CHAPTER THREE
Maggie
Five o’clock in the morning came way too early.
I’d barely slept, too keyed up from yesterday, from the way Rhett had looked at me, touched me, whispered things in my ear that made my whole body flush hot.
I’d tossed and turned all night, replaying every moment in the barn, every word, every casual brush of his fingers that felt anything but casual.
And when I’d finally fallen asleep, I’d dreamt about him.
About his hands on me, his mouth, his body covering mine.
I woke up aching and frustrated and completely mortified by my own imagination.
Now I was standing on my porch in the predawn darkness, nursing a cup of terrible instant coffee and trying not to think about the fact that he’d be here any minute.
That I’d agreed to this. That I was going to spend the morning with a man who made me feel things I’d never felt before, things I didn’t know how to handle.
I heard the hoofbeats before I saw him, that same steady rhythm that was already becoming familiar.
Then he appeared out of the darkness, a shadow on horseback that gradually took shape as the sky started to lighten.
He was wearing a different hat today, darker, and a denim jacket over a black t-shirt that somehow made his shoulders look even broader.
He stopped in front of the porch, looking down at me with those beautiful eyes that seemed to see right through every defense I was trying desperately to put into place.
“You’re up,” he said, and but there was no surprise in his voice.
“I said I would be.” I set my coffee mug down on the railing, trying to look more confident than I felt. “I keep my word.”
“Good to know.” His gaze traveled over me, that same slow and assessing gaze that caused my insides to flutter. And my panties grow damp.
Fantastic. My body was apparently in mutiny, all heat and no logic.
Why did he have to be the one who did this to me? Sure, he was as handsome as sin—or maybe the devil himself—but I wasn’t the kind of woman who melted for a man.
Or so I liked to believe.
Because right now? One more look like that, and I’d be the one begging to see just how much he really knew.
“So are you doing to do this or what?” I asked, injecting as much sass into my voice as I could manage.
His mouth curved into that almost-smile that made my stomach flip. “We’re doing this. Have you got a horse saddled?”
“Yes. I left her in the barn.”
“Good.” He turned around and started back the way he’d come.
I followed behind him, thinking I had lost my ever loving mind.
Had a made a mistake thinking I could run a ranch? I know it was probably my one and only chance at putting down roots. Making a home for myself.
At the barn he got off his horse and went inside. A few minutes later he was leading one of the mares I’d managed to saddle outside.
I stopped beside him, watching as he checked everything over.
“Where did you learn to saddle a horse?” he asked, rubbing the mare’s nose.
“I have my ways.” I smiled up at him. I thought I had done an okay job.
He snorted. “How many videos did you watch last night and this morning?”
I ignored him, taking the reins and leading the mare over to a mounting block. I was a little too short—and way to curvy—to try and get on the horse by myself.
“You know how to ride?” he asked.
“Does sitting on a pony at a petting zoo when I was seven count?”
“No.” He moved to the horse’s side, checking the saddle. “Alright. Come here.”
I approached cautiously, and he positioned me next to the mare. “Left foot in the stirrup. Grab the saddle horn. Pull yourself up and swing your right leg over.”
I tried. I really did. But the horse was taller than I’d expected, and I couldn’t get enough leverage to pull myself up. I tried again, grunting with effort, and failed again. This was humiliating.
“Here.” Rhett moved behind me, and suddenly one hand was on my waist the other—
Before I knew what was happening, he was pushing up and onto the saddle. That other hand? Firmly on my ass.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, boosting me up and into the saddle with an ease that should not have been as attractive as it was.
But his hands—God, his hands were big and warm and strong.
One hand splayed across my sides where I was soft, where I’d always been self-conscious about the extra padding.
The other was gripping my butt cheek like a bowling ball.
I froze, every muscle in my body going tense. He’d felt it. He’d felt how soft I was, how much there was to grab, and now he was going to—
“Relax,” he said, voice low and rough near my ear. He was still standing close, one hand resting on my thigh, steadying me. “You’re fine.”
