6. Travis
Chapter 6
Travis
W ith my back pressed against the weathered wood, palms resting on the rough surface, and the taste of Rachel still sweet on my lips, my heart gallops in my chest. The air is thick with the smell of fresh hay and diminishing arousal.
“Damn.” Rachel sighs, straightening her clothes and then putting her socks back on.
“You want help with the boots?” I ask.
Sharp sarcasm glints in her hazel eyes, but her tone is soft and regretful. “I’m good, thanks.”
I stare at her, and my insides melt. Fuck if she isn’t the living, breathing embodiment of every goddamn fantasy I’ve had since laying eyes on her. Better even. Every kiss sparks something primitive deep in my bones, a longing I don’t want to bottle up anymore. She makes me feel alive with each touch, hell, every time her pupils widen. The velvet softness of her thighs, the temptation of her pussy just inches away—even her change in plans hasn’t relaxed my cock. I’m hard as a rock and primed for some action.
I take a few steps away, needing the space to think, to breathe. To give her the distance she requested.
Her wavy hair and curves can obviously drive a man to sin; it’s chaos to my ordered life. She stirs in me a lightness, a damn giddiness I haven’t known in years. It’s ridiculous how much I want to keep her close, to find reasons for her to stay.
“Travis?” Her voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I realize she probably sees a look on my face, something I wasn’t quick enough to turn into indifference. “You okay?”
“Um, yeah,” I lie, clearing my throat. “Just thinking we should probably head back before my mother starts wondering where we are.”
Do I dare let her see more of me? The real me that craves someone to share the quiet moments with, not just heated ones inside a barn. My past is a minefield of betrayal and pain—first Dad leaving the family like he did. I know it wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t tell us about his heart condition. And then Amelia—well, it left me careful and guarded. But Rachel... She makes me want to tear down those walls brick by fucking brick.
“Travis, you’re doing that thing again where you go all silent,” She nudges me with her elbow. “If you’ve changed your mind about our… fake dating arrangement, just say so. I understand. I didn’t mean to tease you or give you mixed signals. I’m confused. I’m sorry.”
I almost laugh aloud. The horse is out of the barn on that one. If anything, I’m too far gone, tangled up in the what-ifs and maybes buzzing around my head like bees around a hive.
“Not a chance. Just thinking about tomorrow.”
Is that disappointment that just crossed her face? I want to ask, but she’s already leaving the barn, and I have to quick step to catch up.
We walk in silence, our boots crunching on the gravel path, punctuating the unspoken tension. I want her—in ways that aren’t part of any damn fake relationship narrative. As I glance sideways at her, with her profile set against the backdrop of the rolling hills, I know this is no longer just about convincing Mother, Karen, or anyone else.
“Travis?” Rachel’s voice is soft, almost hesitant.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she says sincerely. “For today. I loved touring the ranch.”
“Rachel, I—” Words fail me. All I can offer is a sharp jerk of my head, hoping she understands that it’s more than just gratitude reflected in her gaze. What I see in her eyes mirrors my desires, the frightening thrill of wanting someone who might be both my salvation and my undoing.
Mother’s silhouette is unmistakable as we approach the house. I should have put my foot down when she informed me she was moving in. But how could I say no? After Dad passed she’d been living in the original family home all alone. And since I was also on my own, I thought the company might be nice. Yet now she sits on the porch, the rocking chair creaking with that annoying sound, a book resting in her lap—a poor disguise for her observant stare tracking our every move. I can feel the weight of her gaze like a damn judgment. My shoulders tense, bracing for the inevitable interrogation.
We bypass the house and go straight to Rachel’s car.
“Let me get that for you,” I offer and open the driver’s side door.
Up close, I see that Rachel’s car is older than I thought, probably held together with hope and spit more than anything else. But it got her from New York to Texas, so it can’t be all that bad.
Our arms brush together as she moves past me, and my skin tingles where it connects with hers. Even the slightest contact sets my nerves on fire. I want to pull her close, shield her from everything—Mother’s judgment, her clunky car, the whole damn world if I can.
“Thanks,” she says, slipping inside with a grace that belies the rust bucket she drives.
She sticks the key into the ignition and turns. Nothing. She tries again. The damn thing chokes and sputters in its desperation to come to life. When it dies, she slams her palm against the steering wheel, her composure cracking.
“Piece of shit.” She looks like she wants to cry.
And yet, she’s gorgeous when she’s all riled up. That flash of temper and the way her cheeks flush fans my affection for her. I want to kiss that frustration right off her lips, to feel the heat of her anger melt into passion.
I lean down to peer through the open window. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll get it towed to the garage tomorrow.”
“Travis, you don’t have to—” She begins, but I cut her off with a wave.
