8. Travis
Chapter 8
Travis
I blink awake, the sunlight filtering through Rachel’s threadbare curtains smacking me right in the face. But with her warm body pressed against my side, soft and inviting, damned if I care. It’s nice waking up next to someone again. I’d almost forgotten what it feels like.
Rachel’s presence fills a void I’ve ignored for the last few years, and I want to drink her in and lose myself in the comfort of her presence.
She stirs, nuzzling closer, tossing one leg over mine, her hand resting on the center of my chest. The t-shirt she insisted on wearing has ridden up, exposing a tantalizing strip of skin over her hip. I trace my fingers along her side and down, marveling at how right this feels.
Her face shines in the soft morning light, giving her an angelic look. How can someone so beautiful be interested in a man like me? Somebody over ten years older. Somebody whose life is tied to his family’s legacy and land. A job that doesn’t start at nine and end at five. It’s a dirty, dusty life. A life that can come with significant highs and lows. The cynical part of my brain wonders what she really wants. Money? Status in town? But I push the invasive thoughts away, hating myself for doubting her.
Rachel deserves better than my suspicion. Her warmth, her genuine smile—they’re real, and it’s something I want in my life more than I care to admit. But years of constantly being on guard don’t fade overnight, no matter how much I wish they would. I’ve had too many people try to take advantage, pretending to want one thing when they really wanted access to my family’s money. Thank God Mother insisted on a prenup when I married Amelia. We fought about it when she suggested it, fought even more when Amelia found out, but it is one thing I thanked Mother for after. Even Dad’s heart attack brought a few less-than-desirable men sniffing around Mom. I chase them away quick enough, but there’s always the next gold-digger waiting on the sidelines. Even cute little towns like Cupid’s Creek aren’t immune to shit like that.
Beside me, Rachel stretches like a contented cat, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Morning, cowboy.”
“Mornin’, honey.” My voice is still rough with sleep. “Sleep well?”
She props herself up on one elbow, an impish illumination in her expression. “Oh, I’d say I slept pretty damn well, all things considered.”
With my arm wrapped around her back, I hug her to me. “Glad to hear it.”
Then I release her, reach over to the bedside table and quickly don the last of my condoms. I waste no time rolling her beneath me, claiming her lips and slipping deep inside to lose myself in her warm sleepy softness.
After a night of hungry get-to-know-each-other and can’t-get-enough-of-you sex, this morning we rock together gently, savoring the special sweetness of the moment. There’s no need to rush, no need to push. For once, I allow myself to simply bask in the deliciousness of her body, amazed at how well we fit together. Like this was meant to be.
As we reach the pinnacle, our sighs and gasps become silent puffs of air in each other’s ears, and we slowly relax into the mattress as our bodies come to rest. I kiss her forehead before slipping from the bed to get rid of the latex and gather a warm wet cloth to clean her. Then returning to her side, I tuck her into the crook of my arm again.
She smiles. “So, are you always like this in the morning?”
Running my fingers through my tousled hair and over my face, wiping grit from eyes, I laugh into the palm of my hand. “Only when I wake up next to a beautiful woman.”
“Smooth talker,” she says, unable to hide her grin. The sunlight streams through the window, catching golden flecks in her eyes, making them sparkle.
The urge to show her how much she affects me, is overwhelming. But I hold back. She must be sore. And tired. So, I tamp down my own desires and stretch lazily. We can’t spend the day in bed. “How about some breakfast? I make a mean piece of toast.”
Rachel snorts, her finger tracing patterns on my chest. “Wow, a culinary genius in my bed. How’d I get so lucky?”
“Pure charm and rugged good looks, sweetheart.” I wink, earning me a playful swat.
“All right, Casanova. Let’s see these toasting skills in action.”
Reluctantly, I disentangle myself from her embrace and swing my legs over the side of the bed. As I pad across the tiny studio, the scuffed floorboards creak beneath my feet. Sunshine illuminates dust motes dancing in the air as I disturb them.
“There’s bread in the cabinet above the sink. Toaster’s on the counter.”
