Chapter 13
13
He doesn’t have time for pretty girls wearing pretty sundresses and prettier smiles, but he finds himself wanting to make some.
“I think I'm pregnant again.”
“ What?! ” Mouth agape, I whirl towards the woman sitting beside me with her chin resting in her hand and a dreamy look on her face. Following Lux’s line of sight, I sigh a relieved laugh— ah . I get it. “Which one?”
Lux slants me a look. “All of the above?”
I can’t even blame her.
We didn’t sit on the porch with the specific intention of watching the guys work. Of course, we didn’t—that would be creepy. We just couldn’t possibly stay inside any longer, what with it being, oh, approximately a thousand degrees. I love the remodeled cabin the Jacksons call home, I really do, but I wish the rustic style ended with the architecture. Hell, I’d pay them to install air conditioning.
Compared to the stifling interior, outside is only marginally better, with the intermittent breeze providing as much relief as the cold glass of lemonade in my hand; both are welcome, sure, but the impact is minimal.
But boy, do we have a view.
Sweaty, shirtless bodies. Flexing abdominal muscles. Tensed biceps. Rippling backs. Honestly, I think watching the guys lug a delivery of feed from the bed of a truck into the barn is only making us hotter, but we can’t quite find it in us to care.
“All that can’t be natural,” Lux muses through a noisy slurp of homemade lemonade, peering at Hunter over her sunglasses. “You think he has implants?”
I almost spit out my drink. “You're ridiculous.”
“It's not fair,” she whines. “Why does a man need an ass like that?”
“For our viewing pleasure?” Luna adds from my other side—as if she’s viewing anyone but her boyfriend.
Lux snickers. “True.”
“We should stop,” I say, admitting half-heartedly. “We've been staring for too long.”
Luna huffs a noise of vehement disagreement. “They creep on us all the time.”
“Yeah, Hunter stares at your ass way more than you stare at his.”
“Lux!” My cheeks flare as I scoff at my friend, looking to Luna for help, but finding none—in fact, she nods in agreement. “He does not.”
“I can think of, like, at least five times in the last week.”
I jerk an elbow into each of their sides. “Stop teasing.”
I can’t handle it. If he overheard—which he very well might, the girls are so freaking loud—I would die. I might die anyway, from embarrassment. Like I need to suffer anymore of that.
Blowing out a flustered breath, I get to my feet. “Refills?”
“Please.” Both girls hand me their empty glasses, not once taking their eyes off the guys as I head inside. To be fair, I’m not exactly any better—turns out, the kitchen window provides just as good a view as the porch.
God, his body . I'm like a broken record, but Hunter truly deserves to be admired. And there’s so much of him to admire, he’s so freaking big . Not in the ripped, gym rat, more-abs-than-fingers, I-only-eat-protein kind of way. No, Hunter’s got beefy arms and powerful legs, but he’s all softness. I know that first hand; I felt it when I was freaking burrowing into that bulky, rounded chest.
I cringe at the memory. Talk about a low point.
Opening the refrigerator, I almost moan in relief as cool air caresses my heated cheeks, relishing in it for longer than I should. I only pull myself away when the screen door bangs open and a flurry of half-naked men file inside, working up my flush all over again. Snatching the pitcher of lemonade, I slam the fridge shut and quickly busy myself filling the girls’ glasses.
“Caroline,” Simon, one of Serenity’s three ranch hands, greets me in a sing-song voice. “Looking as beautiful as ever.”
I snort, dodging his attempt to rustle my hair. Simon is one of the few guys whose attention I can endure without being reduced to a flustered puddle. Probably because Simon flirts with everyone. Also probably because I’m used to it. Most of all because I know he has absolutely no intention of following through, considering his boss is my ex-boyfriend— bro code , he drunkenly told me once.
Charlie, another hand, is just as much of a shameless flirt. He shoots me a wink, yanking my braid on his way to the sink. “How ya doing, pretty girl?”
The man heading up the rear of the group does not offer the same kind of greeting. A nod and a slightly upturned mouth is all I get from Hunter, and I’m okay with that. The shirtless torso is enough for me.
Anything more and I might do something embarrassing like swoon.
