Chapter 26
26
She doesn’t yell, but if not for the sleeping baby on her chest, he’s pretty sure she would be screaming.
“She has no idea what she deserves,” she says, calm but fierce, small but terrifying. “But it’s not this half-assed bullshit. Man up or fuck off.”
“And?”
The pestle in my hand stills briefly before I continue grinding dried jasmine inside a mortar. “And nothing.”
Lux pouts. “Really? No second date.”
“Not a chance,” I laugh, bitter and irritated and… done. So done.
I spent the whole night tossing and turning over how done I am. I suffered through a groggy morning shift at Bloom, politely listening to Mrs. Hannigan, the local librarian, rant about teens using her workplace for things other than reading. I slept-walked my way to the ranch and through some menial chores. Now, I’m taking my doneness out on the flowers I dried to make tea.
Lux thinks I’m upset over a failed date. And I am. But Roberto is not who kept me up last night.
Not that I don’t want to be .
What the hell is that supposed to mean? That Hunter wants me? As… not-a-friend? Really? Seriously ? After making it so abundantly clear he doesn’t—that he can’t give me anything but friendship? He spends his first couple of months at Serenity acting like I’m the personification of the freaking Black Plague, he repeatedly implies I’m useless, he outright calls me embarrassing , but he wants me. He kisses me, he calls it a mistake, he has zero qualms about me dating someone else, but he wants me. Sure . Okay .
I’m killing him .
I wish I could ask Lux what it means when a guy says something like that, and then promptly strides off into the night without any kind of a follow-up. Actually no—I wish I could ask her and not receive the answer I know I’ll get, the very reason I haven’t told her. She’ll say it’s because he likes me. The tight, delusional grip she has on that fantastical notion will double down, and she’ll never shut up again.
I’d rather let her think I’m hung up on The Date. On The Italian. On The Dating Someone Other Than Her Brother. And I’ll keep pretending the dull edge of a pestle is grinding something more satisfying than tea.
When the rumbling sound of an engine catches my attention, I glance out the window, only to freeze at the sight of a truck parking a few feet from the house. The tension that grips me is fleeting, dissipating quickly once I realize the flashy GMC is definitely not a dirty old Ford, and the man climbing out of it is definitely not Hunter.
This guy is a few inches shorter, a little less brawny but certainly not slim by any stretch of the word. He’s built with a different kind of bulk, all powerful limbs and honed muscles I can see even from the kitchen window—muscles born from clinging to aggravated bulls for a living.
“Excuse me.” I feign an indignant noise. “You invited Everett James over and didn’t tell me?”
I expect a quip—something undeniably dirty about a different kind of riding the two-time world champion could do. I don’t expect the crash of something shattering as it falls to the floor. Whipping around, I hiss at the broken plate shards dangerously close to Lux’s bare feet. “What happened?”
“What did you just say?”
I frown at my friend’s unusually pale complexion. “Everett James is here.”
Lux… She falls . Her face, her shoulders, I swear I even hear her heart plummet. She swallows hard, like she’s choking down bile—she certainly looks one wrong move away from emptying the contents of her stomach. When she glances down at Alex, snoozing in the carrier strapped to her chest, she practically turns green.
“He’s not here for you?”
Panic; that’s what flashes in her dark eyes. The kind of panic I recognize easily, the kind of fear I know all too well too because I feel it all the time whenever someone looks at my life a little too closely. Whenever someone asks me about my dad. Whenever the secrets and the lies I try so hard to keep close to my chest stray a little too far.
“I don’t think so,” Lux croaks.
I hope not, I hear.
I glance back outside, at the man leaning casually against his truck like he has nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there. “Maybe he’s here for Hunter.”
“Why would he be here for Hunter?”
“They’re friends, I think. Drinking buddies. They were at Bishop’s together a couple weeks ago.”
“You knew he was in town?”
The accusatory question makes me cringe, makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong by not telling her. I didn’t think I needed to—everyone knows he’s back. It’s all anyone can talk about, really. And why would she care? “Do you want me to get rid of him?”
Her jerky nod is instant and confusing and incites at least a hundred questions, none of which I ask. I know better than to push—I break when I’m pushed but Lux, she bites, like the surly horses she’s so good at rehabilitating. She won’t tell me anything unless she wants to, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that’s the last thing she wants. So, I do what she does want.
Shouldering open the screen door, I eye the gray sky warily as I hurry down the porch steps and across the yard, hoping the summer storm clearly brewing waits until I’m back inside before breaking. Everett, I regard just as cautiously, since I don’t have a freaking clue what I’m wading into. The casual stance and upturned mouth could easily be a ploy, luring me into a false sense of security before he… I don’t know. I really, really do not know. “Can I help you?”
Everett’s cocksure grin is one I’m sure could—and probably has—send a woman to her knees. “I’m looking for Hunter.”
I don’t let my polite smile falter as I jerk a thumb towards the barn—the one we cleaned out last month, where the ranch hands have been ripping down rotten rafters all day. “He’s in there.”