I slip into my underwear and jeans, leaving them unbuttoned, and then rummage through the sparse cabinets, locating a half loaf of slightly stale bread. “Fancy place you’ve got here.”
“I gave the butler day off,” Rachel quips, joining me in the kitchenette. She reaches for two mugs, dumping instant coffee into each. “Sorry, no cream. A proper fridge is more of an aspirational appliance at this point.”
Her self-deprecating humor tugs at my heart, and I want to sweep her away and shower her with all the comforts she deserves. But I know Rachel is no damsel in distress. Her strength and resilience in hardship only makes me admire her more.
“Black coffee and plain toast? You really know how to spoil a guy.”
Looking like a sexy imp in my button-down shirt that’s not so buttoned now, Rachel hip-checks me as she fills the mugs with hot water from the tap. “Keep it up, and you’ll be wearing that toast instead of eating it.”
I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”
We settle at the small table, our knees bumping in the cramped space. Rachel takes a sip of her coffee, grimacing slightly. “Mmm, nothing like the taste of regret in the morning.”
My head snaps up. She regrets last night?
“No! That’s not what I mean.” Her eyes are big and round. She obviously read my mind or my face. “I regret that I can’t offer you much better coffee, breakfast, or even a nicer bed to sleep in.”
“Rachel, none of those matters.”
“They do to me. This is so far from what you’re used to.”
Not wanting to embarrass her further, I bite into my toast, exaggerating a moan of pleasure. “This toast is perfection.”
Rachel shakes her head but smiles at my attempt to lighten the mood again. “You’re ridiculous.” Her nose crinkles when she smiles, which makes my heart stutter in my chest.
“You love it,” I counter, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face.
Her expression softens, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. “Maybe I do.”
The admission hangs in the air between us. I clear my throat, suddenly feeling exposed. “So, any big plans for today?”
She shrugs, tearing her toast into smaller pieces. “Nope.”
Rachel’s foot brushes against mine under the table, and the innocent touch sets my skin ablaze. I want to grab her foot and trail my fingers up her leg to explore every inch of her. The desire to pull her onto my lap and kiss her senseless is almost painful in its intensity.
“What about you? Off to wrangle cattle and lasso tumbleweeds?”
I roll my eyes. “You know, there’s more to ranching than that.”
Rachel leans forward, her expression mock serious. “Oh? Do tell, Mr. Kincaid. Educate this simple city girl on the intricacies of ranch life.”
The way she says my name, all teasing and sultry, is sexy as fuck.
“Well,” I drawl, matching her playful tone, “there’s also a lot of standing around looking rugged and mysterious.”
“Ah, of course. How could I forget?” Her eyes dance with amusement. “And here I thought it was all rodeos and line dancing.”
I clutched my chest in feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m a champion line dancer.”
She nearly chokes on her coffee. “Oh God, please tell me you’re joking.”
I stare at her as if offended, letting the suspense build momentarily before relenting. “Alright, you got me. I don’t dance, but I do make a mean chili.”
“Now that, I’d like to see.” Rachel’s voice lowers. “Or taste.”
The air between us crackles with tension. I lean in, drawn by the mischievous glint in her eye. “Careful what you wish for, honey. My chili’s been known to make grown men weep.”
Rachel’s lips quirks. “Tears of joy or pain?”
“Bit of both, I reckon.”
We both relax back in our chairs, and she laughs, the sound warming me more than any cup of coffee can. “Well, consider me intrigued. Maybe you’ll have to cook for me sometime.”
“Maybe I will,” I murmur, snared in her gaze.
The moment stretches. Part of me wants to shimmy across the table and kiss her senseless. But something holds me back. Even though I know the situation is different, that Rachel is different, I still can’t get past the trust and hurt issues instilled by my past experiences.
Rachel seems to sense the shift in mood. She clears her throat, breaking the spell. “So, um, thanks for breakfast. Even if your culinary skills are limited to pushing down a lever.”
“Hey now, don’t sell me short. I can also pour cereal like a pro.” Reclining back in my chair, the old wood creaks beneath me. “I aim to please, honey. Though I have to say, your coffee-making skills could use some work.”
