Chapter Eight
"Cut the butter slices thinner," instructed Wyler, putting the crust ingredients into a bowl.
"Sure, chef," Liberty replied with a grunt. She carefully sliced the stick of butter. "I never asked whether you had a serious relationship before we got married."
"You're wondering now?"
“I am.”
“No, not anything to write home about. Before I got here the rodeo took up all my time. How about you?”
Her mind wandered to Reggie, and the fact that he had a daughter that she didn’t know about. He never spoke of her in all the time they had spent together. “You already know everything about my dating history according to bunkhouse gossip.” She smiled. She picked up one of the apple slices and bit into it. “I don’t believe you.”
“About?”
“I’ve heard stories about rodeo cowboys and buckle bunnies.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure you have.” He swiped his hand down his jaw. “Believe it or not, I used to be painfully shy. Maybe still am a little.”
She studied his profile. “Aren’t you a bit old to still be shy?”
“Isn’t thirty too old to still be driving the same car from high school? It is the Mustang Sam bought you for your sixteenth birthday, right?”
“Sometimes I think you know more about my life than I do, but what can a girl say? When she finds something she loves she has to hold onto it. That car’s been good to me.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’ve noticed that about you. So that leaves the question why you contacted Marty from Moon Heifers Ranch about selling one of your prized horses. Storm is young and has promise as a racehorse. You’d never sell one of the thoroughbreds, not willingly.”
She snapped her chin up and the knife slipped. She jerked her hand back.
He saw the blood and sprang into action. He quickly moved next to her. "Show me."
“It’s really nothing.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” She finally yielded and held out her hand. He could see the knife hadn’t cut deep, just enough to draw some blood. He wrapped a clean towel around the wound and led her over to the sink. Turning on the water, he unwrapped her hand. “This might sting.”
Water splashed against the cut, causing her to recoil. As the blood rinsed off, he could see the tiny wound more clearly.
“That’s serious,” he said.
“Is it?”
“No. Nothing more than a paper cut.” He chuckled.
"Paper cuts are the worst." Her eyes fixed on his face. “Are you monitoring my activities? How did you know about Storm?”
“Marty called earlier on the landline. He said he needs to know by tomorrow if you want to sell the horse at one-twenty. What kind of trouble are you in?”
Withdrawing her hand, she re-wrapped it with the towel. "Why do you assume I'm into trouble?"
He looked at her with suspicion. "We're discussing the sale of one of your prized horses, Liberty." She bit her bottom lip, a sign of her unease. He leaned against the countertop and fetched the first aid kit from a cabinet. "Let me tend to that," he said, nodding towards her hand.
Her shoulders slacked. “You don’t have to take care of me, Wyler.”
“I’ve heard that enough. Now get your cute ass over here before you bleed all over the tiles.” Which was an overdramatic statement considering she was no longer bleeding.
She moved close and extended her hand. He unwrapped the towel and searched in the first aid kit for ointment and a bandage.
“Why did you come here to work?” she asked. “You could have gone anywhere.”
“Cave was here. He was more like family than a friend. I was ready to settle down.” He cleaned the cut with antiseptic. Being so close to her, touching her, reminded him how good they were together. He enjoyed hearing her little whimpers as she squirmed under his mouth. His body hardened and he shifted so his zipper wouldn’t bite into the head of his dick.
"This doesn't feel like settling down," she commented, shifting slightly, and he caught the blend of vanilla and apple from her skin.
"Considering I've been moving around since my teenage years, this is planting roots. I wanted to leave everything behind and move freely without looking back, and for a while, I did. Yet, everyone needs stability at some point." As he dressed her wound carefully, their eyes met. "Liberty, it's time we start trusting each other," he said earnestly. A range of emotions crossed her features. "When someone has constructed a house of blocks, they must dismantle it piece by piece. It's a gradual process. And sometimes she must accept help from those who care." He touched her warm cheek with his fingers. “I’m strong enough to take on the task, sweetheart. I can lift some very heavy blocks.”
“The apples are getting brown. You promised me a knock your socks off apple pie and I’m looking forward to it.” She put space between them.