Chapter 4
Cruz
It looks like I’m unfortunately locked in on the babysitting gig.
I’d kind of hoped that Tate would just forget about it.
I mean, what kind of grown woman needs to be looked after?
Presumably she can take care of herself.
But when Tate had introduced us again and made a show of texting Addison my phone number … well, looks like I’m stuck.
Which, honestly, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she wasn’t so hell bent on being annoying and argumentative.
Even when I first met her out at the barn.
Not a thank you in sight for saving her ass and driving her over to the ranch house.
No. Instead, she seemed irritated by my very presence. For no good reason.
When she’d said she was from Seattle, it all clicked.
She’s a city kid. And a Thatcher at that—meaning, she’s rich.
Rich and from the city. It’s a cliché, but it’s a cliché for a reason.
They’re all assholes. Every one of them.
They think they’re better than us—those who work hard for a living and don’t get caught up in stupid shit like designer clothes or owning a house in every state.
My cabin in the mountains is more than good enough for me.
I straighten my shoulders, heading deeper into the barn I’ve spent most of the morning in. Today, my main task has been inventory. Making sure we’re stocked up on food, supplies, tack, and such. I’ve just about finished my full walkthrough when a loud noise from outside catches my attention.
Thunder. And then, a few seconds later, the telltale sign of rain upon the roof.
It’s not unusual to get thunderstorms in the spring and summer here.
I jog to the door, peering out into what’s turned into a downpour.
Oof. I feel bad for the ranch hands out there who will now be tasked with herding the cattle to shelter.
I pop back into the barn, spending the next twenty minutes or so finishing up my inventory and then jogging through the rain and into my truck.
As I drive down the dirt road toward the Village, I peer out at the rain that just keeps coming.
Looks like it won’t be letting up anytime soon. Good thing it’s lunch time.
I park in front of the mess hall, entering to the echoing clatter of voices and plates. I beeline to the front of the room, grabbing a premade sandwich from one of the tables. Hank always has a meal of the day, but I’m a simple man. I have a ham and cheese sandwich every day for lunch.
“Hey, Cruz!” I hear a voice and turn to see Hank exiting the kitchen, wiping his hands on his dirty apron. “You seen Tate’s cousin today? What’s that sweet girl’s name again?”
“Addison,” I answer. “And no, haven’t seen her.” And I’m not sure why Hank cares.
Hank hums, glancing out the window at the pouring rain, his graying eyebrows furrowing. “She hasn’t come in for anything to eat yet. And I doubt she’ll want to in this weather.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. 1 p.m. If she hasn’t eaten anything yet today, she’s definitely starving. And just based on her overall demeanor, I can easily see rain as a world-ending obstacle for her. Especially this rain.
I huff out an irritated sigh. “I’ll bring her a sandwich,” I mutter, grabbing a second one off the table and stuffing it into a plastic bag. Wouldn’t want it to get soggy. I fold mine back up in its wrapper and toss it in as well, heading for the door.
“That’s a good man,” Hank calls after me.
As I hop into my truck and head up the hill toward Addison’s cabin, my irritation grows. Sure, “keeping an eye” on her seemed bad enough. But now I’m a glorified food delivery service? You’d think the woman could put on a fucking raincoat and walk five minutes to the mess hall.
When I reach the cabin, I hop out, running up to the front porch and banging on the door. When I don’t immediately get an answer, I call out, “Addison! It’s Cruz. I brought you lunch.”
The seconds tick by, and still there’s no answer. I glance over my shoulder. There’s a car parked in the driveway. She should be here. I peer through the window. The cabin is small and open concept. So unless she’s in the bathroom, she’s not there.
I knock a few more times. “Addison?”
After a few more minutes, I frown, grumbling to myself as I pull out my phone. I text Tate.
Cruz: Do you know if Addison is down at the ranch house?
I’m not even sure why I care. It’s not like this is actually my job. But before I can spiral further into this line of thinking, my phone buzzes.
Tate: I don’t think so. She mentioned wanting to go on a hike this morning. Is she still out?
Then the text disappears, replaced by an incoming call. From Tate.
Shit.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Did you check her cabin?” Tate asks immediately.
“I’m there right now. Was bringing her lunch over so she wouldn’t have to walk in the rain.” I feel like an idiot saying it out loud. I almost mention that it was basically Hank’s idea before Tate cuts me off.
