Chapter 20
Fable
“You know they say that men with lifted trucks are overcompensating for something else . . .” I teased as Beau held my hand, hoisting me up into the massive truck before walking around to the driver’s side.
The thing was obnoxious—nothing like the modest one he’d driven in Chicago. This one was lifted, with wheels practically the size of my entire body.
Beau smirked, climbing in beside me. “Baby, you already know the size,” he drawled. “Why pretend like you don’t know I don’t need to overcompensate for anything?”
I froze mid-buckle, my face heating. “Beau.”
He just laughed, his grin wide and shameless as he started the engine, the rumble of the truck barely louder than my huff of exasperation.
“You know,” I said as I finished buckling my seat belt, shooting him a look, “I feel like half my time around you is spent chastising you and saying your name.”
Beau chuckled, gripping the wheel as he pulled us down the gravel road. “What can I say? I like the way my name sounds coming out of your mouth.”
I rolled my eyes, not bothering to argue with him any further because it only made it worse, but a small smile tugged at my lips.
“It looks like a storm’s rolling in,” he said, nodding toward the horizon just as a soft rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.
I leaned closer to the window, lowering it, and inhaled deeply. “I love the smell of rain. It always makes me feel like I’m in one of those romantic comedies—you know, the moment where the two people meet, and time seems to stand still for a second?”
I slid my body over slightly, curling up so I could better take in the rain. The cool air rushed in, bringing that earthy smell with it.
“Yeah?” Beau said softly.
“Mmhmm,” I murmured, glancing over my shoulder at him. “You ever feel like that? That type of love?”
For a second, he didn’t respond, his eyes focused on the road ahead. The truck hummed along, the rhythm of the tires on the gravel and the distant thunder filling the silence.
“You’re the one bringing up romantic comedies, Cowgirl. What’s next, you gonna ask me to run through the rain and kiss you?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off, glancing at me with a raised brow. “What about you? You ever had that kind of love? The time-stopping, can’t-think-straight kind? With your ex?”
“Oh no. Definitely not.” I huffed out a laugh. “Absolutely not.” I shook my head. “I was with him for a while. Everything got . . . comfortable. Too comfortable. Sometimes, I didn’t want comfort. Comfort had gotten me into a dark place, and I needed to crawl out of it.”
He stayed quiet for a moment before his voice cut through the low hum of the engine. “How’s it going?”
“What?” I turned slightly, angling my body toward him.
“The crawling.” He clarified, his eyes locked on the road as he turned into a gravel driveway, the truck bouncing slightly over the uneven terrain.
“I’m still on my hands and knees, but I’m making my way out of the hole.”
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he brought the truck to a stop and put it in park. He turned to look at me, his golden-brown eyes locking with mine. “I like you on your hands and knees, baby.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed the door open, hopping down onto the gravel below.
“No sass back?”
I turned just enough to toss my hair over my shoulder, giving him the briefest glance. “Not going to bother giving you the satisfaction.”
His laugh followed me as I walked toward the house, but I didn’t turn around. The grin tugging at my lips? That stayed hidden.
The house was older, modest in size, with weathered cream siding and deep green shutters. A wraparound porch held a few rocking chairs and a swing in the corner. Behind it, a massive red barn stood tall, far larger than the house.
“That’s where Roger used to keep his bulls.” He pointed to the barn out back.
“What happened?”
“When Roger retired, he sold his stock to Kline and pretty much gave him the ‘in’ to the bull riding industry. When we were just kids, we’d come out here, and Roger would let us use his bulls.
” He ran his hand along his mustache and chuckled.
“We were fucking reckless. I have no idea why he let us do that. Maybe figured it was better we were out here than drinking.”
He shuffled his boots against the ground, kicking up dirt.
“Harleigh’s mom passed away, too,” he said, almost like an afterthought that had been sitting on his tongue.
“I know.” I cut in. “It’s one of the things Harleigh and I bonded over when she first came to Chicago.”
He gave me a soft smile, then looked down. “You get it.”
I sighed. “Unfortunately, I do.”
