the peaceful expression making him look a bit younger than before. Not too young, though, seeing that he’d skipped a razor the last day or two. That late-night shadow he favored gave him that extra masculine appeal. The way it framed those lips of his…

  An urge struck her then. A deep and driving desire.

  What would happen if she leaned over and kissed those lips?

  She and Jake had been getting a whole lot closer. He’d been flirting with her nonstop the last few days. Meg had done a good share of flirting right back. She had wondered, on more than one occasion, if he might ask her out after all. There was even one point – when the two had gotten in a water fight out back – that she’d thought he might kiss her.

  Meg had spent the following evening wishing he’d done that very thing. She’d wondered just what his lips would feel like on hers. It wouldn’t be some meaningless kiss. Not with the kind of sparks the two had. And the connection they’d made. It was odd though – she couldn’t shake the feeling that his resistance stemmed from fear. But fear of what? Rejection? Fear of offending her? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that in that moment, she could put all those fears to rest.

  She gulped, rested a hand along the back of the couch, her knuckles grazing over his broad shoulder. Her pulse raced. She paused, wondering if her touch would wake him. Her eyes landed on his well-formed chest, watching for any change in his breathing. In it came, then out, slow and even.

  Okay. You can do this, Meg.

  She leaned in closer, appreciating the warmth of him as she neared. And the scent of him too. Spicy and fresh and intoxicating.

  Jake’s head was gently tipped to one side. The side facing her, as luck would have it. She brought her head closer to his, her shadow blocking him from the light of the screen, and fear kicked in. Seconds ago she’d wondered what Jake was afraid of. Now she was bombarded with doubts of her own.

  What if he hadn’t wanted to move things in this direction? What if she’d read him wrong all along? What if he flinched back and knocked her out while in some sleeping stupor?

  Her heart made its presence known in the heightened moment, thumping like a loud and angry chant. Go! Do it! Move in!

  She licked her lips, gulped back her fear, and inched forward at last, moving until their mouths met with the slightest, most enticing touch. Holy, holy! A rush of euphoria spilled over her body, urging her to come in again, using a bit more pressure this time. Mmm. So good.

  She stayed a sliver away, contemplating another kiss, and felt Jake’s lips part. Her heart skipped an entire beat.

  Had he come to his senses? And if so, what was going through his head?

  The question had barely come to her when Jake gave her the answer. Softly, gently, he closed the gap between them, planting a sweet, sensual kiss to her lips. Meg felt herself lean in once the seal was broken, a near desperation for more.

  Jake’s hand found the back of her neck, cradled her there while his warm breath fused with hers, feeding the charged current between them.

  “Meg,” he said, voice deep and raspy. He kissed her again. Strong and certain, the push and pull of his mouth weaving a spell over her. A spell of desire. A spell of bliss.

  Adding to the ecstasy, Meg felt a rush of triumph. She’d been the one to initiate that kiss, and the outcome was more rewarding than she could have imagined.

  At once Jake’s arm encircled her back, bringing her impossibly closer while deepening the kiss. Her hand moved to his chest as she steadied herself, the r
apid pounding of his heated heart strong beneath her palm.

  A small whine of pleasure sounded from low in her throat. She sensed urgency in that kiss. An acknowledgement of sorts. Their days together were limited, and coming to an end. An end that – it turned out – neither of them wanted.

  An intruding creak broke into the moment, causing them to break the seal of their lips. Jake leaned his forehead against hers. Meg caught her breath while listening for further sounds of her dad’s entry.

  “Kids?”

  The way he’d said it, hollering from the top of the stairs, made Meg feel like that very thing – a kid. Caught making out in the dark. She shifted away from Jake, bolting toward the lamp as she replied.

  “Yeah?”

  A pool of bright light struck her eyes with a sharp sting. “We’re down here. Just watching a show.”

  Jake repositioned himself in the seat while footsteps sounded down the stairs.

  “What is it you’re watching?” Thomas asked, eyeing the quiet screen.

  Meg’s eyes shot to the TV. “It’s over now. I’m not sure what this is.” What it was, was an infomercial. Put on mute, no less. Her face filled with warmth beneath her dad’s gaze.

  He took a moment to look back and forth between the two of them, loosening his tie as he did. “How much do I owe you for the Chinese?” he asked, turning his attention to Jake.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s on me. Did you see the cartons up there in the fridge?”

  “Sure did,” her dad replied. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had take out from that place.”

  Meg fiddled with her earlobe. Cleared her throat, and wondered how long it would take the awkwardness to leave the room.

  “Well,” her dad finally said. “I’m going to go on up and eat.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Bolton,” Jake said.