Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Sabrina
“ T his place is truly incredible,” I tell Booker as I pet the little chicklet's head. I was not expecting this when I came out here. Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting. There are so many babies here. I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave. What a dream Snow Pine Ranch is.
When Booker doesn't respond, I turn around to see him watching me. He’s leaning up against one of the stall doors, and although he appears casual, he still dominates all the space around him. Even if he's not in it.
“Maybe we could make it a manger theme. I know you mentioned a tea party." I recall him saying that the first day, and it really stuck in my head. "The tea party would be fun, but a manger is really hard to pass up, and this place is perfect for it.” I set the chicklet back down with the others and watch them waddle around adorably. “The kids would love it.”
He doesn’t utter a word, but his eyes never leave me. I shift on my feet, and I can’t help but wonder if he hates the idea. I might have overstepped. He said he wanted a tea party, and I should be sticking to that. It's his barn, after all, and I shouldn’t tell him what to do. There I go again, getting ahead of myself and making things up in my mind.
“I mean, if you don’t?—”
“Why can’t you do both?” He pushes off the stall door and moves toward me. “I think there is more than enough room.”
He’s right, there is. In the front there’s an open area where we could put tables and chairs.
“Really?” I would love to do that, but it might be too much. Excitement bubbles up inside me, and that hasn't happened in a very long time.
“Why not?” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal.
“’Cause it might cost a lot?”
“Don’t worry about any of that.” Booker reaches out and takes a piece of my hair before wrapping it around his finger. “You plan it. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Oh, yeah, okay.” Why is he playing with my hair? And why the heck do I find it appealing?
He rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s even softer than it looks.” He says it more to himself before he lets the piece of hair go.
I stare up at him, not sure how to reply to that. It wasn't a question. "Thanks?" I blurt out, and his lips twitch. When I can elicit a laugh or smile from him, it gives me a small thrill. Even if it wasn't what I was trying to do.
"No need to thank me." Booker throws down some more feed before I follow him out, and he latches the stall door again. "I was going to take you riding."
"We can't?" I’m not able to hide my disappointment. I wanted to try it but I’m also a little bit afraid. Not enough to chicken out, because I think Booker would keep me safe from hurting myself.
"Not today, but we will. I need to get you some better gear, and the wind is cutting tonight." I suck in a breath when he strokes his knuckle down my cheek and then jaw. "You're too delicate." His brows pull together, making me think that might be a bad thing. "It can be rough out here."
"I'm sure," I say as I look him over. Booker is rough on the surface, but I bet if I dug a little deeper, I’d find something different.
"But that's not going to stop me," he adds, shaking his head. "Come to the main house," Booker says before I can ask what he means.
Stop him from what? He always has these one-off lines I don’t know what to do with, and they leave me confused.
His hand goes to my back, guiding me out of the barn, and he presses a button. The doors close shut behind us, and I look at him with a questioning expression. “It keeps predators out and keeps heat in.”
“I’ve always loved this style of porch,” I say when we walk up the stairs to his house and to the front doors.
“How it wraps around?” Booker's hand presses firmer into my back, and a rush of heat courses through me.
“Yeah.” I nod. "You can have a few rocking chairs and even a swing." I always thought those were cute, and I can envision a married couple sitting outside at sunrise or sunset every day. "These rails would be beautiful with lights strung around them.” I run my fingers along the detailed wood. “Some flowers, too. They could be potted here and here.” I motion beside the double doors. “Out past the front of the porch there are plenty of flowers that can withstand the cold weather. I’ll look them up and make a list.”
Again, I stop talking when I realize I’ve been going on and on, and this is not about the tour. “Oh god.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “Not that this is ugly. It was only a few ideas, so it’s not so plain. Wait, I don’t mean plain. Just not—” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I think I’ll stop talking now.”
“Please don’t.” He smiles. "You become extremely animated when you’re excited." I drop my arms when I realize I’d been motioning everywhere like a dork. “You’re like a little snow fairy flitting around.”
Does he really see me that way, or is he only being nice? “Little?” I snort, and Booker takes a step closer. I back up a few inches, but I run into the railing that wraps around the porch.
“You’re little,” Booker repeats. He’s so dang close now, and there’s nowhere for me to go. Why does that give me a thrill of excitement?
“Everything is little compared to you,” I say softly. “Not that I’m calling you a giant or anything. Just?—”
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, cutting me off, and that's all the warning I get. It is in no way a question because I barely comprehend his words before his mouth is on mine.
Booker’s lips are soft, and it’s a surprise compared to how hard the rest of him is. His mouth moves against mine, and I close my eyes, unsure of what I'm doing. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, and he tilts my head back. He deepens the kiss, and then I feel his tongue sliding right into my mouth. It’s intense and overwhelming, but my body heats with every wave of pleasure. I’m clearly not as experienced as he is, so I’m tentative at first. His possession is taking the winter chill away, and I give in to it.
“Knew you’d taste sweet,” Booker says against my lips.
He doesn’t taste sweet. No, he somehow tastes like a cool clean man with a hint of mint.
“Booker.” I breathe out his name, pushing my body into his. I’ve gotten one taste, and already I need more of him.
“Fuck, you’re lighting up for me with only a kiss.”
“More,” I moan, my fingers firmly grasping the front of his flannel in an effort to make sure he can't pull away. Not that I could really stop him, but I don't think he wants to.
“You want more?” He intensifies his kisses while his hands reach for my hips. He begins to lift me, and I let out a small scream as a surge of pain shoots through me. "Fuck," Booker says, releasing his grip and stepping back. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, sorry.” My hand goes to my hip. “I hurt myself the other day. It’s still sore.”
“Show me,” he orders.
“Right now?” I glance around because we’re still on his porch. No one is around, but it’s cold out here.
He grabs me by the wrist, leading me into his house and to the living room area. I glance around, wanting to see his home, but Booker is too distracting. He starts pulling at the coat I’m wearing and stripping it off me. He goes for my top next, pushing it up.
“Hey,” I protest and wonder what the heck he’s doing.
“Hold it up then.” His tone is so firm that I follow his order, lifting my shirt to expose my stomach and hips.
“Booker!” I gasp as he snaps the button of my jeans and inches them down.
“What the fuck happened?” he barks, but his touch is gentle as he brushes his fingers over the bruise.
“It looks worse than it is,” I say, and it’s true. It really hurt the first day, but it’s fine now as long as I don’t bump into it.
“This happen at the diner?”
“Yeah, I, ah...” I lick my dry lips.
“Don’t lie to me.” Dang, am I that easy to read? “Out with it. All of it.”
“When I was cleaning up toward the end of the shift, someone startled me, and I fell.”
“Startled you how?” he asks. I swallow, and Booker’s eyes appear darker. “Sabrina.”
“They smacked my ass.” I blurt it out to get it over with.
“Who?”
“Does it matter?” Most of the people in town are jerks to me. If it's not one person, then it's another. There isn’t anything that Booker can do about it.
"Yeah, it fucking matters!” he bellows, and I jump back, startled by his anger. My father always had a temper, and anything could set him off. “Shit,” he curses under his breath.
The silence looms over us, but this time, however, I don't attempt to fill it.