I don’t bother asking before reaching for more glasses, barely finished filling up two before they're snatched away by Simon and Charlie. I’m halfway done with the third when someone comes up behind me, a sweaty chest briefly brushing the parts of my upper back left bare by my dress, fingers skimming my hip as who can only be Hunter reaches around me for the last glass. “Thanks, honey.”
I almost drop the pitcher.
Honey.
Honey?
Is the heat getting to me or something? Causing auditory hallucinations? Or is it getting to him? Maybe it’s getting to both of us.
It takes genuine physical effort not to lean back. To not gawk up at Hunter. To not squeak ‘excuse me?’ or ask him to repeat himself because I’ve never heard a nicer sound coming from his mouth—because I can’t believe he really just said that.
Honey . The word yanks at my memory. Reminds me of something I either forgot or didn’t fully pick up on in the moment, too miserable to hear it. He called me that before. In Bloom. While I cried and he comforted me, he called me honey .
I got you, honey.
Jesus. It’s a miracle I didn’t combust.
More people entering the kitchen snap me out of my daze, my shoulders drawing up tight as Lux, Luna, and Jackson stroll inside. Disappointment unfurls in my gut when Hunter quickly backs away. When he heads for the door, I twist to watch him go, waving like a freaking weirdo when he lifts his glass in a silent salute before disappearing.
Setting down the pitcher, I exhale hard enough to displace the strands of hair escaping from my braid and framing my face. What the hell?
“Looking a little flushed there, honey .”
I cup my cheeks and throw Simon a look that’s part scowl, part plea. “It’s hot.”
“Honey?” Jackson frowns as he pulls out a chair at the kitchen table, flopping down onto it before pulling Luna onto his lap, all the while glancing curiously between me and his ranch hand—the wrong ranch hand, evidently, as Simon tries to correct.
“Don’t look at—”
“He’s just messing with me,” I cut him off. “Are y’all done for the day?”
When a chorus of groans answer that question, I bump my hip against Lux’s, interrupting her as she rummages through the upper cabinets for something. “I can cook tonight.”
“Nah.” Successfully locating whatever she’s hunting for, I grimace when I recognize the jar in her grasp. However, I know better than to argue, so when she unscrews the lid and the godawful aroma of the garlic-based poultice she’s been smearing on cuts and scrapes for as long as I can remember, I hold out my hands obediently, palms up. “The boys are gonna throw some meat on the grill.”
Another round of groans makes me laugh. “How’d you convince them to do that?”
“Sheer charm of course.” Lux shoots me a toothy grin as she peels off my BandAids, tutting at the healing skin beneath them. “And I promised them we could take a half-day tomorrow and head to the creek. You wanna come?”
“Really?” I’ve never been to the creek before—another Jackson family ritual I never managed to wiggle my way into.
“Uh-huh.” As she cradles one of my hands and smears a mixture of crushed garlic, honey, and who knows what else on my palms, her thumb digs into my wrist. “Even Hunter’s coming.”
My stomach does a weird flip that I choose to ignore. “Good for him.”
“He'll be there all naked and wet and glistening…”
Briefly, I wonder how painful it would be for a girl to get raw garlic in her eye.
No one else notices Hunter sneaking away the moment we sit down to eat. Just like no one notices me doing the same thing half an hour later—except for Lux, of course. Somehow, I just know it’s her gaze burning a hole in my back as I walk away from the group of laughing people sprawled across the porch and slip inside the barn.
“Hey,” I call out softly. Hunter glances my way, brows rising in surprise, eyes darting between me and the full plate of food I brandish. “Hungry?”
Something in my chest squeezes when his lips stretch into a smile. A real smile. A really good smile—that sweet, boyish smile I like so much. Rinsing his hands first, he turns off and puts away the hose used to refill the horses’ water troughs, and I follow him into the back room that serves as Lux’s office. Not that she ever uses it; despite the huge table and comfortable chair, she much prefers the tiny desk in her room flooded with papers and documents, stained with coffee rings and pen marks. Organized chaos , she calls it.
The prelude of a migraine , I prefer.
Taking the plate from my hands, Hunter sits behind the desk and digs in, while I dither in the doorway, contemplating whether or not I should stay. I should, right? Eating alone is kind of sad. And if he wanted me to leave, God knows he would tell me.
Watching him carefully, I move closer. Hesitantly, I walk around to the side of the desk, perching on the edge, searching for any signs of irritation. When I find none—when that mouth stays curved upward—I relax. Crossing my legs at the ankles, I let them swing, folding my hands in my lap, and I stay.
