As soon as Whiskey mounted the mare, Paige turned back to the house. And if I didn’t know better, I’d think I saw her wipe her cheeks a few times. I pull out my phone, texting her.
Stop.
I see her pull out her phone, but she keeps walking. So I try again.
Thanks for your help today. Please wait.
This time she stops, glancing back at me over her shoulder. Even from this distance, I can see her flushed cheeks. As quickly as I can get rid of everyone, I make my way over to where she’s waiting, frozen in the field with her back to me. It only takes one look at her to remember the exact reason I’m avoiding her.
I can’t see her face, but she still looks beautiful standing there, her brown hair moving with the breeze, mud splashed up on her long legs, those jean shorts hanging low on her hips. Damn!
Why do I have to be an ass man? And why does hers have to be fucking perfect?
When I’m close enough, I say her name, only to hear her whimper a little. “What’s wrong?”
She turns to me, her eyes wet with tears. “Will you ever not think of me as a whore?”
I don’t mean to, but my step falters. I did this to her. I’m responsible for her tears. Is there anything worse than knowing you’ve made a woman cry? “I don’t think of you that way.”
“You take every chance you get to make a jab about me. It’s very clear what you think about me. I have no idea why you hired me.”
“I told you why I hired you.”
She just rolls her eyes. “This was a bad idea,” she says. “I should’ve never come here.”
She’s right about me taking jabs at her, but she’s not right about the reason. It’s not that I think that way about her. It’s my way of reminding myself that she’s off-limits. I found her on my father’s arm, for Christ’s sake. I have to keep that in the forefront of my mind, or the next place I’ll take her will be in my bed. “The last thing I want is to hurt your feelings,” I say, my hand reaching for hers but stopping just short. “I was coming over here to thank you.”
“It does hurt,” she says softly. “People assume girls like me don’t have feelings. But the truth is, we probably feel things deeper than other people.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I truly am. I’m trying to save this woman, not hurt her further. “No more comments.” She looks up at me from under her wet lashes. I can see all the people who have lied to her right there in that one look.
“I better get back to Finn,” she says.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PAIGE
Some things you can prepare for, and some things you can’t. Slade Turner is in the latter category. He’s as unpredictable as he is hot. Okay, yes, the man is hot. But he’s also cold and cunning, and knows how to cut me down to size in one swipe of his tongue. Bad example, I shouldn’t be thinking about his tongue. At least I told him how I feel. I’m not going to stand for being degraded every chance he gets. If he wanted a verbal punching bag, he hired the wrong girl.
Opening the door to the house, I’m also unprepared for what I find. Catrine is on the floor, laid out with Finn next to her. He’s eating his foot, and she’s struggling to lift her leg. They both are in a fit of laughter. “What’s this?” I ask, giggling.
Finn’s head immediately pops up, recognizing my voice. “He thinks it’s funny when I try to eat my toes, too,” Catrine says. “But once I got down here, I couldn’t get up.”
“Let me help you.”
“No,” she says. “Watch Finn.”
He’s laughing the cutest little baby giggle as he slams down one hand, moving forward a little. I move a little closer so he doesn’t have that far to go. A string of drool hangs from his bottom lip, leaving a little trail as he crawls to me. It’s not fast. For that, I’m grateful. But he makes it all the way to me. Picking him up, I smother him in kisses, not minding the drool.
“I hope Chewie likes me that much,” Catrine says, still lying on the floor.
“He’ll love you,” I say. “You’ll be able to eat your toes together.”
She laughs. “Can you help me up now?”
“I’ve got it,” Slade says from the doorway behind me. I turn, and he gives me a small smile. “If Jon saw you down there, you know he’d flip his shit.”
She rolls her eyes, holding her arms up for him to help her. “Finn and I were playing. He’s starting to crawl,” she says, getting to her feet. “Show him. It’s the cutest thing. He looks like a little bear cub. His stomach almost touches the ground.”
Slade glances at me. His blue eyes look different—friendlier. “This I have to see,” he says.
He looks sincere, like he really does care. And Catrine was so happy and excited. This is the moment I wanted a few days ago and never had, so I’m going to grab it. I place Finn on the ground, then move over by Slade and kneel. Slade does the same, flashing me a small smile.
“Crawl to Mommy,” Catrine says.
With one huge squeal, he’s off again. Only this time, he’s a little faster. Maybe I shouldn’t be encouraging this? “That’s it, Finn,” I say, giggling and holding my arms out. Only he crawls to Slade instead.
“Hot rod,” he says, smiling down at him. But Finn doesn’t stop, moving into his lap. Slade looks over at me. “Um . . .”
“It’s alright,” I say. “You can hold him.”
“I’m not sure I can,” he says, and I see the panic setting in. “I’ve never held a baby before.”
Catrine and I both burst out laughing, a little twenty-pound baby bringing a two hundred and something pound man to his knees. Slade isn’t a man you’d expect to see nervous. He’s controlled, guarded. But Finn has knocked that all out in one little crawl. Slade looks like a man who might be used to having people on their knees, perhaps even crawling, but not like this.
Scooting closer to them, I say, “He’s not an infant anymore, so it’s a little easier, but he does wiggle, so you’ve got to have a firm hold on him.”
He picks Finn up, but under his arms, holding him out away from his body. My poor little guy is dangling in the air. Finn’s face wrinkles up, his lip popping out. Slade moves to hand him to me. “You’re doing fine,” I say, encouraging him to bring Finn to his chest. His eyes meet mine. “Hold him close.”
“That’s what he likes?” Slade asks, his voice low and hungry.
My throat suddenly dry, I whisper, “Yes.” I stroke Finn’s little bald head as he nuzzles into Slade. “You’ve got it.”
“Are you staying the weekend?” Catrine asks Slade.
His eyes don’t leave mine when he says, “At least one night.”
“Want me to run to the store?” she asks.
Slade gets to his feet, still cradling Finn. “It’s alright. If we need to, we’ll go ourselves.”
Catrine flashes me a look, but I’m not sure what’s come over our boss, either. “Since we’re all here, should we discuss the party for the opening next week?” Slade asks.