“Consider it done.”
She looks up at me, her eyes reflecting the setting sun’s copper glow. “Thank you... seriously.”
Christ, those eyes. They hold secrets, pain, and strength that call to me like nothing else. I want to dive into their depths, unravel every mystery and fix all her problems. “Anytime, honey. Besides, it gives me an excuse to see you again.”
“Is that so?”
That smile. It’s like a sucker punch to the gut, leaving me breathless and hungry for more. I want to trace it with my fingertips, taste it on my lips. “Damn straight.”
“Travis Kincaid, are you flirting with me?” Her tone is teasing, but I sense a flicker of hope underneath.
This woman flip flops like a fish. First she’s all in, then she puts on the brakes, before she’s pushing the bounds once more. I know she’s just as interested as I am, so what’s holding her back from jumping in with both feet?
I want to do much more than flirt, especially after tasting her out by the barn. But I’ll take what I can get, go at her speed, even if it’s zero to sixty and back to zero before she can commit to forty.
“Perhaps,” I drawl, matching her playful energy. “Is it working?”
“Could be, cowboy.” Her cheeks tint with a flush, making my heart kick against my ribcage like a wild bronco.
And just like that my cock is hard again. The urge to lean in and taste her nearly overwhelms me.
But I remember Mother is watching.
“Good to know.” I step back to let her roll up the window. “Let me drive you home.”
As she climbs out of the car, I take her hand to help, and damn if that simple touch doesn’t sear straight through me. There is no mistaking it—I am in deeper than I’d planned. I never felt this kind of immediate attraction toward Amelia. That woman chased me for weeks before I gave her the time of day.
As I walk Rachel to my pickup, knowing full well that Mother is taking mental notes, I can’t help feeling a surge of defiance. Because whatever this is between Rachel and me, it’s too powerful to ignore, too hot to douse with reason or restraint.
I open the door to my truck, a custom beast that is more polished chrome and leather than anything else. The interior gleams with the care I put into it to keep it nicer than the beater I use around the farm.
“Nice ride,” she remarks, as I boost her into the passenger seat, her dress hugging her curves in a way that makes my mouth dry because I managed to get my hands on her legs again.
Keeping myself in check around her is not an easy task. “Thanks,” I grunt, closing the door behind her and circling to the driver’s side. The engine roars to life with an easy turn of the key, and a deep diesel purr vibrates through the cab.
As I drive slowly down the gravel driveway to the road, I study her as she quietly looks at the cattle grazing near the fence line. I spot a hawk circling lazily overhead. The familiar sights of my land stretch around us, a constant in my life when so much else has changed. Does Rachel see beauty in it, or is it just another patch of Texas dirt to her?
“Beautiful, ain’t it?” I ask, following her gaze.
“Stunning.”
Her single-word response leaves me wondering what’s going through her mind. Does she truly appreciate the rugged beauty, or is she just being polite? I want to know more, to understand how she sees my world. I want her to love it as much as I do.
As we drive back toward town, rolling hills stretch out on either side, dotted with cattle slowly heading back to their barns for the night. Towering oak trees line fence posts, gnarled branches reaching out over the road like protective arms.
Rachel’s profile is silhouetted against the setting sun. “Have you ever seen Texas bluebonnets in bloom?”
She shakes her head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Shame. They’re a sight to behold come spring.”
A family of deer emerges from a thicket on the road ahead of us, their ears twitching at the sound of the truck and the beam of the headlights.
Rachel leans forward, her breath catching. “Oh, look!”
I slow the truck, giving her a better view. Seeing someone so genuinely excited by everyday sights is refreshing. For a moment, I see Cupid’s Creek and my family’s ranch through her eyes, and it’s like seeing it anew.
The doe leads her twin fawns across the road, their spindly legs prancing in the tall grass. We pass old man Johnson’s place, his rickety mailbox tilting precariously to one side. His ancient bloodhound lounging on the porch, barely lifting his head as we drive by.
The winding road hugs the contours of the land, revealing new vistas with each turn. Wildflowers pepper the roadside in vibrant colors along with delicate primrose. A roadrunner darts across our path, disappearing into the scrub brush on the other side.
As we near town, the landscape gradually shifts. Sprawling ranches give way to smaller plots of land dotted with modest homes and the occasional small business—a garage, fabric store, farm supplies and equipment, even a bed and breakfast.
Desperation rushes over me to prolong this drive and keep Rachel here in the moment where everything feels simpler. The thought unsettles me.
I glance at her, then turn left. “Your day off is tomorrow, right? How ‘bout you come over for that riding lesson? I’ll pick you up.”
“Really?” She turns to me and bounces in her seat, her grin ear to ear. “I’d love that.”