She shoots me a playful glare. “Beggars can’t be choosers. It’s either instant or nothing in this palace.”
“Palace, huh?” I nod, my gaze sweeping over her small, one-room studio. “I’ve seen bigger horse stalls.”
“Watch it, Kincaid,” she warns, pointing her toast at me. “Or I’ll revoke your breakfast privileges.”
I hold up my hands. “My apologies, Your Highness. I wouldn’t want to upset the ruler of this magnificent kingdom.”
She outright giggles this time, the sound echoing off the bare walls. It feels good to hear her carefree, genuine laughter.
I cock my head as I stare at her, the moment growing serious. “You know, I forgot how nice this can be. Just waking up with someone. Sharing a simple meal.” My throat is suddenly dry.
“Yeah, it’s… uh, it’s nice.”
I reach across the table to take her hand, but she stands before we can connect and takes our empty mugs to the sink. I stay seated, watching her ass cheeks peek out from beneath the tail of my shirt. Her legs are long and bare and smooth, and I shift in the chair, trying to ignore how my pulse quickens. “What do you like to do when you’re not serving coffee and sass at the Bluebonnet?”
Rachel turns from the sink and leans against the counter while her fingers toy with the hem of the shirt, drawing it up slightly and giving me a peek at what’s naked underneath. “Read, mostly. I’m a sucker for a good story. I actually spend a lot of time at the library.”
I recognize the need to escape and lose myself in another world where my problems don’t exist. How many nights have I spent staring at the TV, desperately trying to forget the emptiness of my own life?
“What’s your favorite? Mysteries? Romance?”
She snorts. “God, no. Give me action or the world-is-ending chaos any day. Though I wouldn’t say no to a little Indiana Jones-style adventure and romance.”
I picture Rachel in a fedora and wielding a whip. Fuck, that’s a hot image. “I can see that. You’d make a hell of an archaeologist.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m more interested in local history these days. Did you know Cupid’s Creek used to be a hideout for cattle rustlers?”
“Where’d you learn that?”
Rachel’s face lights up. “I’ve been digging through old newspaper archives at the library. There’re some wild stories about this place. Like how the town got its name.”
I groan. “Christ, please tell me you didn’t fall for that old tale.”
She grins wickedly. “What, you don’t believe Sam ‘Cupid’ Cooper shot an arrow through two feuding lovers’ hats, pinning them to a tree until they made up?”
“About as much as I believe in the tooth fairy.”
Rachel’s laughter fades. She retakes her seat across from me at the table. “Yeah, well, some of us aren’t exactly prime catching material.”
The bitterness in her voice creates an ache in my chest ache. “Hey now. You’re...” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding like a horny, lovesick fool. How can I tell her she’s everything I never knew I wanted? How her strength and vulnerability, her sass and sweetness, wormed their way into my heart?
She raises an eyebrow. “I’m what?”
“You’re something else, Rachel. Smart as a whip and twice as sharp.”
A faint blush colors her cheeks. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she mumbles, then quickly charges on. “So, I guess the real story is that he saved the town. He was a hero.”
“Yes, he used his sharpshooting skills to fend off a band of rustlers. The townsfolk initially named a small creek that ran through town at the time after him. Eventually, as the town grew and the creek dried up, they gave the town his name.”
“Well, I think it’s cute. The first story, I mean. Anyway, what about you? What do you do for fun when you’re not playing cowboy?”
I swivel in my chair and stretch my legs out. “Ah, you know. The usual. Roping steers, wrestling bears, saving damsels in distress.”
Rachel snorts. “Right.”
“If you must know, I’m partial to a good Western. Give me John Wayne and a bowl of popcorn, and I’m set for the night.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Westerns? Really? All that macho posturing and guns? Sort of cliché, isn’t it?”
“Hey now, there’s more to it than that. It’s about honor, justice, and standing up for what’s right. Just like Sam Cooper did.”
“I suppose,” she says softly, her expression thoughtful.
“Yeah, well... I like it. There’s nothing like being out on the range, just you and your horse. The wind in your face, the open sky above. It’s freedom, pure and simple.”
