Chapter 18
Once I’ve soakedmy face with cold tap water, I dab at the scratches on my chest with my wet fingers. She got me good, deep enough to have drawn blood before the cuts crusted up. They sting as the water clears away the blood smears, and I use the discomfort to reel myself back in.
Once they’re clean, I take the purple hand towel from the rack and dry my face and then my chest. I’m tired, my energy fading the longer I stand here. The drive back to the ranch is daunting as I hang the towel up and find a clean cloth from the cabinet before heading back to the bedroom.
My steps falter when I find Poppy asleep, splayed out on the rumpled comforter with her arm thrown over her eyes and lips parted. Her breaths are loud and heavy, and I consider how long I was held up in the bathroom for her to get that deep in sleep. I didn’t think it was that long.
With quick movements, I collect my clothes and get dressed. Then, I set my hands on my hips and stare at her, contemplating what to do next. Surely I have to get her cleaned up and in bed properly. She can’t go to work tomorrow with sore muscles and knots in her neck from lying in such a terrible position. I can’t imagine holding herself up on a pole would feel great with that sort of discomfort. It’s bad enough leaning over a desk with a twinge in your shoulder, let alone what she does every day.
She stirs when I kneel at the edge of the bed and bring the cloth between her legs, wiping away the mess we made. With her eyes peeking open, she releases a soft, sleepy sound from the back of her throat and smiles.
“I never took you for the aftercare type.”
“I never took you for the falling asleep two minutes after sex type.”
Her laugh is hardly more than a whoosh of air. “Fair enough. Take it as a compliment.”
I do.
Finished with the cloth, I drop it in the bin of overflowing laundry in the corner of the room. My skin itches at that pile. Call it a flaw in my genetic makeup, but clothes have always been one thing that has to be sorted at all times. Once a bin is half-full of dirty clothes, they go in the wash. As soon as they’re clean, they’re folded and put away.
“Your judgment is too loud in my sleepy state. My washing machine is in the basement and only works half the time, so I haven’t attempted to use it in a while,” she says, the words almost slurred.
I shift to face her. “How does it only work half the time? Why haven’t you gotten it fixed?”
She shakes her head. “Sleep time.”
“Poppy,” I grumble.
“Garrison Beckett,” she whispers.
I inhale deeply and let it go. “Up the bed and under the blankets.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“I’m not old enough to be your daddy.”
She cracks a smile and shuffles up the bed. I pull the comforter down for her and watch her slip beneath it. Tucking the edges beneath her body, I make sure she’s comfortable and warm, fussing over her despite myself. Only when I’ve pulled the blanket to rest beneath her chin and turned the lamp off at her bedside do I step back and shove my hands in my pockets.
“Good night,” I mutter.
Her smile doesn’t stray as she says, “Good night. There’s a key outside beneath the yellow-painted flowerpot you can use to lock the door.”
I frown. “That’s a terribly unsafe place for a spare key.”
“Good night, Garrison,” she murmurs, eyes falling shut for the last time.
Tongue poking my cheek, I leave her room. It’s not to the front door that I go first, though. That would have been the smart thing to do. The obvious option. Instead, I search for a door that will take me to the basement, and once I find it at the back of the house, I head down into the dark.
The string at the bottom of the stairs attaches to a lone lightbulb, so I pull it and blink at the light that fills the basement. It’s small, the ceilings low enough I have to duck to move through to the stacked washer and dryer in the corner. The grate in the floor directly in front of the out-of-date appliances is damp, like the washing machine has been leaking.
The entire space is a nightmare, the cement cracked and the smell definitely moldy. It doesn’t sit well that she has to come down here to wash her laundry, and especially not when her washing machine looks this old and broken down.
With a frustrated sigh, I pull on the string again and take the stairs upstairs. Sliding my shoes on, I check my phone, ignoring the time before dialing Nathan’s number.
It’s still ringing while I slip outside and lock the door with the key from beneath the pot. I shove it in my pant pocket instead of back under the pot.
“You better have a good reason for calling me at one in the morning, asshole,” Nathan groans, clearing the sleep from his voice.
“I need you to get something ordered for me tomorrow. Delivery as soon as possible. Same day if possible.”
“And you couldn’t have asked your assistant to do it?”
“I don’t trust her with this.”
Or much of anything. But especially not with anything to do with Poppy. One comment to someone and I’ll have the entirety of Swift Edge breathing down my throat.
He huffs. “Fine.”
I list off everything needed and bristle at the silence that follows. My steps are quick to the truck, each one bringing the call closer to its end.
“Just get everything ordered for me. I don’t want to hear your thoughts on it. Not right now. Not fucking ever,” I add stiffly.
“Just be careful,” he warns.
“When am I never?”
The question feels redundant. I haven’t been careful since the moment I stepped onto Cherry Peak soil.
The rusted truckis too loud in the quiet of night. I feel like a teenager sneaking in after curfew as I pull onto the Steele Ranch road and creep past the main house. The lights are off, meaning the Steeles are still asleep for a change. Other than the first time I snuck back after being with Poppy, I haven’t seen this place so still. So damn calm.