“Settled then.” A smile tugs at my lips, unbidden but not unwelcome, feeling a warmth spread through my chest.
That warmth is quickly followed by a jolt of panic, though, and I laugh internally at the irony. A little while ago I was lamenting about Rachels inability to commit, and here I am thinking I’m getting in too deep, letting her affect me in ways I swore I never would again. Fuck, if I’m not as confused as she must be by lusting after her and still wanting to maintain some distance. Clearly, old habits die hard. Part of me wants to keep her at arm’s length. Safer that way. Less chance of getting burned again. But as I stare at the excitement in her face, I can’t bring myself to regret my offer.
We pull up outside her apartment building just as the sky darkens. I put the truck in park but make no move to get out; not ready for the day to end.
“Travis...” Rachel hesitates, her voice softer now. “You’re one hell of a kisser, you know that?”
“Am I?” I feign nonchalance, but damn if her words don’t stroke my ego.
“Yep. And I’m pretty sure your mom saw us earlier. On the hay bale,” she adds with a frown. “It was awkward.”
“Shit.” I hadn’t noticed or felt Mother’s prying eyes. But when I look at Rachel, none of it seems to matter. I’m a grown-ass man, not some teenager sneaking around. And Rachel is worth any amount of grief I get.
“Hey,” I reach over to lift her chin so she’s looking straight at me. Our eyes lock, and the air between us sizzles with heat. “I like kissing you too, Rachel. A lot.”
Understatement of the fucking year. I don’t just like kissing her. I’m addicted to it. To her. The taste of her lips, the feel of her body against mine. It’s intoxicating, and I’m drunk on her. I want more. So much more.
“This could get complicated fast. What about the arrangement?” she whispers, biting her lip.
That lip bite. Christ. It takes every ounce of self-control not to lean over and capture that mouth. To hell with complications. To hell with arrangements. I want her, all of her, and not just for show.
“Screw the arrangement,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.
For a moment, neither of us moves. It’s a standstill. We’re on the edge of something tangible that will either burn us alive or forge something much stronger. And I’m betting on the latter.
Rachel’s breath catches in her throat. She shifts in her seat, the soft leather creaking beneath her. “That’s a hell of a thing to say.”
My jaw clenches, and my knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “I mean it, Rachel. This isn’t just pretend anymore. Not for me, anyway.”
I realize it’s been a whirlwind fast, but every touch, every glance, every moment spent with her has quickly chipped away at the fortress I’d built around my heart. She’s slipped through the cracks, and now there’s no going back. Not if I have anything to say about it. The thought of returning to our charade makes my stomach churn.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for real. What if?—”
“What if nothing?” I cut in, my voice gruff. “We take it one day at a time. No pressure, no expectations. Just... us.”
She looks at me then, and I hope she sees I’m not like her ex or any man she’s known before. I plan to be different from them. To be the man she deserves.
My pulse quickens under her thoughtful gaze. Does she see how much I want her? How much I need her? I’m acting like some lovesick teenager, but I can’t help it.
A smile, small but genuine, touches her lips. “I think I can manage that.”
The wave of relief washing over me is so sweet I’m sure I’ll get a cavity. “Good, because I wasn’t planning on letting you go that easy.” I mean every word. And now that I have her, I’ll be damned if I let her slip away.
She laughs, the sound bright and clear in the quiet cab of my truck. “Oh, you weren’t, were you? Pretty sure of yourself, Kincaid.”
“Damn straight. I’m irresistible.”
“Keep telling yourself that, cowboy,” she teases, her tone light.
Rachel reaches for the door handle, opens it, and slips out of the truck, her white cowboy boots smacking on the cement. She turns back, her face radiant as she starts walking backward toward the building.
She is stunningly beautiful inside and out, and I can’t believe how lucky I am. The realization should scare me, but instead, it fills me with a warmth I haven’t felt in years.
“Good night, Travis,” Rachel calls out, her voice carrying on the evening air.
“Night, Rachel.”
She finally spins on her heels and disappears into the building. As the door closes behind her, I sit for a moment, the engine idling, my thoughts swirling. Her perfume lingers in the cab, a subtle floral scent that makes my head spin.
The possibility of a real relationship with her sets my blood on fire. I’m surprised by how much I crave it given what I went through with Amelia. I even look forward to our arguments to see that fierce spark in her eyes. Rachel challenges me in a good way, and I’m addicted to it. To her.
And fuck if I didn’t want more—lazy Sunday mornings, showing her the ranch at sunrise on horseback, kissing under the stars. I’m genuinely looking forward to tomorrow for the first time since my divorce.
And the day after.
And every day after that with Rachel Anderson at my side.