Live for Me (Hallow Ranch)

Chapter Seven

Abbie

There are a lot of different morning routines out there in the world. Some people meditate, some people go for a run as the sun rises, some people read or journal, some people have a fifteen-step skin care routine, some people go to an expensive workout class—not for the workout, but because they have the overwhelming desire to fit in.

I didn’t have a morning routine.

I pressed snooze on my alarm at least six times before I eventually rolled out of bed and forced myself to get ready for the day. Most mornings, my coffee was burnt or there wasn’t enough creamer in it. So instead of drinking the coffee I made at home to save money, I let it sit in my office all day before I’d go downstairs to the lobby cafe and order the coffee I promised myself to stop getting months ago.

That was my morning routine.

In the words of Jack Sparrow, it’s “simple and easy to remember.”

So waking up at four in the morning to someone pounding on my front door was definitely not a part of said routine, and was sure to throw me off my game for the rest of the day. Groaning, I rolled over to my nightstand and yanked my charger out of my phone as I scrambled to open my home security app. As I logged in, thunder clapped outside, and I looked over to my window, watching the rain in the streetlight.

It wasn’t supposed to storm until later in the day.

I took that as an omen that today wasn’t going to be the best, but then again, when was the last time I had a good day?

Muttering a curse under my breath, I pulled up the doorbell camera and squinted. The person was standing in front of the camera, giving me just a view of their hip. Goosebumps skated across my skin as I held my breath, the forceful pounds echoing through my quiet house.

For half a second, I feared it was stalker, but then logic set in. According to the research I’d done on stalkers, making their presence known— like this —wasn’t normal. Whoever was at the door wasn’t my stalker, so it was now just a fifty-fifty chance I would be dying today. I dropped my head, praying that whoever this person was, they would give up and walk away. Maybe then I could get an hour of decent sleep—-sleep that didn’t contain memories of the past or horrible nightmares my imagination brewed up just to keep things interesting.

“Abbie!”

My head shot up, and I jumped, my phone bouncing off the bed and clattering to the floor as the sound of my name echoed off my walls. They knew my name.

Mary mother of Mona Lisa.

I pushed my hand through my hair, gripping the back of my head as I chewed on my bottom lip. What the hell was I supposed to do? Answer the door in the middle of the fucking night?

The pounding continued as I realized it could have been Dave. What if he was in trouble?

The thought had me swinging my legs over the edge of my bed, not bothering to put shorts on as I dashed out of my room and down the hall in nothing but an old t-shirt. The pounding grew harder and louder as I rounded the corner, finally stopping in the foyer. Without a second thought, I flipped the three locks, dropped the chain, twisted the knob, and yanked the door open.

There was one big, huge, no— monumental problem.

It wasn’t Dave standing on my porch at four in the morning.

Hell, it wasn’t even my stalker.

My chest heaved as I took him in with wide eyes, from his boots, to his Wranglers that fit him in a way that drove me mad, to his damp white T-shirt, to his cream cowboy hat.

My eyes dropped down from the top of the cowboy hat I was very familiar with to the owner’s eyes.

The most gorgeous blue eyes I’d ever seen.

Celebrities had nothing on these eyes.

The summer sky had nothing on these eyes.

The ocean had nothing on these eyes.

They were the most gorgeous work of art the universe had ever created, and, being an artist, I longed to color match that particular blue. It had been over a decade and I still hadn’t made the right shade; no blue in the universe would compare to Beau Marks’ hue.

Time stopped, giving me a second to take in the rest of his face, from his sun-kissed skin to his straight nose, sharp jaw, the blond scruff dusting it, to his lips. Lips I was way too familiar with . A lump formed in my throat as my heart raced, running as if she was running back to him, and I could feel my depressed soul perk up at the sight of him.

He was drenched, drops of a rain falling from the brim of his hat.

My lips parted as he moved, taking a single step, ready to close the distance between us. Instinctively, I took a step back.

“Beau,” I breathed, my eyes not leaving his as he took another step, forcing me to retreat further back into the foyer.