Harleigh burst onto the porch, arms in the air, practically bouncing. “Yay. You made it,” she shouted. “Look who’s behind y’all.”
I turned, and Dalton and Gatlin were striding toward us as well.
“Fable,” Roger called warmly as he stepped out the door, striding toward me. He wrapped me up in his big arms, his cowboy hat nearly flying off with the motion.
“It’s nice to see you too. Thanks for having me for dinner.” Turning to glance at the others trailing behind, I added with a smirk, “Sorry we had to bring the motley crew with us.”
Roger chuckled. “These are some of the good ones. Well, maybe not Dalton—the jury’s still out on him.”
Before I could take in the rest of the house, Harleigh grabbed my hand and practically dragged me toward the staircase. “Come on, you have to see my room.”
I followed her up the narrow stairs, realizing they led to a single room at the top.
When she opened the door, my jaw nearly dropped.
The space was massive, easily the size of two or three bedrooms combined.
A huge white bed dominated the center of the room, flanked by matching nightstands.
The angled ceilings and exposed beams gave it a cozy, attic-like charm, but the plush rugs, oversized mirrors, and sheer curtains made it feel airy and bright.
There was even a small sitting area in one corner and an adjoining bathroom with a claw-foot tub visible through the open door.
“Now I get why you didn’t want to stay on the ranch,” I mumbled, spinning slowly to take it all in. “This is amazing.”
Harleigh grinned, flopping onto the bed like a queen in her palace. “Yeah, it’s not too bad, huh?” She got up from the bed, tugging at the maroon satin shirt I’d slipped on earlier. “You look cute.”
“Thanks.” I glanced down at myself, taking in my outfit. A denim miniskirt paired with brown boots and a satin top. I’d layered a few gold necklaces and bracelets, aiming for a look that was dressed up but still casual enough for dinner with Roger.
“Did you just sit around today? Beau brought you home last night and even texted me when he dropped you off.” Harleigh raised an eyebrow.
I sighed as I sank into the chair in the corner of her room. “No, he came over . . .”
Her expression lit up instantly, and I spilled everything about what had happened that morning—the awkward moments, the tension, the ridiculousness of it all. By the time I was done, Harleigh was half doubled over with laughter, her eyes gleaming as she shook her head.
“That boy has got it bad for you.” She clucked her tongue like she was scolding a child.
I tried to dismiss her words, though the heat rising in my cheeks betrayed me. “I swear, we’re just friends. Maybe a little flirty, but friends. We had that boundary talk earlier.”
Harleigh raised the other eyebrow at me.
“I mean it.” I insisted and bit my lower lip. “I just left Mike and Chicago. I can’t . . . I can’t jump into another relationship.”
“Then fuck him?”
I narrowed my eyes at her and groaned. “Already did, Harls.”
“Bet he’s got a big package.”
“Oh my God,” I squeaked and then got up and headed toward the door. I glanced over my shoulder. “The biggest.”
Harleigh laughed and followed me downstairs, where Roger and the guys were setting the table in the dining room.
I barely had time to process before my gaze lifted—and found his.
He stood at the head of the table, one hand resting on the back of a chair, the other holding a folded napkin he hadn’t bothered to set down.
His deep, brown eyes locked onto mine, the teasing glint in them darkening.
He dragged his gaze over me, unhurried and knowing, before flicking his eyes back to meet mine.
Heat coiled in my stomach.
I should’ve looked away. I didn’t.
He was all raw masculinity—broad chest straining against his shirt, worn jeans hugging thick thighs. It was the way he carried himself that got me—that cocky smirk, the slow drag of his tongue over his lip, the way his strong hands gripped the chair. My thighs clenched on instinct.
I swallowed hard and finally forced myself to look away before I gave too much away. But hell, with a man like that in front of me, looking was unavoidable.
Wanting? Even worse.
“Done talking about me, Cowgirl?” He teased as Harleigh and I pulled out the two chairs across from him and Dalton. Gatlin was at the end of the table, and Roger was on the opposite side, farthest from me.
“Harleigh was just showing me her room. I haven’t been here before.”