Pausing his feast, Hunter eyes my hands. “How are they?”
“All better.” If all better means itchy, scabby, and garlicky. “Food okay? I wasn’t sure what you liked so I just grabbed a bit of everything.”
He raises the plate laden with steak, lemon-garlic chicken thighs, grilled vegetables, and a buttery baked potato the size of his fist. “This is good.”
“I can get you more, if you want. And there’s pie. Peach. You want some?”
Something faintly amused tugs at the corner of Hunter’s mouth. “This a diner, Caroline? You work here now?”
I look down, shrugging. “I guess I’m trying to thank you,” I stutter nervously, “for the other day. For helping me.”
The sound of chewing fades away. I hear him swallow, then the thud of him setting down his plate followed by the creak of his chair, and I glance aside to find him slumped, legs spread wide, hands braced on his thighs. “No need.”
He’s wearing a belt buckle. An old one—vintage, if I had to guess—with the outline of a longhorn stamped on the face and a raised edge in the pattern of a rope. I stare at it for five seconds too long before I realize I’m essentially staring at his crotch and shift my gaze back to my own lap.
His knee brushes the back of my calf, jeans rough against my bare skin. “I did good, yeah?”
I smile, remembering those chunky but nimble fingers almost expertly helping me arrange bouquet after bouquet. “You did alright.”
Another gentle nudge, and a laugh . An under-the-breath, slightly snarky chuckle, but a laugh all the same. He leaves his knee there, tucked beneath the back of mine, and its presence is what makes me realize how close the rest of him is. Leaned forward with his elbows braced against his knees, he’s almost eye-level. And smiling .
And rattling .
“Why don’t you think I’m Jackson’s type?”
I regret the question the second it leaves my mouth; I never meant it to. It just came out. Morbid curiosity briefly took over, but its coup is fleeting.
“Never mind.” I almost give myself whiplash, shaking my head so fiercely. “I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t care. Whatever you meant, it’s fine. I don’t think I wanna know. I’m just gonna—”
A palm fitting flush against my mouth puts an abrupt end to my rambling.
Wide-eyed, I watch Hunter’s shoulders shake with a soft chuckle. “Anyone ever told you you talk a lot?”
I pull a face he can't see since his gargantuan hand damn near covers me from chin to hairline. As it falls away, I swear his fingers sweep along my cheekbone for a split second, and I definitely feel him momentarily pinch my chin between his thumb and forefinger, giving my head a gentle shake. “Is that why you were upset with me?”
My lips roll together, neither confirming nor denying.
The desk creaks as Hunter rests his forearms against it, stacked parallel with my thigh, those pretty eyes locking on mine and refusing to let go. “It wasn’t intended as an insult,” he explains quietly. “I just can’t picture it. Not because you’re not beautiful or smart or whatever else you assumed in that pretty little head of yours. Y’all are too similar, it doesn’t make sense to me.”
Beautiful. Smart. Pretty. I feel faint. “Too similar?”
“Quiet. Nice.” The tip of one elbow grazes the skin just below the hem of my dress. “Too polite for your own good.”
It’s not an insult, but it kind of hits like one. “And Luna and Jackson make sense?”
Hunter’s head tips to one side. “Does that upset you?’
“I don't know.” Maybe. I guess it just makes me wonder if everyone secretly thought that and they were just lying to my face when they cooed over how we were ‘the perfect couple.’ It does kind of upset me that I wasted four years of my life with someone completely wrong for me, but then that line of thinking upsets me too because I don’t like thinking about that part of my life as wasted. I was happy, genuinely happy. Jackson was my best friend. I loved him, and I think he did love me too. Just… not in the right way. Not enough.
“What happened?”
I shrug. “We broke up.”
It wasn't anything dramatic. It was nice, as far as breakups go. He held me when I started crying. He still offered to take me to prom—I declined. When we graduated from high school and his sisters threw a big, celebratory party on the ranch, he made sure I was invited. It was a perfectly boring, amicable break-up.
Which is apparently exactly what our entire relationship was; perfectly boring.
“What about you?” I shift the attention back onto Hunter. “You got a girlfriend back home?”