Everett glances to where I gesture, but he doesn’t move. Instead, his gaze drifts, hopping from that barn to the bigger one, skating over the house, taking in the landscape with a long whistle. “Y’know, I grew up next to this place, but this is my first time here.”
I do know that—and a lot more, too. I know Everett graduated three years ahead of me. I know that, even if we were closer in age, we likely wouldn’t have been friends because he was the epitome of the hot, arrogant, unapproachable jock. I know that he had a reputation for skipping class to hone that bull-riding skill of his. I know that, before he joined the circuit, he left Alder Grove, his family’s property, about as often as Lux leaves Serenity yet in the years since, I can count the number of times he’s been home on one hand.
What I don’t know, though, is what about this man has my fearless friend cowering inside. “You haven’t met the Jacksons before?”
“I met their grandparents once.” Everett’s grin turns wry as he runs a hand through chin-length dark hair. “The old lady didn’t like me. Called me unkempt . Reckon she’d want me back on her land like a hole in the head.”
Yeah, I can imagine that. Jackson’s grandmother always did have an issue with his long hair, and his is nowhere near as… windblown. “It’s not her land anymore. Jackson—Oscar, I mean—bought it.”
He whistles again, impressed. “No shit?”
“His sister runs it, though. Lux.”
Not a single ounce of recognition flashes across his ruggedly handsome face. Green eyes glimmer with something else instead—something that screams trouble . “She as pretty as you?”
I flush. “I—”
“Hey.” Like the storm clouds darkening the sky, Hunter rolls into the conversation, and I swear the temperature drops a couple degrees. “What’re you doing here?”
It’s instinct, really, the compulsion I feel to answer, to justify my presence, even though I know damn well he isn’t talking to me. Sad, defensive instinct.
Everett’s response, I don’t quite hear. Not all of it, at least. Not when my brain is so honed in on the hulking presence beside me, oblivious to anything but the long, thick arm pressing against mine. What I do catch, though, is the sound of Lux’s name, and a throwaway comment about needing the resident ‘horse whisperer’ to lure an injured horse spotted nearby.
Reluctantly turning to Hunter, I address the notch at the base of his throat. “Can you deal with it?”
His frown is tangible, burning into my skin, but I don’t give him what he wants—I don’t lift my gaze. When he asks if Lux is okay, I nod—I lie —and when the neck I’m staring at so intensely tenses, I evade the incoming argument before it can start. “Please, Hunter.”
He’s not wearing white today. It’s a weird thing to notice, to focus on, but I can't help it. Not when those broad shoulders, that wide chest, heave with a deep breath, and the navy material already stretched taut groans at the seams, the cuffs digging into swollen biceps as he crosses his arms. “Okay,” comes his reluctant agreement, throat bobbing as a deep rasp builds inside it. “You good?”
I nod again, and the rounded planes of his pectoral muscles bulge. Worn boots nudge the tips of my toes—my bare toes, I realize with a sigh, because I ran out here so quickly, I didn’t even think about shoes. There’s no time to lament about muddy soles or the chipped red polish on my big toe, though. No, I quickly become far too preoccupied by the heavy hand that lands on my shoulder. “ We good, honey?”
I think about him disappearing last night, about the dark circles beneath my eyes, about the awful, persistent throb in my chest, but I nod once more.
I don’t have to see Hunter to know he doesn’t believe me, but at least he lets me go. Not that I really give him a choice—I slip away before he can get a word out, my escape aided by Everett herding him in the opposite direction.
If I was in a better mood, I’d marvel over what a pair they make. And if Lux wasn’t gone by the time I made it back to the kitchen, locked in her bedroom with her son, I reckon she would too.
“Did somethin’ happen?”
Gaia huffs her displeasure when I jolt in surprise and accidentally yank the lead rope attached to her halter a little too hard. Soothing her with a muttered apology and a scratch between the eyes, I briefly glance over my shoulder at the human personification of a storm cloud darkening the doorway.
Clearing my throat, I turn my attention back to the big baby of a Shire sulking about being extricated from the paddock. “I thought you left.”
“Didn’t take that long.” Heavy steps scuff the barn floor, boots and hooves clacking in unison. Unable to help myself, I peek at the lithe, dark brown equine body he guides into an empty stall, hastily averting my gaze when the man doing the guiding seeks it out. He repeats, “Did something happen, Caroline?”
Something . Sure, I guess you could say that.
I shake my head as I urge Gaia into her stall, earning a less-than-impressed snort as I lock her in for the night. I sneak another sideways glance, my curiosity about the apparent newest addition to Serenity winning out against the childish urge to pretend Hunter isn’t here—and the self-preservational instinct to flee. “He okay?”
“Just a little spooked.” There’s a pause as Hunter finishes getting what doesn’t look like much more than a colt settled in. When he exits the stall, he sets a hand on the closed door, fingers curled around it, knuckles nearly white. He repeats his earlier question, “Did somethin’ happen?”
I shake my head.
“Your dad do somethin’?”