“That sounds nice. Peaceful.”
Watching her, I realize how much I want to share that peace with her. To show her the beauty of the land I love, to see it through her eyes. “It is,” I agree.
“I’ve never even been on a horse before,” she confesses.
“Never?” I ask, incredulous.
“Some of us are more familiar with bus stops than stables.”
“Fair enough. Just means I get to teach you. If you want, that is.”
Her eyes shine with excitement. “I’d like that.”
The thought of Rachel on my ranch, learning to ride, makes me feel a slice of happy, but I tamp it down, reminding myself not to get ahead of things. “Well, the offer stands. Anytime you want to trade in your apron for a pair of chaps, just say the word.”
Rachel giggles. “A girl might get ideas.”
I meet her gaze head on, feeling the air between us crackle. “Maybe that’s the point.”
Since we’re on a conversational streak here, I push my luck. “So, how did a city girl like you end up in this little slice of nowhere?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Just a girl who can never live up to her mother’s standards, grows up, gets a job in a big glass tower in down-town New York, falls for the wrong guy and decides to leave town and start over. She hopped in her car one day and drove until she decided to stop.”
This woman has been through hell and back, and she’s writing it off as a road trip. My chest aches with anger at the asshole who hurt her and her mother who didn’t love her unconditionally.
“Come on now, it couldn’t have been all that bad,” I say.
Rachel lets out a sardonic giggle. “Trust me, it was worse. I couldn’t even hack it in the community college I attended. Much to my mother’s dismay, I dropped out of a hospitality program because I absolutely hated it and got a job as an office clerk at a financial institution instead. And the joke’s on me because now I’m slinging hash at the Bluebonnet, living the dream.”
The way her lips quiver, the defiant tilt of her chin—it all calls to me, awakening a part of my soul. Here’s a woman who faced her share of setbacks yet still finds humor in the darkness. Her strength and resilience only make her more attractive. I want to wrap her in my arms and shield her from the world’s cruelty. But, like I did last night, I don’t because Rachel doesn’t need a man to save her.
“Did he hit you?” I have to know. And I’ll fucking chase the bastard down and give him a good ole Texas whoopin’ if necessary.
She shakes her head. “Last night was the first time he’s ever put his hands on me in anger. Believe me, I would have left long ago if he had. He preferred control and gaslighting. Honestly, I’ve never even seen him that drunk before.”
“What about you, Mr. Successful Rancher. I bet you went to some fancy Ivy League school, right?”
It’s the same tired story—people see success and the wealth but never the struggle behind it. The long nights, the sacrifices, the weight of family expectations. I consider letting it slide momentarily, retreating behind my usual stoic facade. But something about Rachel’s plight encourages me to open up, to show her the man behind the rancher.
“Hardly. I went to a small state college and studied Animal Science. I could’ve gone somewhere fancier—my siblings certainly did—but...” I shrug. “Family comes first. And I love it here. As the oldest, the ranch is my responsibility and my heritage. Especially after my dad died.”
Her expression softens. “So, you’ve always been a small-town ranch boy, huh?”
“If the boots fit,” I confirm. “Though it hasn’t always been smooth sailing. Ranching is not an easy life by any stretch.”
“What skeletons are hiding in that closet of yours?”
I frown. “I’ve had my share of relationship drama. Plus, an ex-wife who more interested in my bank account than me. She also didn’t enjoy small town or ranch life.”
She winces. “Is that why you’re so...” She gestures vaguely at me.
“So what?” I ask, my voice low.
She purses her lips. “So guarded. Like you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Her observation hits uncomfortably close to home. I’ve always prided myself on being unreadable, yet here is a woman I barely know, seeing right through me.
My fingers drum on the table. “Maybe. Or perhaps it’s just who I am.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t buy that for a second. Nobody’s born that cynical.”
I grind my back molars together. “And what about you, huh? What’s your excuse for sticking around town?”
She averts her eyes. “I told you. I failed and disappointed people back home in the city, so why not stay here. Nobody knows anything about me. I can start fresh and be whoever I want.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.” I’m pushing, letting my frustrations and insecurities color my judgment. But I can’t back down. Something tells me Rachel needs this confrontation as much as I do.