“Wouldn't be here if I did.” There's something about the way he says it, something loaded that doesn't quite fit with the nonchalant rise and fall of his shoulders. “Haven't had a girlfriend in years.”
“Why not?”
Hunter purses his lips, contemplating. As his eyes flick between both of mine, I can almost see the cogs turning behind them. Whatever he’s thinking, he’s on the verge of voicing it until he suddenly looks away. A crease between his brows, he turns towards the corner of the room. “Did you hear that?”
I mimic his frown as I follow his line of sight, not finding anything except for a rusty old filing cabinet. “No.”
Quietly, Hunter gets up and crosses the room. As he grasps the cabinet, I’m half-convinced it’s an elaborate ruse to avoid the conversation, but then he moves it aside and sucks in a sharp breath. “Line,” he murmurs, and I’m so distracted by him calling me Line , it’s not until he repeats the nickname that I realize he’s beckoning me over. “Come look at this.”
I do as he says. And as I get closer, I swear I hear tiny… whimpers?
A soft gasp escapes me when Hunter shifts to reveal a wriggling pile of small, furry bodies “Oh my God.”
Puppies. Teeny, tiny, noisy puppies .
Instinctively, I reach out to pet them, only to recoil when a snarl sounds. So distracted by the puppies, I don’t see what I assume is their mom until she’s baring her teeth at me—not all that threatening considering she’s so small and skinny, she could almost pass for one of her pups.
Quick as a flash, Hunter tugs me backwards, one arm banding across my body like a seatbelt. “Careful.”
“It's fine.” I push his arm away, stifling the shiver its brief presence causes. “She won't hurt us.”
I don’t think she could. My heart aches at the sight of her, skin and bones and not much else. Careful not to make any sudden movements, I grab Hunter’s leftovers. Just as slow, I kneel down in front of the squirming pile of dogs, hearing another snarl, but it’s half-hearted. When I slide the plate towards the mama, her ears perk up slightly.
“It's okay,” I coo softly. “We're not gonna hurt you.”
She tilts her head at me, then at Hunter and I swear her bright blue eyes narrow. Stifling a laugh, I wrap my fingers around the wrist of the man towering over us and tug. “Sit down. You're scaring her.”
Hunter snorts, but he does as I say. Cautiously, he crouches on his haunches, angling himself ever-so-slightly in front of me. My stomach clenches when a hand coasts along the middle of my back, fisting a handful of my dress—like he’s prepared to yank me away at the first sign of danger. Torn between swooning and rolling my eyes, I focus on the task at hand.
Slowly, the little mama stands, displacing the puppies crawling all over her. She inches closer, sniffing furiously, never once taking her eyes off us as she nibbles on what must be her first meal in weeks. In place of the squeal that catches in my throat, I tap Hunter’s thigh excitedly.
The puppies must be bolstered by their mom's confidence because they leave their little corner, waddling towards us. I count five of them, all with mottled, curly fur and light eyes. They're all small, but one is exceptionally so. The runt, I guess.
Small but brave—while his siblings approach us somewhat cautiously, he bounds right on over. Yipping excitedly, he eagerly sniffs my fingers when I stretch them out towards him, tongue lolling when I scratch behind his floppy ear, butt wiggling happily, and I think, right then and there, I fall in love.
The other four, they chose Hunter as their target. One sniffs his shoes, another nibbles on his jeans, and third goes right for the toe of his left boot. The fourth goes right for the big guns; it paws at his leg, trying its hardest to scale that mountainous thigh.
As smoothly as a man his size can manage, Hunter shifts to sit on his butt. Treating it like it’s made of glass, he wraps his fingers around the puppy’s middle and lifts. I press my lips together when he sets it on his thigh and it immediately flops onto its belly, its eyes drifting shut.
“ Careful ,” I snicker mockingly, gasping when his free hand jabs my ribs. “They’ve gotta be strays, right?”
Hunter nods, staring at the small thing on his lap with a kind of fascinated wonder that makes me want to pinch his freaking cheeks.
“Do you think—”
“Line? You in here?”
Yelps echo around the room as all six dogs startled simultaneously. They scuttle back into their corner, and Hunter and I scramble to our feet just in time for Lux to wander into the office. She freezes as she takes in the scene before her, blinking rapidly as her gaze bounces between us and the horde of dogs.
Dropping her head back, she groans. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”