“Shit, is she out in the storm right now?”
“I don’t know, I mean—”
“I’m on the other side of the ranch with the main herd,” Tate interjects. “If you’re near her cabin, that’s most likely where she started.” His voice goes a bit fuzzy at the end of his sentence. The storm’s probably interfering with the service—which isn’t great up here to start with.
Fuck. Fucking fuck. Of course this is landing on me. “You want me to go look for her.” It’s not a question. Because I know the answer.
“Let me know when you find her.”
The call ends.
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. Great. Assistant foreman—best job on the ranch some might say—and here I am about to go traipsing through the rain after a twenty-something who apparently can’t read a weather app.
It only takes me about ten minutes to drive back down to the Village and saddle up one of the nearby horses.
Although it would be more comfortable—not to mention dry—to go searching for her in the truck, most of the trails on the ranch aren’t accessible by vehicle.
Meaning I’ll be faster and more efficient on a horse.
Lucky me.
I spur the horse into a run, back up to Addison’s cabin, and then enter the trails nearby.
I ride through the rain in wet, grim determination, stopping every once in a while to call Addison’s name.
I can cover ground pretty quickly on a horse, and assuming she stuck to the trails, she must’ve gotten pretty far out since I haven’t come across her yet.
Was she hiking all fucking morning? She doesn’t seem the type.
Anxiety is starting to creep in. Did she wander off the trail? Could she be hurt?
But just as my panic starts to spiral, I catch sight of something through the downpour—a flash of bright pink.
That could only mean one thing.
I slow my horse to a trot, breathing a sigh of relief as Addison comes into view over the hill. She’s stalking through the rain—wearing those goddamn pink cowgirl boots again—her arms crossed, her hair and clothes completely soaking.
“Addison!” I call, and she turns, squinting through the rain. At first, she looks relieved, and then something else flashes across her face. Something akin to recognition, disappointment, and resolve.
She purses her lips, turning back around and continuing her walk.
What is she doing?
I slow the horse to a walk, moving up beside her, staring down at her under the brim of my sopping wet cowboy hat. “Where are you going?” I yell.
“Back to my cabin!” she yells back.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
She stops. Doesn’t look at me. Simply stands there, arms crossed, chest heaving.
She’s blinking the rain out of her eyes, practically gasping for breath.
I give her a once over. She’s dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt.
A white t-shirt that is … completely see-through right now.
I can see the straps of a white bra underneath it, and I wonder if that’s just as translucent as the shirt. I can’t quite tell from my angle.
I immediately shake my head. Jesus. Not the time.
“Get on the horse,” I tell her.
Now she looks at me, and in her eyes is full-on rage.
“What?” I snap, taken aback.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she says, spinning on her heel and walking in the other direction. At least it’s the right one now.
“Addison, get on the horse,” I snap in frustration, dismounting and jogging after her. “Addison!” I grab her arm, spinning her around. She glares at me, and my gaze involuntarily drops to her chest for a moment.
Yeah. It’s all see-through.
Wow.
Okay.
I’d probably be blushing if I wasn’t so fucking cold.
Holy fuck, Cruz. It’s not the time to be thinking about that, I chide myself. Or about her at all.
“I told you I don’t need babysitting,” she says, yanking her arm away.
My blood practically boiling at this point, I resist the urge to physically throw her over my shoulder and chuck her onto the horse. I could do it. She’s not that big. “Yeah? Sure seems like it with you lost up in the mountains during a thunderstorm.”
“I wasn’t lost!” she shouts over her shoulder as she continues marching along the path.
“You were going the wrong way!”
She doesn’t respond, and I grit my teeth, growling. “Addison, get on the goddamn horse,” I try again.
She ignores me.
“You’re gonna get yourself hurt trying to prove something that isn’t worth proving.”
“Maybe if you didn’t look at me like I’m useless, I wouldn’t have to,” she snaps back.
I growl again, storming back to the horse and hopping on, guiding it to follow Addison. “Fine!” I shout at her over the rain. “Let’s walk back to the cabin. In the pouring rain. For hours.”
She halts, turning to glare at me. “You can go.” She waves at me like I’m a fly.
This time, it’s me who ignores her.
Irritation flares in her eyes, and satisfaction flares in mine. Good. I’ve spent the last hour being inconvenienced by her.