His jaw jumped three times as he continued advancing me slowly, like a predator. It wasn’t until my back was pressed against the door of the coat closet and he was only an inch from me that tears prickled my eyes, the sting of them reminding me of the endless pain that flowed between us.

The rain outside came down harder, and a flash of lightening illuminated Beau’s face, showing me emotions I was certain I didn’t deserve to see swirling in those blue eyes. A clap of thunder followed after, and I jumped, reaching for the doorknob of the closet, panic rising up inside me.

I hated storms, but I loved the rain.

That was the twisted thing about this universe; you couldn’t have the good without the bad. I fell in love with the rain as a young girl and quickly realized that not all rain was your friend.

Another flash of lightening came then, followed by more thunder, and I closed my eyes, thinking of sunshine and warmth as my breaths morphed into pants. A second later, I felt the heat of his body disappear and heard the door slam.

My shoulders sagged.

He left.

He saw the mess I was and left.

Not that I could blame him.

I counted to ten four times as the lightning and thunder lessoned.

When the only thing I could hear was the soft rainfall, I opened my eyes and lifted my head.

A scream came from my throat as my hand shot to my chest when I found the cowboy leaning against my front door, his arms folded over his chest, his ankles crossed, his jaw still unbelievably tight with anger. None of those things made him any less beautiful.

No, not Beau.

He was the most beautiful man in the world and if, by some twisted sense of fate, the whole world got to see his beauty, I would die of jealousy.

I didn’t know which was worse.

Him being in my home after six years or me realizing that, after said six years, I was still hopelessly, desperately, painfully in love with him.

“Beau,” I whispered, his name coming out as a plea.

A plea for mercy.

A plea for forgiveness.

A plea for redemption.

“You have two minutes to grab your shit and get your ass in my fucking truck,” he clipped, the sound of his rich, deep voice seeping into me. My greedy soul drank in every single word. My heart was ready to jump—again.

However, my logic held her by the throat, his words settling into my brain in a very different way.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, shaking my head in confusion. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Hallow Ranch got a call tonight. About three hours ago to be exact,” he told me, his voice hard.

Three hours ago.

That was how long it took to get to Hallow Ranch from here.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to the punch. “Red Snake Investigations is owned by Joseph Grayson, Abbie.” My knees buckled at the sound of my name on his lips, a different kind of goosebumps spreading over my skin now. His eyes dropped down my legs, his nostrils flaring slightly before he looked at my face again. “Joseph Grayson served in the Marines with Mags. They’re good friends.”

My heart stopped beating as shock poured over me like a bucket of ice water.

“Beau—”

“The man you spoke to is a former Navy SEAL, and he’d be damned if a woman is going to call him and tell him about her having a damn stalker, and he doesn’t run her number through the system. That’s just not the kind of man Ash Doss is.”

I swallowed the glass in my throat and spoke again. “Beau—”

“Ash Doss is the kind of man to show up at your fucking door and put you under his damn protection, and hunt down the sorry son of a bitch stalking you himself. However, you being who you are to me meant that once Ash discovered your identity, he called Mags,” he bit off, his arms falling from his chest.

You being who you are to me.

“This isn’t—”

He pushed off the door. “Say this isn’t my goddamn business, and I will lose my fucking shit, Abbie,” he growled, closing the distance between us. “I made you a fucking promise all those years ago, and unlike you, baby, I intend to keep my promises. All of them.”

I jerked back as if he’d struck me, my chest heaving.

“You are in danger ,” he pressed. “You have a fucking stalker—one who broke into your home while you were in the damn shower.”

The last part came out as a feral growl, fueled by anger and pain. It was too much to bear, and I twisted my neck, focusing on my living room. “I need you to leave,” I rasped, my heart cracking in two.

Those lips, once addictive and teasing, spread into a cruel smile when I looked back at him. “You have another thing coming if you think I’m stepping out of this house without you, Wildflower.”

Wildflower.

I sucked in my bottom lip, sinking my teeth into the flesh to stop the pain that word carried from penetrating my heart. But I wasn’t strong enough, not anymore. Not after everything I’d been through. My body, my heart—my damn soul—was exhausted, beaten down to the point of no return. So when the man I loved called me the nickname he gave me the first time he made love to me in a field dotted with wildflowers as the sun set and stars twinkled above us, I couldn’t handle it.