Her hands ball into small fists. “You want the truth? Fine. I ran. I ran from a mother who’s always wanted a skinny socialite for a daughter and a from a relationship that was slowly killing me. I ran from a man who made me doubt everything about myself both at work and in our personal lives. I was never good enough for either of them. I was too fat, too ugly, too boring. I didn’t wear the right clothes or have the best haircuts. My makeup wasn’t flawless. I couldn’t make small talk or impress rich bankers with my wit. I didn’t fit in. Happy now?”
Memories of my own failed marriage flash through my mind. Desperate to reach out and comfort her but feeling like a total asshole for grilling her, I restrain myself, unsure of where we stand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
“No, you’re right,” she cuts me off. “I’ve been hiding. Playing it safe. But do you know what? I’m tired of it. I deserve to be as happy as the next person. To be loved and appreciated for me, what I look like, and how I think.”
For years, I’ve convinced myself that I was content with my solitary life, that I didn’t need or want anything more. I nod slowly. “I get that. More than you know.”
She meets my gaze, a sultry tone in her voice. “So, what are we gonna do about it?”
My lips quirk into a half-smile. “Well, honey, I reckon that’s up to us.”
Rachel tilts her head and stares at me with a thoughtful expression. “You know, for a guarded cynic, you’re not half bad at this whole opening up thing.”
I huff. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
She rolls her eyes. “Heaven forbid anyone think you have actual feelings.”
“Perish the thought,” I agree dryly. “So, what’s next? Still dreaming of big city lights?”
She shakes her head, then tucks her chin to her chest and peers up under her lashes. “Honestly? I don’t know. After last night… I don’t know about you, but I feel like everything’s changed.”
“It has for me, too.” The sex was incredible, but now I’m not sure where that leaves us. We aren’t fake dating anymore, nor are we a real couple. I’m too old to call her my girlfriend… and do I even want one? I’m forty-six years old, a gown ass man with a business to run. She’s—what? Thirty-two? Still a kid. Probably not ready to settle down as a rancher’s wife.
Holy shit. Wife? Marriage? Where the fuck is that coming from?
It was just sex.
No, it was more than that.
I stand abruptly, pushing back my chair, the legs squealing as they scrape over the floor. “How ’bout we get ourselves dressed and head back to my place? I think it’s high time you learn how to ride.”
Rachel rises, her movement fluid like the creek on a calm day, a mischievous glint in those beautiful hazel eyes. “I would definitely like to be in on some of that action.”
“Then I promise you’ll have the best ride of your life.” I close the distance between us, and my hands find her waist so I can pull her into me, feeling the heat from her skin seep into mine.
Her lips part in anticipation, and when they meet mine, it’s a slow, searing burn that threatens to consume both of us right here in her one-room haven.
A sudden banging at the door jolts us back to reality. We break apart, breathless and frustrated at the intrusion. My immediate thought is that her ex has returned, and I don’t wait for her to say anything. I stalk to the door and yank it open, prepared to beat his ass until he gets the message.
“Shit.” I suddenly remember the surprise I’d arranged—a feeble attempt to bring a smile to her face.
“Uh, Rachel,” I say, scratching the back of my neck, “with all the commotion last night, I forgot to tell you—I got you a present.” A sheepish grin takes over my face, partly embarrassed by the interruption, partly eager to see her reaction.
The delivery guy, unfazed by my state of undress or the tension in my body, grunts a hello as I step aside and carts in a small fridge followed by what must seem like an absurdly large wheel of cheese—the kind she liked from the festival.
“Travis, you didn’t.” Her voice climbs an octave, a blend of disbelief and delight lighting up her pretty features.
“Every lady needs a stash of her favorite cheese,” I drawl. While she’s examining her gifts, I sign off on the delivery and usher the young man out.
“Thank you,” she whispers as his footsteps fade down the hall. “You really know how to surprise a girl.”
“Only the best for you,” I murmur against her hair. My words are meant to be playful, but hell if they don’t hold some truth.