“Well good, you can read contracts. Thought that was Sterling’s job. Thanks, stud, no time for chat, it’s sunup,” she quipped as she took the coffee and wandered off to get to work.
I watch her now as she tackles the muck-out in the north stalls. It is back-breaking, thankless work—the kind that makes your forearms scream, and your lower back quit on you by noon.There is no quit in Blake. While she is slower than some of the hands, she is methodical and meticulous. No pause between stalls, no hesitation to jump right in on the next task.
Hiding in the shadows, I cannot help but watch her. Everything she does seems to fascinate me. I watch how she blows a strand of dark hair out of face as she finishes a stall, stopping long enough to sip some water. Moving to the next stall, she stretches, wiping her hand over her sweaty face, marking her skin with dirt. Even dirty, sweaty, and with a little attitude, she is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.
My boots catch on the dirt as I scramble to keep pace.Shit.No way to avoid it—she definitely heard that. Cursing my own clumsiness, I swallow my pride and round the corner. There she stands, hand on her hip, watching me with a narrowed gaze. I almost laugh; this woman has me acting a total fool.
“Worried I might run off on you again?” She taunts, though I sense she regrets her last exit.
“Not for another six months, I reckon,” I tease back, reminding her, and myself, what she agreed to in her contract.
Ink on a page won't keep her here—contracts get ripped up every day and promises even faster. Still, seeing her name on the dotted line this morning was the edge I needed. It is a start. A shot at showing her that we aren't done with what started at The Barn. I go after what I want and I never miss.
What I want now is another night with Blake.
“Listen, Brooks...the other night was good. It was great. I should not have bailed the way I did. I came here to...to stop making mistakes. To stop running the way I have been. I just...I have no space for anything else.”
There is something so vulnerable about this moment. Standing there in the stall, dirty, sweaty, with the smell of horse shit and grime clinging to her, she is soft and open. And I ammore gone on her in this moment than I was the first time I watched her come for me.
“Good to hear, darlin’. I won’t take up much space” I say, closing the distance until she’s pinned against the gate. I lean in, my voice dropping. “Just enough to make sure you know that night wasn't our last. You're going to blister if you keep holding it that way,” I chastise as I jerk my head at her hands on the big broom.
Reaching out cautiously, I wipe at the smudge a dirt on her cheek. Blake does not flinch. There is no pushing me away or argument. All she does is straighten her spine and turn back to her work. I step back to get out of her way, but I don’t bother to pretend I won’t keep watching her.
“Let me work, Brooks,” she pleads, pausing just long enough to glance back at me. “I need this.”
Tipping my hat at her, I nod. I can tell she does need it, and a good man will give a woman what she needs. She might want another night like our first together—lord knows I do too—but what she needs first is something else. Blake needs something solid. Something unwavering to hold onto.
“I see you do. Just...take it easy,” I call, my voice softer than I intend. “You might have something to prove to yourself, but I don’t want to see you punishing yourself to do it.”
Something passes between us before she nods too, turning back to her work. I leave her to it, thinking a little space is a good idea. Before I get out of the barn, I sense her hesitate. I turn back to see her smiling at me, the smallest smile she can afford me just then
“Thanks, stud,” she tosses with a laugh.
Laughing too, I get out of there before I do something I regret. Like sweep her off her feet right there in the filthy stalls. I do not seem able to go too far, however. I hover near the tack room, ostensibly cleaning some of the saddles, but hyperawareof her every move. But I want her to have the space she needs, so I don’t bother her again.
I do watch her. I can’t help it. Like I said before, everything she does fascinates me. The way she holds the broom, as if it’s a weapon she can defend herself with. I pass by once when she slips in some mud, just about going down. There is no cursing or complaining—no; she laughs, calls herself an “Idgit” and gets back to work.
By the time the noon whistle blows, she looks as if she’s been through a war. Still watching her as I duck in the shade of a massive willow, I can’t miss it. Standing with the other hands as they pass out fresh fried chicken and glasses of iced tea, she is beaming. Hands blistered, clothes filthy, and exhausted, she looks as happy as a lark.
Not just happy—talking with the other guys and Sienna, our cook, she looks...as if she belongs. It’s not just here on a ranch, getting her hands dirty and busting her ass. No, it looks to me as if she belongs here, on this ranch. On my ranch, where I can keep an eye on her, where I can hold out hope that once she gets whatever she came here for, she doesn’t out on me again.
In the privacy of the low hanging willow branches, I just watch her. It makes me think back to the first days on this ranch. I grew up on a farm in Oklahoma pretty similar to this place. Though it was not as welcoming or warm as I hope we’ve made this place. My father was not a kind man, but my mother tried to make up the difference. It was her love of horses that kept us together despite all the odds.
That same love led me to find myself and my path in life. Horse riding and training came as natural to me as breathing. I loved every single horse, even the hardest to train, I ever worked with. Hell, I think I loved the wildest ones the most. Maybe because they reminded me of my father. I spent a lifetime becoming the best at taming even the wildest fillies.
“I do not want to tame her,” I whisper as I watch Blake laughing with Sienna. “I just want to know her. What was she running from? What was she waiting for that night at The Barn?”
“Who we talking about, cousin?” Sterling’s voice startles me.
Leave it to my cousin to find me hiding out like a coward. I scowl and hurl a pebble from the handful I’ve scooped up; Sterling just laughs, swatting it away like a fly. I’m a big man—I take up a lot of physical room—but Sterling is invasive in a different way. He occupies space with that smile, crowding the air with his damn charm.
Winning people over is his gift. First, it was our mothers, sisters who are still thick as thieves. Then it was the girls in the stands and the rodeo circuit begging for a piece of him. The arena was a temporary thrill—until he got hurt, and I got bored—but he turned his charisma into our future. He bartered a deal for a hundred-acre ranch and enough sponsorship money that we never really had to grow up and stop playing cowboys.
Jerking his head towards the others gathered over lunch, he cocks his head and asks again “Who the runner? Is that why’re you’re hiding out?”
“Blake. What do you know about her? Why did she come here?”
Squinting in the distance, he considers his answer. I throw another pebble when he takes too long. Laughing once more, he shrugs. “We needed a hand after Dallas got hurt. Blake needed a place to land. Remember Jed Fairweather? Her uncle, Jed. I figured she would be a good fit.”