I almost laugh. My dad . I haven’t heard from or seen my dad since The Incident. I’ve barely even thought about him. I’ve had so much else to think about, he’s been all but banished from my mind.
That was one of the things I used to love about being around Jackson, about being on the ranch—when I was here, with him, Dad didn’t exist. I forgot about him. I found peace.
I don’t like that about Hunter—I don’t like that the hurt he causes overwhelms anything my dad does. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel okay .
“No, Hunter,” I insist tiredly, moving towards the office. “My dad didn’t do anything.”
Two long strides bring Hunter within an inch of me. “Can we talk?”
“I’m busy.”
“Please, honey.”
Frustration simmers beneath my skin. “Not right now, Hunter.”
“Five seconds. Hey,” he steps in my way when I try to move around him, lightly clasping my bicep to hold me in place. “I wanna talk to you.”
“I don’t.” I shake him off, cupping my arm to try erase the burning warmth of his touch. “I don’t want to talk to you. I’m tired, okay? I can’t keep doing this. If you don’t like me—” My voice cracks, but I persevere. “—as more than a friend, that’s fine. But you can’t keep acting like this. Saying stuff that makes me think you do, that makes other people think you do, because it’s embarrassing, Hunter. It’s confusing. And it’s not fair. I’m trying, I’m really, really trying, but you’re making it so freaking hard.”
With every sentence out of my mouth, I take a step back only for Hunter to take a step closer, advancing and advancing and advancing while I retreat and retreat and retreat until there’s nowhere left for me to go, nowhere else for me to look but right into smoldering eyes. “Tryin’ to do what, Caroline?”
I’m stuck in every sense of the word. I have nowhere to go, no way of backtracking, no energy left to fight my way through another lie. No energy left to admit anything other than the truth. “I spent four years loving someone who was never gonna love me back. Not really. I’m not putting myself in that position again. I’m trying not to like you, but you buy me flowers and you call me honey and you make it too hard. You make it impossible, Hunter.”
I’m breathing like I just sprinted a mile. Huffing like I found a little energy after all and spent it running my mouth. Teary-eyed because that’s just who I am, unfortunately.
Hunter’s eyes are dry. A little wide; surprised, if I had to guess. Lips parted, mouth a touch shy of agape. They part a little more, letting in a deep breath, letting out a deeper exhale, before pressing tightly together.
“My last relationship wasn't great.”
I will my expression not to change, not to show my surprise or betray the completely inexplicable surge of jealousy that grips me.
“It was long and unhappy and something I’m still gettin’ over.” His throat bobs nervously, thick fingers so gentle as they brush my hair behind my ear before smoothing along the curve of my neck, holding me there. “I’m not lookin’ for another one. I like you, Caroline, more than I should, but I can’t give you what you want.”
In a single, fleeting moment, a full range of emotions punch me in the gut.
Elation, borderline freaking euphoria, as my heart skips a beat because Hunter likes me. Panic twisting my gut because Hunter likes me, and I have no idea what to do with that. Confusion addling my brain because Hunter likes me ?
Indignation is what I settle on. What burrows deep in my chest and spreads like wildfire, heating my blood and fuelling my frustration. “What the fuck does that mean, Hunter?”
A choking noise echoes around the barn.
“You like me more than you should?” I might be shrieking. I’m pretty sure I am shrieking. I can’t stop shrieking, though, because shrieking is kind of therapeutic. Shrieking is my armor—shrieking might be the only thing keeping me from an infinitely more embarrassing reaction, like bursting into tears. I repeat, “What does that mean?”
Hunter’s mouth opens, and promptly snaps shut again when he realizes I’m not done.
“How do you know what I want?” Why does everyone think they know what I want? “Have you ever asked?”
Wide eyes blink slowly, the shake of his head just as unhurried.
“It might not be the same, but I was in a relationship that didn’t end all that great for me either. I lost…” Everything sounds a little dramatic, but that’s how it felt. How it still feels, sometimes. Most of the time, it feels like I’m only starting to get it back. My friends, my safe space, my freaking dignity. “ That is not what I want. I don’t…” Shut up , some bone-deep instinct screams. Shut up, shut up, shut up , it begs, but I ignore it—I’m too far gone to stop. “I don’t want to sit through a dinner with one man while I’m thinking about another. I don’t want to feel so freaking helpless that I ask another man out in the first place. I don’t want to be a mistake.”
I swear, hazel irises flash red for a second. Nostrils flaring, Hunter takes another step impossibly closer, nothing between us but a fraction of air. “I never said that.”
“I’m pretty good at context cues.”
“Caroline—”
“ Stop .” I plant my palms on his chest, shoving him back a step, and it’s like that simple exertion drains all my energy. All the fight leaves me, all the fury, and I shrink back into myself. Shoulders hunched, arms crossed over my chest, eyes on the ground. “I don’t wanna argue about this.” It’s mortifying , arguing about this. Like I’m convincing him to want me. “Forget it. I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I hear you, okay? I don’t want anything from you. I’m not asking you for anything.”
Once again, he says my name.
Once again, I walk away before I start to cry.