The first tear was hot as it landed on my cheek, but the second? The second felt like the fires of hell.

I sucked in a broken, unsteady breath, trying to hold on to the last remaining bits of a sanity as I begged, “Please don’t call me that.”

My words were merely a whisper, hovering in the inches between us, but the impact was deafening.

I lifted my eyes to find his focused on my tear-stained cheeks, his brow knitted together as emotions—ones I wanted to ignore—lingered in his deep blue pools.

“Need you to pack a bag, Abbie,” he said, his voice low but gentle.

I shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere, Beau.”

He shook his head in return, not breaking eye contact. “It's not an option. You’re in danger. You’re not safe here.”

“I’ve been handling it,” I told him.

That strong jaw jumped again as he turned his head, giving me a view of his handsome profile. I stared, my heart jumping up into my throat, silently praying he would grant me— us —mercy, that he would leave my life once and for all. He needed to realize the truth, and I thought he’d finally gotten it through his thick, stubborn skull. His presence was proof it hadn’t. He was still fighting for this—for us, after all this time.

It was torture—pure, unfiltered damning agony.

Raw and broken.

Like the storm raging outside.

“I appreciate you coming all this way,” I murmured, trying to ease the sting. Those blue eyes met mine again as he reached up and pulled off his hat, revealing that golden blond hair I still dreamed of running my fingers through. “It means a lot to me that you still care—”

My words were cut off by his harsh laugh, his head tilting back, giving me a view of his strong, thick neck. I stood in place, watching him laugh at my words—at me—unable to move.

After a few moments, he shook his head as he looked back at me. “Right, now that the bullshit has stopped spewing from your pretty mouth, let’s get a few things clear,” he began, his rough voice growing harder with each word. His eyes lifted to my left and, without a word, he dropped his hat on one of my coat hooks before pressing both of his hands on either side of my head.

He didn’t have to bend down far to get on eye level with me. I was a tall woman, just like my mother. It was something that made us stand out in the crowd, and when I was little, I never thought I’d find a boy taller than me. Then, Beau Marks crashed into my life on the playground. Our entire lives, he’d always been taller than me, even when I hit my huge growth spurt my freshman year of high school, adding another two inches to my five-foot-nine frame, making me five-foot-eleven—six-foot-two in the right heels.

Beau was six-foot-four, and even now, I reminded of how perfect we could have been.

He leaned in, his chest an inch from mine as he held my gaze. “I will always care about you, Abbie Spears. Don’t you ever fucking forget that, and don’t you ever— fucking ever —thank me for doing so,” he clipped, his minty breath hitting my lips.

“Beau—”

“Now, because you’re you and I seem to only have patience for brunettes with deep brown eyes and a fucking attitude, I’m going to give you three minutes to pack your shit. Got it?”

I shook my head, my hands balling into fists at my side. “Beau, I’m not going anywhere. I have work.”

“Take a fucking vacation,” he returned in a no-room-for-argument tone.

I felt a surge of anger then. That was Beau, stubborn and a borderline asshole. When he wanted something done his way, that was the only way. There was no highway option.

I lifted my hands, putting them against his chest, ignoring how amazing it felt to touch him again, to feel the warm, hard muscles underneath his damp shirt.

“You need to leave,” I said firmly. “Now.” When he didn’t move, I shoved against him. He only moved back an inch. “This isn’t any of your business, Beau Marks. Get the hell out of my house, or I’m going to call the police.”

His head ticked to the side. “Doubt they’ll come, baby. Like you told Ash, the police didn’t help you with your stalker, so why the hell would they help you now?” he asked, his voice soft again as I pushed against his chest over and over again. He didn’t move. He was stubborn, like a hundred-year-old oak tree, deeply rooted, unmoving even during harsh winters and unbearable summers.

I let out a growl of frustration as emotions gathered in my throat and more tears began to fall like rain. “I said leave.”