But I wasn’t fine. I was mortified. I’d felt his fingers dig into the flesh at my waist, felt them encounter the softness there that I usually tried to hide under loose shirts and strategic layering.
I’d never been small, never been delicate, and having him touch me like that, feeling exactly what I looked like under my clothes—it made me want to climb off this horse and run back inside.
“Maggie.” His hand squeezed my thigh gently. “Look at me.”
I didn’t want to, but I forced myself to glance down at him. He was watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch, and there was something in his expression I couldn’t quite read.
“You’re thinking too much,” he said. “I can see it all over your face. Whatever you’re worried about, stop.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” His hand slid up from my thigh, back to my waist, fingers splaying wide again, and this time it felt deliberate. Possessive. “And before you start spiraling about whatever insecurity is running through that head of yours, let me make something real clear. I like what I felt. A lot.”
My face went hot. “You don’t have to—”
“I don’t do things I don’t want to do, and I sure as hell don’t say shit I don’t mean.” His thumb stroked along my side, just once, and the casual intimacy of it made me shiver. “You’re soft in all the right places, Maggie. That’s not a problem. That’s a feature.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know how to process the way he was looking at me, like my curves were something he appreciated rather than something I should apologize for.
I’d spent so many years being overly aware of my body, of taking up more space than I was supposed to, of not fitting into the narrow definition of what men were supposed to want.
But Rhett was looking at me like he wanted exactly what I had to offer.
“I...” I swallowed hard, trying to find words. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeated, and his smile was slow, satisfied. “Now, feet in the stirrups. Sit up straight. Reins loose in your hands—the mare knows what she’s doing, you’re just along for the ride.”
My body heated because I knew he was talking about something else entirely.
He spent the next few minutes adjusting my position, his hands impersonal now, professional, showing me how to hold the reins and where to keep my weight.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d touched me before, the way his fingers had felt against my waist—heaven help me, my ass—the rough approval in his voice when he’d said he liked it.
No one had ever said that to me before. No one had ever touched me like they couldn’t get enough, like they wanted more rather than less.
Finally, he swung up onto his own horse with that effortless grace that made me equal parts annoyed and attracted. “Follow me. Stay close. If you feel like you’re losing your balance, don’t panic—just call out and I’ll help.”
The morning air was cool and crisp. And the ranch? It was beautiful. Breathtaking, actually, in a way that made my chest tight.
Rhett led me along the fence line that separated our properties, pointing out places where the wire had come loose or posts had started to rot.
He talked about water rights and grazing rotations and a dozen other things that I tried to pay attention to, but I kept getting distracted by the way he sat in that saddle, comfortable and confident, like this was where he belonged.
Which he did, I reminded myself. I was the outsider. For now, I told myself. Only until I learned what the heck I was supposed to do.
After about twenty minutes, he led me to a spot where a tree had fallen across the fence, bringing down a section of wire with it.
“This needs fixing,” he said, dismounting. He walked over to me, holding the reins as I climbed down from the mare. Surprisingly, getting off wasn’t as difficult as getting on.
“Good girl,” he said. “Now tie the reins to the fence.
I did so quickly, trying to figure out why his words had such a strange effect on me.
Good girl. Two little words and my entire body went molten.
Did I want to be his good girl? Apparently, my hormones had already RSVP’d yes, please.
“Can you fix it?” I asked.
“I can. Question is whether you can.” He glanced at me. “This is your property. You need to know how to handle this kind of thing yourself.”
“Then show me.”
Which he did.
Apparently, he’d brought a whole freaking tool box in his saddle bags.
Something, he pointed out I needed to start doing, no matter where I rode.
He was patient as he walked me through the process and I had to admit my respect for him grew.
Yes, he was still a charming asshole for the way he was crowding my space, making me ultra-aware of him.
But he was a good teacher.
He could teach you a lot of things, my inner bad girl whispered as I pulled the wire tight between the fence posts. He stapled it in place and we both stepped back. I looked at the repair with immense satisfaction. “There. Is that okay?”