“Jack?” Her voice is surprised as she steps back to let me in.
I might have the same damn startled look on my face, but it’s for such a very different reason.
How in the hell did this woman with her storm-cloud-colored eyes and bee-stung lips win my fucking heart?
“Is everything okay? I just heard your truck take off.” She looks toward the empty driveway again, confusion etching the lines of her face as she reaches out and runs a hand down my arm because I’m just standing there and staring at her.
At her simplicity.
At her need to be in control and ability to give it to me when it’s warranted.
At her wild.
“Yeah.” I step into her and press my lips to hers in a kiss so very different from any others I’ve given her before. This time, there is a softness in it. A regret. A knowledge that I only have so many of these left to give. “I missed you, is all.”
She doesn’t respond with words.
Instead, she pulls me into her arms and kisses me back with the same gentle desperation I feel.
THE SKY IS TURNING GRAY. It’s subtle hues as the early morning sky prepares for the sun to rise remind me of Tate’s eyes.
I turn to look at where she’s snuggled beneath the covers, hair fanned out on the tan pillowcase, one leg wrapped around the comforter’s edge while her breast is partially uncovered by the opposite end.
She’s beautiful.
Not in the typical sense. She’s slight in stature with small features, perfect tits, and a great ass, but it’s her unforgettable personality that draws me to her. Fire and ice when she needs to be and sunshine and storm clouds at other times.
It takes everything I have not to crawl back into bed beside her and curl into her warmth, spread her thighs, and taste her again.
My dick stirs to life as I think of the way she mewled and bucked beneath my tongue last night. When she tucked in close against me and her breath feathered over my skin as it evened out, I wanted to tell her the same three words she told me the other night.
But I’d be awake.
I’d know what I said.
She doesn’t know she did.
I need to go get my truck and then drive up the driveway before the guys wake up. I need to go pretend I was out getting laid by Violet instead of Tate.
“Hey.” Her voice is husky, eyes squinting as she pushes the hair out of her face.
“Morning.”
She glances at the clock. “It’s early.” The two words are a groan that I couldn’t agree more with.
“No. Stay in bed. Get some more sleep,” I say when she begins to push herself up.
Bending over, I press a kiss to the top of her head as she grabs my pillow and hugs it to her before closing her eyes and snuggling back under the comforter. “I’ll be up in a few minutes,” she murmurs, her voice sleep drugged as she falls back asleep.
“I’ve got everything covered. Get some sleep, Tate.”
I stride out of the room but look back one more time.
Somewhere along the line, I forgot I came here because of a promise I made.
Sometime over the past few months, I lost sight of the fact that I was supposed to be making amends with the universe. I’d forgotten that my purpose here was to right some of the wrongs I’d made in my real estate dealings when I took advantage of small ranch owners by trying to help Tate.
Both of those notions have become one hundred percent overshadowed and forgotten because of her. Tatum Knox. The unexpected woman I can’t seem to get enough of.
I’ve definitely fucking fallen for her.
And hell if that isn’t a hard one to swallow.
41
TATE
“Thanks for your help, Will.”
“We’re the ones eating it all,” he says as he helps me carry the groceries into the bunkhouse. “It’s the least I can do.” He sets them on the table and then pauses. “Wait, you actually went into town and shopped? No delivery? What happened?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. He doesn’t need to know that my trip was to test the temperature of the town. The stares were still there, and some people were still frosty when I tried to interact with them, but . . . it felt much less daunting this time around.
“I just needed to take a mini-break. Go to town for a bit. Get an ice cream cone.”
“Being around all us men has to get tiring.” He laughs.
So says the eighteen-year-old.
“Nothing I can’t handle. Things are going well?” I ask nonchalantly because I don’t want to seem like I’m prying. “I mean . . . you’re okay with being here and staying here? I don’t mean to take you away from your family.” I stumble over the words I’m not sure if I’m supposed to know about what he said about his father’s drinking.
“Tate.” I stop unloading the fruit from my bag and look at him. His blue eyes are loaded with emotion. “This is the longest span of time I’ve ever had where I haven’t had to block a fist being thrown my way.”
“Will.” I don’t know what to say other than his name to let him know I hear him and I feel horrible for him.
“He drinks to cope with my mom’s death . . . but that isn’t the life I want to live, so I’m trying my best to do better.”
Emotion overwhelms me, and I have to force my hand not to shake. “Jack’s contract is up soon. Maybe you should consider if you want to stay on after that. With a paycheck, that is. We can figure something out so you can still do school at night. Hire a few more hands, and I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.”
“Are you serious?” The hope woven into those three words lingers in the room.
“Yes. I’ll talk to Jack about it and make sure he shows you what you need to know.”
“I don’t even know what to say. I just . . .”
“You’re a good kid, Will.”
He drops his head and nods before stepping out to grab more groceries . . . or to gather himself. I follow a second later to find he’s gotten the rest of the groceries, so I shut the tailgate for him.
“Where’s Jack anyway?” I ask.
“Down in the breeding pen.”
“’Kay.”
The sun is playing peekaboo with the clouds as I make my way down to the pens for what feels like the hundredth time in the past weeks. The sounds I’ve grown accustomed to—anxious mares whinnying, testosterone-fueled stallions revved—are a soundtrack around me.
My eyes are cast down, checking messages on my phone about upcoming food deliveries and times that Doc Arlington is available to come out to perform ultrasounds on the mares to see if any of this was a success, when a text from Sheryl pings, letting me know we might have a buyer for Ruby.
I stare at the message as I let it settle in, and I allow myself to believe the horse that was such a staple for this ranch, such a beacon of hope for me in the darkest of times, might be leaving.
My hands tremble as I dial her number.
“Sheryl. It’s Tate.”
“You got my message?”
“Yes. It breaks my heart a little if I’m being honest,” I say as I bite my lip and lean back against the wall of the stable.
“It’s going to break your bank account even more if you don’t.”