Mr. Redding spots us from across the yard. “So, how’d it go?”
I almost choke.How’d it go?Your son just finger-fucked me next to your prize bull while narrating a breeding demonstration, and I saw God, sir. But sure. Let’s chat.
I clear my throat. “Good. Really informative.”
Beau doesn’t even flinch. Stone-cold poker face. Meanwhile, I’m standing here with shaking hands and soaked panties trying to discuss cattle genetics with his father. This is fine.
Mr. Redding grins. “You wanna come to the house for a minute? My wife would be really happy to see you.”
“Oh, I…” I fumble. “I really have to get going, Mr. Redding.”
“Next time then,” he says kindly, already turning back to the barn.
I reach out for a goodbye handshake, and Beau takes my hand. And again, he doesn’t let go right away. But this time is different. This time his thumb presses into the center of my palm …right where his hand first held mine at the fair …and strokes slow. My breath catches. And I don’t pull back. I let his rough thumb trace circles against my skin for a beat too long. Both of us standing there, holding on, while his father’s twenty feet away.
When I finally let go, something in his golden eyes shifts. Softens. Like me not pulling away told him more than any words could.
The drive home is a mess.
I’m replaying everything. His voice in my ear…low, dark, so close I felt it in my teeth.She gave herself to me last night.His thick fingers stretching me open.Gotta get you ready for me.The groan he let out when he felt how wet I was. The look on his face when I turned around…golden eyes blown dark, jaw clenched, cock straining behind his jeans. Wrecked. Because of me.
And the way he held me after. Arms wrapped tight. Chin on my head. Heart hammering against my back. Like I wasn’t just a hookup. Like I was something he’d been waiting for.
That’s the part that scares me.
Because I know what it feels like when a man wants your body. Mark wanted my body. Wanted it enough to marry me, have kids, and build a life together. And then he wanted someone else more. Wanting is never the problem. Staying is.
Beau Redding wants me. That much is obvious. But wanting and staying aren’t the same thing. And I’m not sure I survive learning that lesson twice.
I’m halfway through kicking my own ass when my phone buzzes. My best friend, Tanya.
Neon Saloon tonight. Wear boots and a good bra.
I start typing,no, then pause. Because I know exactly what my night will look like if I stay home. Sitting on that porch. Sipping lemonade. Replaying the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hands. Waiting for the sound of tires on gravel. Hoping he shows up again. Praying he doesn’t. Both at the same damn time.
Fuck that.
I delete my reply and type:What time?
Five
Beau
It’s been hours. I’ve fed the stock. Checked heifers. Run bloodwork on a new stud. And my fingers still carry the ghost of her. Sweet, musky, warm. The feel of my woman embedded in my skin like a brand.
I bring my hand to my face at the kitchen table like a goddamn psychopath and breathe in.
I’ve always known things early. It’s a curse. Born with a high IQ and low patience for bullshit. Skipped a grade. Graduated top of my class. Went on to study behavioral genetics and animal husbandry, then got recruited to a research position at Cornell. Youngest in the department. Published papers. Had a future mapped out in a world of labs and lecture halls and people who thought being smart was the same as being whole.
It wasn’t.
I spent four years in New York feeling like I was living someone else’s life. Dating women who liked the idea of me…the tall Texan with the brain and the body. None of them saw me. Not really. They saw the resume. The novelty. One of them,Claire, lasted almost a year. Smart, ambitious, beautiful. When she told me she loved me, I felt nothing. Not a goddamn thing. I ended it the following week. She called me cold. Maybe she was right.
I came home because the land made more sense than people did. Because my dad needed help. Because I was tired of performing a version of myself that didn’t fit. Back on the ranch, I could breathe. Work with my hands. Be quiet without someone asking what was wrong.
I stopped looking. Stopped trying. Figured whatever was missing wasn’t something a woman could fix. My brothers dated. Married. Had kids. I watched and felt happy for them and nothing for myself.
Then Ina Samba walked into that fair with her thick thighs and her wide smile and a scent that hit the back of my throat. And every dead thing inside me woke up screaming.