The corner of his mustache twitched, and my stomach dipped. I dropped my gaze to my plate, suddenly finding it way too interesting.
“What’s for dinner, Roger?” I blurted, desperate to shift the conversation.
He nodded toward the platters on the table. “Smoked some pork this afternoon. Harleigh helped set everything up.”
Harleigh stood, grabbing the serving dishes as the guys made room on the table. She set down a tray of pulled pork, followed by a bowl of mashed potatoes and a dish of roasted vegetables.
“Y’all dig in,” she said, settling back into her seat.
I reached for the mashed potatoes, Beau in my peripheral vision. He was sitting across from me, rolling his shoulders back, taking his sweet time fixing his plate. His jaw ticked as he listened to Roger and Dalton go back and forth about the genetics of a bull Dalton had ridden last weekend.
“Damn thing spun me so hard I swear I saw my past life before I hit the dirt.”
Roger laughed, cutting into his food. “That’s ’cause you leaned too soon. You always do that.”
“He does that ’cause he gets cocky,” Beau said, tearing off a piece of bread. “Thinks he’s got it in the first three seconds and forgets there’s five more to go.”
Dalton shot him a glare, but it was all in good fun. “Yeah? I don’t remember you making the full ride either, big shot.”
Beau just smirked, taking a slow bite, chewing like he had all the time in the world. “Yeah, but I didn’t land on my ass.”
Laughter rippled around the table, but I barely heard it.
I was paying attention to him.
The way his hand wrapped around his fork, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the way he never looked in my direction while he talked.
That’s when I felt it.
Something nudging against my foot.
I glanced down, expecting to see a dog or maybe even a cat wandering under the table, but there was nothing.
I felt it again.
Beau’s boot.
My breath hitched, my eyes snapping up to his, but he wasn’t looking at me.
Didn’t say anything.
Didn’t so much as glance my way.
He was too busy listening to Dalton and Roger go on about the damn bull, nodding along like he hadn’t just sent a slow, deliberate press against the top of my foot.
I swallowed, gripping my fork tighter.
I must’ve made it up in my head.
Maybe it was nothing.
Why could I still feel it?
The room buzzed with conversation, but I wasn’t hearing a damn word of it. My focus was entirely on the solid, deliberate weight of Beau’s boot still resting against my foot. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t acknowledged what he was doing, but I felt it—felt him.
I swallowed hard, pushing at my mashed potatoes with my fork as I tried to act unaffected, like my body wasn’t wound so tight I thought I might snap. Gatlin sat beside me, absorbed in his meal, completely oblivious to the way my pulse pounded in my ears.
I ignored it and tried to move my foot away, but the pressure shifted.
His boot slowly slid up the length of my calf.
My breath stuttered. He kept going, moving past my knee, brushing the tip of the boot against my inner thigh.
My skirt did nothing to stop the rough press of leather against my bare skin.
I nearly jolted, but I bit my cheek, forcing myself to keep still.
I pressed my lips together as his boot lingered.
My body heated, thighs instinctively clenching, but that only made it worse.
My senses narrowed to the damn leather, the slow, subtle movement as he dragged it up and down in the smallest, laziest motion, like he had all the time in the world to play with me.
I finally dared to look up.
He still wasn’t watching me. He was eating, nodding at something Roger said, like he wasn’t absolutely wrecking me under this damn table.
I should’ve known better.
Because just as I thought it was over, he moved again. This time, he hooked both of his feet around the front legs of my chair and yanked.
The sharp scrape of wood against the floor echoed through the room as I slid closer to him, the sudden movement stealing the air from my lungs.
The sound was loud. Obnoxiously loud.
Everyone stopped talking.
In my panic, I exhaled at the wrong time—sending a bite of mashed potatoes spilling out of my mouth and onto my plate.
Silence.
I blinked, horrified, as all eyes turned to me. My face went up in flames.
“I, uh, I-I’m going to use the bathroom.” I shoved my chair back so fast it nearly toppled over.
I bolted, heart hammering, thighs clenched, heat coiling low in my belly as I swore under my breath.
What the hell just happened?