Chapter 4 Flint
FOUR
FLINT
I can tell that Saoirse is a little freaked out, so I decide to back off and give her little space to process what I’ve said and the intent behind it.
When I get her in my bed, I don’t want her wondering how the fuck she ended up there.
I want her confident that it’s where she wants to be.
Which means she needs time to sit with it.
So, I let her finish her breakfast in peace while I step into the living room to take care of a few things.
Even though it’s the weekend, work on a ranch never really stops, especially in the middle of winter, when half the heifers are pregnant, and a rare winter snowstorm is all over the forecast. I need to make sure the hands have shit covered until I can check in later.
I shoot a text to Walker Jessup, who helps keep everyone in line when I’m not around to do it myself.
Me
I need you to handle things this morning. I won’t be around until later.
My text flips to read almost immediately, and then three dots appear.
Walker
You good?
He would ask. I never skip out on work unless it’s serious. Getting Saoirse into my bed is about as serious as it can be, but I’m not telling him that. She’s my business, no one else’s.
Me
Yeah. Just got some shit to take care of here.
Walker
And by “shit to take care of,” I assume you mean the pretty little elf you hauled out of the Spur last night?
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “I’m going to kill Blaze and Tanner.” Of course, they’re already running their mouths. The whole goddamn ranch probably knows about her by now.
Me
Maybe.
Walker
Good luck with that.
Walker
Heard you might need it with the way she was mean-mugging you last night.
“Son of a bitch,” I growl, scowling at my phone. My fingers fly across the screen.
Me
She’s staying with me.
I don’t know why I tell him that. It’s not his business. Saoirse isn’t anyone’s business. And yet…
Me
Permanently.
Walker
JFC. Already?
I send back the shrugging emoji, and then quickly decide to steer him away from the subject.
Me
Tanner wants the run finished before Christmas. Can it be done?
Walker
By Christmas? That’s seven days.
Me
I’m aware.
Walker
Fuck my life. It’ll be tight, but we can make it happen. It’ll mean doing the bare minimum with the windbreaks in the north field so we have enough hands.
Me
The windbreaks can wait. Put Bishop in charge of the run. He’s done construction before, so he knows what the fuck he’s doing. Your brother can help him.
Walker sends me a thumbs-up. With him, that can mean anything from “I’ve got it” to “Worry about yourself, motherfucker”. God only knows which it is today. But I shove my phone back into my pocket anyway.
By the time I make it back to the kitchen, Saoirse is at the sink, rinsing dishes.
“You don’t have to do that,” I murmur, leaning against the doorframe to watch her ass when she bends to place a rinsed plate in the dishwasher.
“Yes, you do. The dishwasher isn’t a miracle worker, Flint.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “I meant, you don’t have to clean up, Sugar Plum. That’s my job.”
She slides the door closed on the dishwasher and then straightens, turning to face me. “You probably have enough to do around here already. Besides, if I’m going to stay here, I need to do something. I can’t just mooch off you.”
“Mooch off me?” I cock a brow, pushing away from the wall to stride toward her. “You aren’t mooching, Saoirse. You’re staying safe.”
“Feels the same to me,” she grumbles.
I stop in front of her, telling myself to keep my damn hands to myself.
But do I listen? No. I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before I tip her chin back with a finger.
“You aren’t mooching,” I say, my eyes locked with hers.
“If I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have asked you to stay. ”
“Asked me?” Her gaze darts across my face, her blue eyes huge in her pale face. “I don’t seem to recall there being a question involved in that discussion. It was more like threatening and browbeating me into doing things your way.”
“Same difference.” I grin.
She rolls her eyes at me, but she can’t hide her smile.
I stroke her cheek with my thumb, unable to help myself. She’s so goddamn pretty. Jesus. I just want to eat her up. I doubt she’s ready to hear that, though. And if she isn’t ready to hear it, she damn sure isn’t ready for me to spread her across the table and feast.
“You want a tour?” I ask, taking a step back before I decide to take my chances and eat her anyway.
“Um, sure.” Her tongue darts across her bottom lip. “I mean, if you have time.”
“I’ve got time.”
She smiles at me, relief blooming in her eyes. “Then yes, please.”
We exit through the kitchen door, heading for the cluster of buildings up the hill from my place. It’d be easier to drive, but the only way to really appreciate a place like this is on foot, the way it was intended.
“Have you always worked on ranches?” she asks as we walk.
