“An hour. We can go this afternoon and come back tomorrow.”
I forgot that I’m keeping my eyes away from him at the mention of an overnight. “What about the animals?”
Major’s lips curve, and I hate that butterflies flutter their wings inside my belly. It’s not fair that he’s this handsome when his attitude is a pile of shit.
“I’ll get someone to take care of the ranch. Don’t worry.”
The three cowboys smile at my concern. I don't know what kind of people they are used to having around, but this girl can’t feed the chickens for a few days without catching some feelings. I need to know my girls will be okay.
“Eat up, darlin’.” Derrick smirks. He knows how the pet name makes me warm from the inside out.
I flush thinking about his hands on me, the gentle caress while he held the blow dryer, careful with every strand of hair. It brought tears to my eyes. It’s pathetic to realize that no one has ever given me that type of attention since Grammie died.
They make plans while I polish off my breakfast. If I think we are going to do the chores as always, I’m sorely mistaken. Major sends everyone to pack for the night and tells us he’s organizing someone to take care of everything while we’re gone. I wonder why it’s so important that we all go. Not that I could handle the ranch on my own, but I shouldn’t meet their parents. We are not dating. It’s actually the opposite of that, whatever that is.
I grab a few clothes that I hope are suitable, but I’m too nervous that they will hate me as much as my own family. Damn, if that’s not a horrible, depressing thought.
“Ready?” Jesse asks, knocking on my door even though it’s open.
“Just one night, right?” I verify, already taking my small backpack and swinging it over my shoulder.
“Let me take it,” he says, hands extended and fingers wiggling.
“You don’t have to carry it for me,” I say with a small smile.
“No. I just want to.”
Grandpa would be horrified, but I let Jesse take the bag. It’s hard to resist being spoiled by Jesse and Derrick. There’s a softness behind every act, as if it takes nothing for them to take care of me. I’m ashamed to say that I’m eating that up. I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t help but feel this is right. I tell myself that tomorrow, I will carry my own bag.
Tomorrow, I will blow-dry my own hair.
Tomorrow.
Jesse leads me out of the house and by the two trucks waiting beyond the porch. I remember too well when Major dragged me along with him, so I edge closer to Jesse, showing that I won’t let him manhandle me again. Something in Major’s expressions shifts from guarded to hurt. He looks so devastated by my small act that I almost feel bad. But I don’t want to be stuck in a car for an hour listening to him list all the things I did wrong.
“Let’s go, sweetheart.” Jesse tugs on me, and I nod, getting into the truck.
I’m surprised when Derrick doesn’t follow us, but instead goes to his brother and taps his shoulder before climbing into the passenger seat. I hold my backpack against my breasts, hoping the lactating days are truly over and I don’t need to deal with leaking tits on top of smelly pits.
God help me.
“Do you want to pick the music?” Jesse asks as he peels off the property and follows Major’s truck down the hill and to the exit to Willow Ridge.
“You’re the musician. I want to listen to whatever you want to show me.”
He sighs wistfully. “I want to show you so much, sweetheart. But you’re not ready for that.”
Did he really say that?
His words make the temperature in the car climb several degrees. I melt into the leather seat, knowing I have never felt this attracted to anyone in my life. My mouth dries, and I squeeze my thighs together. I don’t miss the sexual innuendo, but my reaction surprises me. With anyone else, this would be my opening to let them know I’m not interested.
The words never make it past my lips. Would be an absolute lie. I’m nothing but interested. Everything these cowboys do goes straight to my core. I’m powerless. It’s like I’m having a whole new puberty right at twenty-one.
Soft guitar starts filtering through the speakers. It’s such a beautiful tune, and it softens the heat creeping up my neck.
“This is gorgeous.”
“It’s a Brazilian artist. You told me your mom was Brazilian.”
