Chapter 18
LONDON
I wasn't going to do it. I wasn't going to walk out that door and lose my temper, even though everything inside of me was screaming to go outside, even if it was just to make her think of me and not Trigg, but then she limped.
Somehow, I went from a shadow looming behind the screen door to the man down on one knee, gently squeezing the sides of her ankle.
All it took was one high-pitched shrill, and she brought me to my knees faster than I could blink.
But the longer I'm here, the angrier I get.
"What happened?" I demand.
"She twisted her ankle out on her morning jog, and I brought her back to the ranch because it was closer than Fairfield," Trigg answers.
"Does this hurt?" I ask as I apply pressure around the side of her ankle.
"Yes, that's tender," she winces.
I slip her tennis shoes off. "How about this?" I work my way up from her toes to her heel, squeezing as I go.
"No," she says, her tone unstrained, confirming she's not being agreeable to be rid of me.
"You didn't feel any pain when I was squeezing the center of your foot, which is good.
Pain above the bone vs the pain you're feeling when I squeeze here on the sides suggests a sprain rather than a fracture or break. I think it's a soft tissue sprain."
"Like I said…" She clears her throat. "I just need to put my foot up and get it on ice."
My fingers graze over the smooth skin of her calf, and I let them slowly drift down the back, lightly pinching my way down her Achilles tendon, ensuring the pain is centralized to the soft tissue.
The exposed skin on her leg breaks out in gooseflesh, and I immediately clench my jaw.
Her body responding to my touch is the last thing I need to pile onto all the things already threatening to break my self-control.
My eyes trail up her thigh, unable to resist admiring every sun-kissed inch, only for fury to rise when they meet her shorts.
"What the fuck are you wearing?" I rise to my feet.
Her eyes widen. "I was running." She waves one arm down her body. "Have you never seen workout attire?"
I've seen workout clothes. A man had to have invented them. They're practically a second skin, showing off every delectable curve on the female body, or in Laney's case, not covering.
"Your shorts are so high they may as well be underwear, and that's not a tank top. It's a fucking bra," I spit as I unzip the windbreaker I have on from morning chores.
"I'm not wearing that. Fisher, tell him he's acting crazy, and there's nothing wrong with my outfit."
"Dallas, I mean..." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, I don't know what I mean anymore, but—" His phone rings, and his words die as he struggles to support Laney and answer it.
I drape my jacket over her shoulders and swoop her into my arms. "This is not necessary; put me down. Fisher!" she calls out for him to save her, but I already know he won't. He's always wanted to see the two of us together, and even after telling him everything, he still believes we are endgame.
"Laney, I have to take this. It's my COO at our Paris location." He gives her an empathetic smile before taking off toward the house. "I'll see you this weekend for the tour."
I resist the urge to ask which tour he's referencing and focus on the present. "Trigg, run inside and grab me an ice pack."
"Just bring her inside. I'll get the door," he attempts to reason.
"No, she's not coming inside. I'm taking her back to Fairfield. Grab the keys to your truck while you're at it," I say as I walk toward his Ford pickup.
To my surprise, he doesn't argue. "London, put me down. You're acting insane, and this is completely inappropriate."
"Inappropriate?" I furrow my brow, a humorless laugh catching in my throat.
Holding her this way, her warmth seeping through my clothes to my skin that's been numb for too long, has awakened parts of me I believed were gone.
If anything, touching her is dangerous. Dangerous because each second in her embrace chips away at the walls I've spent years fortifying.
Dangerous because I'm suddenly remembering what it feels like to need someone.
But the electricity coursing between us, the way my heart thunders against my ribs when she looks at me with those eyes… that could never be wrong.
"Yes, inappropriate," she scolds as I strategically balance her in my arms while still managing to open the truck door. "I'm not your girlfriend anymore. You don't get to call the shots or boss me around."
"We both know I never bossed you around.
You called every shot. Now it's my turn, and I say you can't be here, you can't date my brother, and you sure as hell don't get to prance around my town wearing whatever this is.