“You think you don’t have anyone?” he continued softly, ignoring my sounds of protest. “You think you have to fight all your battles alone, with no one by your side?”

I shoved against him as I shouted, “Leave me alone!”

He blinked and gave in, his hand falling to his sides as he stepped back.

Suddenly, I felt like I could breathe again, like I’d regained control.

“It’s been six years, Abbie,” he said thickly.

I looked at him as I moved away from the wall. “I can fight my own battles, Beau,” I shot back. “I don’t—”

“—you screaming and hitting me won’t scare me away,” he cut me off. My mouth closed as he muttered, “I can’t believe I have to fucking do this.”

Before I could ask what “this” was, he charged for me, bending and swooping up over his shoulder. I screamed in surprise, growling his name when he turned us.

My hair hung down as he moved, carrying me through the foyer. I shouted at him. I cussed at him. I pounded my fists against his back and kicked my feet. He said nothing, coming into my bedroom, his arms a tight, unbreakable band around me, pinning me to him as he flicked on the light, taking me into the closet.

Gently, he bent forward and set me on my feet.

I stared up at him in disbelief as he reached up, over my winter clothes to grab down my leather weekender bag I’d gotten in college. “Glad to know some things haven’t fucking changed,” he murmured, holding it out to me.

I stared at it like it was a disease, chest heaving. “I’m not packing a bag, and I’m not going anywhere with you,” I practically growled at him.

He seemed unbothered, unzipping it and turning to face my spring and summer section, grabbing four or more items at time; dresses, skirts, t-shirts, and even my damn raincoat, shoving them into the bag. He grunted as his eyes dropped to the floor, searching for something among my shoes. When he didn’t find it, he looked at me and warned, “Abbie, if you got rid of the fucking boots I bought you, I’m taking you over my fucking knee right here and now.”

My mouth dropped open as something curled low in my belly. “What did you just say to me?” I breathed out.

At this point, I was half convinced I was still sleeping, and this was all some weird, twisted dream. My alarm would be going off any minute, waking me up, and I’d never have to think about the blue-eyed cowboy pounding on my door in the rain again.

He closed the distance between us again, forcing me to back up against my accessory wall. “Where are the fucking boots I bought you?” he growled.

“They’re in the mudroom at the back of the house,” I whispered, heat building in my cheeks as I felt another curl low in my belly, a flicker of desire humming between my thighs.

“They fucking better be,” he clipped.

Why did he care so much about a pair of old boots?

Beau’s blue eyes dropped down to my bare legs and I swear I thought that, for the second time tonight, time decided to stop. The heat in my cheeks grew and I brought my ankles together, my hands tugging at the bottom of my t-shirt. His eyes flicked up to the center of the shirt, his face unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and left the closet—shutting me inside.

“Beau!” I cried out, running to the door and twisting the knob. I pounded my fist against it. “Beau, let me out!”

“Stay there. I have to get your boots,” he stated. Not even a second later, I heard him going down the hall.

My hands shot up to my hair. “This has to be a dream,” I whispered. “Some fucked up dream.”

I got down to my hands and knees, peeking under the door to find that he’d put the old antique chair from my vanity underneath the knob. I let out a scream of frustration, shouting his name and cursing his family all in one sentence. I heard him come back a minute later, followed by the sounds of my dresser drawers being opened and closed.

“I assume you’ll want your laptop,” he said.

My hands were still in my hair, and I was very tempted to yank it out. “Beau, I swear to the heaven’s above—”

“None of that shit is going to work on me,” he returned from the other side of the door, his voice closer. I heard a small thump and decided to get back to cursing his name and family. Maybe then he would leave me the hell alone—like he should have in the first place. I was in the middle of my second curse when the door was pulled open, and all the air left my lungs.

Beau had my boots in one hand, my— packed— weekender over that shoulder, and his hat was back on his head. He jerked his head. “Get some pants on and let’s go.”

Now it was my turn to laugh, the sound shocking me. “Are you kidding me?” I screeched. “What part of ‘I’m not going anywhere’ do you not understand?”

“All of it,” he answered simply, “because you are.”

I planted my feet and folded my arms over my chest. “No, I’m not.”