“Mostly. Worked on a pot farm once.”
“Seriously?”
I chuckle at the look on her face. “Yep, in Montana. You’d be surprised how many people try to sneak onto a goddamn pot farm.”
“I bet,” she whispers, her eyes wide.
“I spent most of my time chasing people off. Got tired of doing that pretty quickly and decided I’d much rather return to my roots. I was born on a ranch. They feel a lot more like home than the pot farm did.”
“Were you born here or in Montana?”
“Here.” I grin at her. “What about you? What’s your story, Sugar Plum?”
“I grew up in an orphanage,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself like the memory stings. “I got a full ride to Texas A&M, so I went from the orphanage straight to college. This is the first time I’ve ever really been on my own.”
Jesus. No wonder she manages to stumble into trouble without even trying. She’s never been on her own. Poor baby is just doing her best to cobble together the life she never had growing up.
“I didn’t expect a town like this to be so expensive,” she grumbles. “I probably seem hopeless to you.”
I place my hand on her arm, pulling her to a stop.
“There’s nothing hopeless about you, Sugar Plum.
Everyone has to start somewhere. You think I ended up on a pot farm because I always had my shit together?
” I cock a brow at her and then shake my head.
“Until I landed here a few years ago, I bounced around a lot, not sure where I fit. Most cowboys do.”
“Well, you landed somewhere beautiful,” she whispers, the sort of longing in her voice that makes a man want to do something crazy.
Like drag her into my arms and kiss the breath from her lungs.
But I don’t do that. Yet. I don’t want to send her running, not until I’m sure she’ll run right into my arms.
“Come on,” I murmur instead, holding out my hand to her. “Let me show you just how beautiful this place really is.”
She glances down at my hand and then smiles, placing her palm in mine.
“I’m not milking that cow, Flint Stockton,” she growls an hour later, her hands planted on her hips and fire in her eyes. “No way. It looks like it wants to murder me.”
“Sugar Plum,” I say, laughing, “she does not look like she wants to murder you.”
“Does too,” she sniffs, her chin in the air the same way it was at the bar last night. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright. Strands of hair are all wild around her face. Fuck, she’s beautiful.
“Fine,” I relent. “I’ll milk Betsy. But you have to keep me company.”
She eyes me like she thinks I’m up to no good, but I drop down onto the stool, place the bucket below Betsy, and get to work. After a few seconds, Saoirse wanders closer, too curious to maintain a distance.
“See? No murder,” I murmur.
She snorts like she still isn’t convinced.
“Since you’re leery of my job, tell me about yours.”
“Which one? Teaching or my almost-job as a Hooker Elf in a creepy Christmas porno?”
“I meant teaching, but since you mentioned it… what the fuck happened, Saoirse?”
“I don’t know!” she cries. “I answered an ad for an elf. I sent a resumé and everything. The man who called me never even hinted that it was going to be a shitshow instead of an actual Elf gig. I should have known better when I picked up the costume.” The irritation in her voice would be cute if the whole situation wasn’t so fucked.
“Where’d you find the ad?”
“In the classified section of the paper.”
“You remember when?”
“Last Saturday. Why?”
“So I can let the sheriff know. Just in case.”
“You really think he’ll come looking for me?”
“I doubt it, but I’d rather loop Dillon in so he can track him down and handle it than do nothing and risk it,” I murmur, moving the bucket further back.
“Will I have to do a report?” she asks, her tone rife with worry. “I’d rather not have the whole town knowing what happened. The school might fire me, and I need my job.”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” I promise.
People in this town are great, but even great people can be assholes when their kids are involved.
She didn’t do anything wrong, but the truth doesn’t always save you.
If she’s worried about her job, I’ll ensure Dillon doesn’t involve her in any official capacity.
He can shut the prick down without naming her.
Her shoulders slump with relief, but the worried glint in her eyes doesn’t really go away. Not until Bishop comes running in, breathing hard.
“We need you,” he growls.
“What happened?” I’m on my feet in an instant, hauling the bucket out from beneath Betsy.
Saoirse steps closer to me, like she’s nervous.
I could tell her that there’s no reason.
With his size and the tattoos covering most of his body, Bishop may look like he could go three rounds with the meanest bull there is, but he’s mostly harmless.
But I like the way she seeks me out for safety.
I like knowing she trusts me to keep her safe. It’s a damn good sign.