Chapter 14
Beau
She’d been everywhere—her voice, her laugh, her touch—all of it tangled up in my head, making me crazed.
Watching her with Gatlin, the way she leaned into him, her hand brushing his arm, the way she laughed like he was the funniest damn guy in the world—it ate at me.
Every glance, every word, it stroked something ugly and raw in my chest.
When she said Gatlin was taking her home?
That was it. The straw that broke the bull’s back.
Hell no. I didn’t think—I just acted. Something primal kicked in, and I hauled her over my shoulder like I was claiming her in front of the whole damn bar.
I didn’t care how it looked or who was watching.
The only thing that mattered was making sure I was the one bringing her home.
She was snoring softly in the passenger seat of my truck, her head tilted toward the window. Her hair was a mess, a few strands sticking to her cheek, and she looked peaceful, like she hadn’t just turned my whole night upside down.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. She drove me absolutely fucking crazy. Why was she here in Lindley? Why was she my goddamned neighbor? I was supposed to fuck her out of my system, not keep her in it.
I was gone all the time. I couldn’t take care of her the way she needed.
Hell, I’d seen what that kind of life did to my mom.
My dad was always on the road, chasing money and leaving me to pick up the pieces when she got sick.
I was just a kid, forced to shoulder responsibilities no kid should have to.
The thought twisted in my chest as I groaned, pulling my silver truck into Kline’s ranch. The headlights swept across the long gravel driveway, the crunch of tires filling the quiet night. I slowed as I approached the guesthouse, reaching for the keys hanging from my keychain.
That was one benefit of living in a small town. Kline trusted me. With him gone so often for bull auctions and events, and Maribel sometimes traveling with him, he needed someone to keep an eye on the place. That meant I had keys to both the main house and the guesthouse tucked in the back.
I sat there for a moment, the truck idling in the quiet as I let my eyes drift to her. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her long hair spilling over her shoulder in soft waves. That damn smell of strawberries and vanilla still clung to the air, pulling me in without permission.
What if I fucked her one more time? Just once more. That had to be enough to get her out of my system.
The thought lingered, but when I looked at her again, she looked soft, peaceful—not like at the bar with that tear on her cheek. That vulnerability hit me in a way I didn’t want to admit. I couldn’t just fuck her out of my system.
“Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.
I was screwed. Absolutely, royally screwed.
She’d have to be a friend. Like Harleigh or Dalton—just a friend. Well, maybe not exactly like them, because the things I wanted to do with Fable, the sins I wanted to commit, weren’t anywhere near the same. I could push those thoughts aside.
We’d be friends. That was it. I’d come by tomorrow when she was sober, apologize, and set the tone. Friends. It would have to be that easy.
Shoving the truck into park, I climbed out and circled to her side. Carefully, I opened the door and scooped her up, carrying her bridal style toward the guesthouse. Her head nuzzled against my chest, her body warm and soft in my arms.
The door creaked open as I stepped inside, pausing for a second to glance around. It was mostly the same as before. She’d kept the furniture, but boxes were scattered everywhere. A few gallons of paint sat in the corner.
I carried her through the small space, heading toward the bedroom. The bedspread was new, a neutral beige that softened the room. I pulled it back, gently laying her down on the mattress. Her head hit the pillow, and I knelt down to slip off her shoes, careful not to wake her.
Her breathing stayed steady, her chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm. For a brief moment, I let myself linger.
I could do this. We could be just friends. I could push everything else back—the want, the pull, the chaos she stirred in me—and keep it simple. She didn’t need anything else from me, and I didn’t need the complications.
Yeah, I could be just friends with her.
No problem.
I nodded to myself and stepped back. Yet, as I turned toward the door, that calm confidence wavered. Deep down, I already knew—I was lying to myself.