" After setting her on the seat, I snap the waist of her spandex shorts.
"If anyone is inappropriate, it's you in this outfit. "
Our eyes meet when I lean over to click her seatbelt into place, and something electric passes between us, a current of unspoken words.
For a second, the anger dissipates, because in this moment, it's not anger at all.
It's tension fueled by love and an irrevocable bond that refuses to stay dormant no matter how hard we fight to keep it locked away.
My hand lingers on the buckle, the morning air hanging heavy with the scent of hay and dust as our gazes stay locked, stretching into a small eternity before the sound of the squeaky screen door breaks our stolen moment.
I step back, my hand moving from the buckle to the door frame, my heartbeat in my throat as I struggle to find the strength to stay away.
Laney tucks her hair behind her ear, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Thanks for helping me into the truck."
"I've got the ice pack," Trigg says, stepping between me and her, essentially pushing me back. Fucker. He folds the center console up. "Now you can put your feet up." She swivels her legs and rests the ice pack on her ankle.
"You're a lifesaver," she sighs and grabs his wrist to check the time on his watch. "If we hurry, you can get me back before I need to clock in."
"You're not working today," we both say in unison. I clench my fists, pissed that Trigg thinks he has a say.
I snatch the keys out of his hand. "I'm driving her back." I start rounding the truck before he can respond and try to say otherwise.
When I open the driver's side door to get in, he says, "I'll call you later."
His eyes dart to mine, and I swear I see a story behind them.
He knows . He might not know everything, but he knows enough.
I want to call him out right now and demand answers.
The only problem is that I can't test his loyalty if I do.
I don't want history to repeat itself with him and me.
Our fathers don't talk. They've been holding their contempt for years.
I don't want that for us. It's why I have to let this play out.
Will he use what he knows to hurt me, or is the brotherhood we've found since finding each other an unbreakable bond, one he wants to protect at all costs?
If coming to Bardstown has taught me anything, it's this: you need family to survive, someone who'll stand by you even when you're wrong.
As his eyes leave mine and return to hers, I see something pass between them.
It's not quite a flirt but more of an understanding, and that has me questioning which side he'll choose.
"Better get going so I can get her in bed," I say, hurrying my brother along.
They both turn to me with wide eyes. I close the door and grip the wheel.
"That's not what I meant. She needs to elevate her foot, pack it with ice, and take some anti-inflammatory medication. I'm just going to get her comfortable."
"Sure," Trigg says skeptically. "Don't pull any shit. She's with me. The only reason I'm not fighting you to drive her back is I need to talk to my dad about something I found on my ride this morning."
My eyes narrow as I consider the path he must have been riding to have stumbled upon Laney during his morning ride.
It's the same acreage that Baylor asked me to look at days ago when Fisher showed up.
The property there butts up to Fairfield.
A document I saw on Baylor's desk months ago comes to mind.
I paid little attention to the words 'Land Lease' at the time.
Baylor's been experimenting with different wheat varieties and barley.
He keeps saying making bourbon is a hobby.
We don't sell it to any distributors, and you can only buy it at the old silo he converted into Hale’s Cask, but I've always wondered why he hasn't pursued it more.
I assumed the lease I saw was him debating on acquiring more land and turning his hobby into more, but now I'm starting to wonder if all this sudden interest in Laney and the border between our land and Fairfield isn't something else.
As Trigg closes the door, I tuck the thoughts away for later.
Being alone in a confined space with the girl who has occupied more space in my mind than my own wants and desires is going to take a sheer force of will not to fall under her spell and let it all go, especially with her bare legs stretching out across the bench.
I put the key in the ignition and then readjust her feet to lay across my lap.
It's just feet, but damn, it still feels like everything. As I pull down the driveway, I'm jolted back to the memories of us driving down the backroads of Willow Creek with her curled up next to me, the windows down, high on life and dreams. Beautiful fucking dreams.
When I reach the road, she pulls me from the dreams that turned into nightmares—reminders of all I no longer have.
"You can't pull crap like that, London. I can't wear your clothes. People will think we're together."