Everyone claims it to be a peaceful place, but until now, I never believed them. The ranch once the sun goes down couldn’t be further from how it is in the daylight. Even the frogs in the man-made swamp nearby don’t croak as I continue down the gravel road, the window cranked down and the cool breeze keeping me from falling asleep at the wheel.
I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t given this place a fair shot. Not in the slightest. Because if I did, I fear I may enjoy it a bit more, and that’s the last thing I need. I may continue to come across as an uncaring bastard, but I’ve never liked taking risks with my personal life. Anytime I have, I’ve been left with broken trust and a heart in tatters. I’m shaken up enough already, my thoughts too focused on the woman I just left to contemplate this heavy shit in the middle of the night.
I just want to go to bed. Exhausted thoughts have never done an ounce of good to anyone.
Once I’ve successfully made it through the ranch and step out of the truck onto the gravel pad driveway in front of the guest house, I jump. The truck door shuts louder than I intended, but I’m too focused on the steady clopping of hooves on the road behind me to care. The dark-as-night mountain of a horse stares at me as he moves closer, completely alone, no rider atop his back.
I grow tense, my lack of knowledge on these animals more important now than it was two minutes ago. The horse, Kip, I remember them calling him, continues to move closer before stalling a few feet from me. The pure black colour of him is terrifying, especially with his dark, sharp eyes. He’s the only horse here this colour that I’ve seen, as if Wade chose him for that reason alone. Although, I’m certain he chose this horse because he’s a scary son of a bitch.
He doesn’t look angry right now, however. His ears twitch as he watches me, and I dart my gaze to not look him directly in the eye. I can’t imagine that it’s smart to stare down a beast that could barrel into me at any moment.
I shift on my feet, focusing on the strong line of his shoulder and the lack of any sort of saddle. The lack of anything.
“Hello,” I say carefully. His ears twitch again, so I continue. “Something tells me you’re not supposed to be out here right now.”
He takes a few steps forward, the distance between us shrinking quickly. I fight against my instincts to turn and run. He’d probably chase after me, and I’d wind up face first in the mud.
“How did you get out of the stable?”
I roll my eyes at the stupid question. Was I expecting him to speak?
“You’re going to make me go get Wade, aren’t you?” I ask instead.
Kip stops walking when he’s close enough to sniff me. He does it a few times before I gain the courage to offer him a shaky hand. I hold it between us in offering, and a beat later, he smacks my palm with his nose and sniffs loudly.
“A bit aggressive there,” I mutter.
He disregards my comment and pushes harder against my hand. After another noisy sniff, I let my fingers stretch past his wet nostrils and over soft black hair. I only touch him there for a moment before shifting to cautiously touch his neck. When he doesn’t immediately kick my ass, I scratch softly along the muscled area.
“You’re still terrifying, even if you like to be scratched.”
Kip continues to stare past me, allowing me to pet him, so I keep at it. My pulse is slowing, the shake in my hands steadying. Minutes pass as we stand there, silent, my eyes heavy enough I have to blink them profusely to keep them open. The lack of horns honking and police sirens out here is as startling as it is relieving. The sky is clear and littered with stars, not a building to be seen. I never knew how nice it could be to just . . . stand outside like this.
Something tall and strong props against my shoulder when I start to sway with exhaustion, and I startle when I realize Kip’s stepped closer, letting me lean against him.
I clear my throat. “I need to get Wade.”
Kip twists his head and releases a high-pitched noise that drops to a deep purr before cutting off. My brows tug in. I’ve heard the noise a few times while I’ve been here, but not up close like this.
“The hell are you doin’ out here, boy?”
The shout comes from behind me, and I push away from Kip’s side to find Wade stalking up the road. He’s wearing a wrinkled plaid shirt and loose sleep pants tucked into his boots, clearly having woken up recently. It’s alarming to see him without a cowboy hat on. He’s got a shit ton of hair for an old guy.
“He came up to me when I got back. I was going to come get you, but?—”
He cuts me off, but his words are more alarmed than angry as he asks, “Do you know a damn thing about horses?”
“No.”
There’s the slightest tip of his chin as he comes up on Kip’s other side and confidently pats his neck. “Be at the stables at seven thirty tomorrow. If you’re late, you can go back to the shop.”
“What?”
“Are you deaf now?”
I let out a rough laugh and reluctantly drop my hand from Kip. “No. But I just told you I don’t know anything about horses. Why would I go to the stables? How did you even know he was out?”
Wade watches me over Kip’s back, his eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them, and that’s saying something. He’s glared at me almost every single time we’ve spoken.
The lines usually found at the corners of his flat-lipped scowl are missing as he says, “Got a call from a neighbour when Kip was seen takin’ a midnight stroll.”
The old man looks at his horse now, curiosity obvious in his expression, as if he’s waiting for Kip to explain himself and what we were just doing. I just stand and patiently wait for him to continue, sensing he’s far from finished.
“He hasn’t taken like this to anyone but me the entire time I’ve had ’im. Not once. And for someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about horses, well, I’m wonderin’ if maybe there’s more to you than we’ve bothered to learn. I need to feel you out for myself. Startin’ tomorrow. Seven thirty sharp.”