“Go away!” she yells.
“No.”
She sighs dramatically, turning around and resuming her walk.
I follow after her silently, the rain refusing to let up.
We walk in silence for a few minutes. I watch her from my horse.
She’s shivering. Like, noticeably. At least I have a jacket and hat on.
She’s dressed for a sunny day—which, a few hours ago, it was.
But the temperature has dropped, and she’s been out here for hours in the rain. She might even get sick.
A strange mixture of pity and annoyance washes through me.
A flash of lightening breaks through the sky, followed quickly by a burst of thunder. I frown. They’re getting close together, meaning the strikes are getting closer. I don’t like that. Not out here in the open.
“Addison,” I call again. “We need to get out of the rain. It’s dangerous.”
She doesn’t respond. And as much as I don’t want to continue yelling at her, I also can’t risk either of us getting hurt out here.
I hop to the ground, bellowing at the top of my lungs, “Addison!”
This gets her attention. She spins around, eyes wide. She isn’t scared, just shocked. At least I’ve gotten her attention.
“Get on the horse or I swear to God, I will make you.”
She blinks. A moment of silence stretches between us, and I start to worry that she’s going to fight me again. But thankfully, she doesn’t.
Glaring at me silently, she stalks past me and up to the horse. She stands there for a moment before snapping, “What do I do?” It’s quiet, like she’s embarrassed.
“Here,” I mutter, leaning down and interlocking my fingers. I incline my head toward them, and she tentatively puts her foot in. “On three,” I order. “One, two, three.” She jumps, swinging her foot over the horse. “Scooch up as far as you can,” I instruct.
Then I place my foot in the stirrup and jump up into the saddle behind her.
The sudden sensation of her body pressed into mine catches me off guard. She’s warm. Warmer than I would expect having been out in the rain for so long.
“Hold the horn,” I tell her, my voice suddenly a bit softer. I reach around, taking her hand and gently placing it over the saddle horn. My chest is flush with her back, my arm and hand completely over hers.
It’s just then I realize that she’s silent. Completely silent. This might be the longest we’ve gone without her snapping at me.
I clear my throat, leaning back just a bit, trying to get as much space between us as possible—which is pretty futile. “Hold on tight,” I instruct and then spur the horse into a trot.
Addison squeals quietly, moving both hands to the horn.
She’s bouncing. Which is normal if you’ve never ridden a horse before, never learned how to properly ride one, carry your weight, keep yourself centered. One of my hands holds the reins, and I reach my free one around her waist, pulling her back against me, trying to keep her level.
She sucks in a breath of air. I don’t hear it over the rain, but I can feel it.
My fingers dig lightly into the flesh of her stomach through her soaked shirt.
She’s thin, but not skinny. She has meat on her bones, the kind of curves that normally drive me wild.
A thought flashes through me head—my hands roaming over her body—and I physically cough.
Jesus Christ, Cruz, I think to myself.
I try to focus on keeping her steady and keeping us going.
But even so, the ride is rough. I don’t dare make the horse go any faster—if Addison can’t take a trot, she definitely can’t take a run. But her ass keeps bumping back into me, over and over again, and—fuck.
I swallow thickly, thoroughly alarmed. I don’t get accidental hard-ons. I’m not a teenager for Christ’s sake.
But it’s definitely there, and it’s definitely not going anywhere.
Suddenly, thunder and lightning crack above us, and Addison yelps in surprise.
I grit my teeth. We’re not making it back to the cabin.
For multiple reasons.
Just then, I spot what looks to be our haven. It’s a barn. One of the older ones on the property. We rarely use it—only in the fall when we sometimes herd the cattle up here. But it’s a godsend now.
I steer the horse in that direction, booking it across the field and up to the barn. I quickly dismount, reaching for Addison and helping her down as well, then I’m leading us all inside.
The quiet peace of being out of the rain envelops us, and I take a deep breath. I quickly tie the horse to a post and then take off my dripping-wet cowboy hat, shaking out the water from my hair.
When I’m done, I look up, locking eyes with Addison across the room. Seemingly gone is the calm, docile woman who had been on the horse, and instead, there stands the Addison I’ve come to know over the last few days.
There’s fire in her eyes. For what reason, God only knows.
I release a heavy sigh, glancing out the doors at the pouring rain. I’m stuck here until the rain clears.
With her.