Chapter 29
Purple Patch: An Irish sports term for a short period of great form or success during a match.
Translation: Honeymoon Phase.
Everly
Cliona: Fletcher! I need a favor!!!
Everly: Name it.
Cliona: Can you recommend a place I can order a cake for my brother’s birthday and then possibly go pick it up and surprise him with
it next week? We have this cake tradition we do every year, and I want to make sure we still kind of do it, even if it’s just
via FaceTime.
Everly: OMG, I am a shit friend. I totally forgot you said you had a summer birthday.
Cliona: Since I was born. LOL.
Everly: I wish we could be together to celebrate.
Cliona: I know. I’m going through withdrawals from both you and my brother. But at least you can celebrate with my better half.
I smile at Cliona’s last text to me. Better half, indeed.
Wolf and I have spent the past month sneaking around Fletcher Mountain like a couple of naughty teenagers.
I swear I’m wearing a path in the woods down below the mountain lookout point.
The one where I was almost attacked by Fowl Pacino.
Wolf and I have been using that as our gateway to each other a heck of a lot.
The only nights we don’t spend together are the nights when I’m busy with my family.
Real talk? I’m obsessed. I’m obsessed with the way he makes my body feel. I’m obsessed with how he talks me through everything
we do together. I’m obsessed with the level of confidence I feel surging through me when he forces me to talk him through
it.
I didn’t know sex could be like this. I didn’t know it would change the way I see the world. Like it’s full of possibility,
not just for the people I help but maybe even for me.
I’m even reevaluating my matchmaking manifesto. That’s what good sex does! It gives you a new perspective on things.
Which is probably why I’m working down at Mount Millie today just so I can be near him. It’s a grueling hot summer day, and
he’s out on the paddock with Stevie, rinsing down Clyde the Clydesdale.
I’m set up on a table in the barn alley with my laptop, barely focusing on the vendor emails I need to be sending out to get
things finalized for the auction in two weeks, because it’s more fun to watch Wolf and Stevie.
At one point, he directs the hose at Stevie, and the battle cry she squeals when the chilly water hits her brings Trista out
of the feed room with a concerned-mother face, making sure her child is okay.
She is more than okay.
Both of us watch with big, dopey smiles as the sunlight slices through the trees, soft and golden, catching every droplet splattering between the big rugby boy and the curly-haired toddler.
Wolf moves around the massive Clydesdale as he tries to spray Stevie, who hides behind an outdoor feeder.
He’s swapped out his standard sneakers and athletic shorts for jeans and boots, embracing his position as a farmhand completely.
It suits him even better than his rugby kit, which I didn’t think possible.
Wolf finally abandons the hose and tears after Stevie, snatching her up in his arms and tossing her over his shoulder to take
her back over to Clyde. He sets her on his back, her tiny little boots kicking excitedly as he resumes the rinse, squirting
her legs every so often to her utter delight.
The whole scene feels weightless and suspended. Like I’m watching a movie montage of complete and utter happiness. We’ve all
magically settled into this natural routine on Fletcher Mountain. Wolf riding with my uncles three days a week to training.
Me working from home or the barn. Trista and Stevie doing what they do best.
There’s something insanely sexy about a guy who looks as dark and dangerous as Wolf be gentle and kind to animals and children.
Something inside me tugs hard, the kind of thing I’d worry felt like love if I didn’t know any better.
Trista breaks through my musings when she says, “I’m going to take Stevie up to the house for some lunch. Do you want me to
bring you anything?”
“No, I’m okay, thanks,” I say, struggling to tear my eyes away from Wolf.
Trista walks out to collect Stevie, and I watch in rapt fascination as Wolf walks Clyde back into his stable in the barn.
His shirt is plastered to his body, clearly soaked from his little water fight, and I don’t even try to hide the fact that
I’m drinking in every square inch of him.
When he closes the gate, he makes his way toward me, giving me that we’re-finally-alone sort of look. We waste no time meeting
in the middle of the barn, lips, tongues, and hands roaming over each other like we didn’t just spend the night together last
night.
“You know, I think I need to add a rule about wet clothes in my matchmaking manifesto.”
“Are you matchmaking us now?” he asks, moving to the other side of my neck, his hands palming my ass.
“Heavens no. This is just for other people’s love lives,” I groan when his cock presses into my belly.
“Of course,” he murmurs before capturing my lips with his.
His tongue slides into my mouth, swift and all-consuming, and my knees buckle as he holds me up in his arms. God, this bad
boy can kiss.
An intrusive thought hits me out of nowhere, and I shove him away. “Hey, were you going to tell me your birthday is coming
up next week?” I ask, hitting the man who’s seen me naked with a challenging glare.
He frowns back at me, the corner of his mouth lifted into a dismissive sneer.
“Why not?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips.
“Because it’s just a day.”
“It’s not just a day,” I exclaim with a gentle shake. “It’s a day you share with your sister. My best friend. That’s really
cool.”
His shoulders lift. “Yeah, I guess so.”
I move in close, folding my fingers behind his neck. “So, what can I get you for your birthday?”
His hands sculpt around my ass. “I could think of a few things,” he murmurs, pulling me in close.
A vibration pulses between us, and Wolf frowns, glancing down at his pocket. He pulls his phone out, and his brows furrow
even further. “I just got a text from your uncle Wyatt.”
“What does it say?”
“He invited me to poker night.”
My heart lurches in my chest. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Shit,” I hiss, pulling away from him and shoving my hair out of my face. “I have plans with my grandma tomorrow night. We’re going to dinner in Boulder.”
“Why does that matter?” Wolf asks, smiling curiously at me.
“Well, I can’t come to poker to . . . run interference. Maybe you should tell them you can’t come. Tell them you’re busy . . .
giving Rugby a bath.”
Wolf’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. “I’m not afraid of a few mountain men, Stretch.”
I shake my head slowly. “Famous last words, Wolfy.”