His Cowboy Heart (Love in Eden #2)

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

JULES

It was too loud.

Just too fucking loud.

A ranch high in the mountains in a bumfuck of a town was loud.

I laughed harshly because only I could draw that kind of conclusion.

There was some logic behind it, though. If you were going at it hot and heavy with a guy one second and then he was pushing you away like you were a piece of garbage, living in a big city meant you could easily escape, whether it be in the form of grabbing a cab or just disappearing in the endless crowds of people lining the sidewalks. The familiar sounds of the city would act as white noise so if someone needed it to, it could drown out everything else, including the last words the guy had spoken, no, yelled at you before he’d called foul on the whole thing.

Problem with bumfuck was that there were enough people, specifically cowboys, moving about the ranch that trying to run as fast and far as you could to escape somewhere that you’d be able to lick your wounds was impossible. Between the unfamiliar turf, the strange men calling back to each other in their weird cowboy talk, and the endless sounds of the different farm animals going about their business, there was no white noise to hide behind.

Jules.

Don’t.

In a matter of seconds, Flynn had been whispering the first word—my name—and shouting the second in disgust.

I managed to keep my wits about me as I hurried across the driveway, but when I saw Xavier, Curtis, and Brooks talking at the bottom of the farmhouse’s porch steps, I veered left and kept walking until the sounds started to fade. Growing up in New York had heightened my sense of direction, so I knew that I was far away enough from the main part of the ranch to escape prying eyes but close enough that I wouldn’t get lost.

I followed the sound of trickling water until I found a little creek bed. I was surrounded by a patch of trees, but since I could still hear the faint voices of the men working on the ranch, I didn’t hesitate to find an old log to sit on. I felt hot, cold, and numb all at the same time. I stared at the little stream by my feet but didn’t care how clear it looked or how pretty it was as the water flowed around the bigger rocks and stumbled over the smaller ones.

I should have been crying but I wasn’t. I hurt, but I wasn’t crying. It wasn’t that I wasn’t a crier because I was. I’d cried after the three assholes in that alley had beaten me and called me names. They’d physically hurt me, but the personal degradation had been so much worse. I’d cried the entire drive up the mountain to the ranch where my friend was waiting for me, and I’d cried in his arms when he’d asked me what had happened to me.

Right now, though, I doubted I could cry even if I wanted to. The only other time I could remember this feeling was when…

I shook my head because I couldn’t deal with the past now. I never gave that horrifying time in my life any real estate in my brain. After all, you couldn’t be the life of the party or the queerest of the queers who believed in things like the gay mafia if you were dredging up the horrors of the past.

A light pecking on my pants caught my attention. I looked down to see Lovey picking at the hem of my leggings. I gently petted her on the top of her head since I had no idea where else to touch her or whether chickens even liked to be petted. Now was the time to find out because if she jabbed her beak into my skin, I probably wouldn’t feel it anyway.

The cute little hen looked at me liked she was trying to figure me out and then with one swift move, she flapped her wings and did a little hop that had her landing in my lap. I waited to see what she’d do next, but she merely crouched where she was and began rubbing her beak against my arm like she had an itch she needed to be scratched. I’d never had a cat or dog, but I figured those animals would have cuddled up to their owners in a similar manner. Was it possible the sweet chicken had picked up on my emotions, or lack thereof, and was reacting to that?

I didn’t know or care. I just began stroking her like I’d seen people do with their pets. Strangely enough, the rhythm of running a few fingers lightly along her back was comforting in its own way. Unfortunately, not even the hen’s kindness was enough to pull me from the rabbit hole my mind was falling into.

What had I done to Flynn to warrant such cruel behavior? I wasn’t the one who’d kissed him first. I hadn’t made him press me against the wall and lift me, leaving me no choice but to wrap my legs around his body. I hadn’t been the only participant as our tongues had tangled, and the whimpers coming from deep in my throat hadn’t been self-induced. Hell, I hadn’t even touched him below his neck. Yet the way he’d dropped me and pushed me away would have been the exact behavior from a bi-curious guy who’d suddenly come to the realization that he liked the feel of a man’s lips just as much as or even more than a woman’s.

“I shouldn’t have gone near him,” I muttered to Lovey.

Hell, I never should have gotten it into my head that I could cook a nice breakfast for all the ranch hands instead of just the men living in the main house. I’d never told anyone before, including Brooks, but I liked cooking. I’d only ever really done it for one person, who happened to be myself, but the idea of feeding something delicious to a group of men who apparently just slapped some eggs and bacon in a pan and burned a bag’s worth of bread every morning had been exciting. It’d made me feel useful.

When I’d asked Brooks’s uncle—who’d insisted I call him Uncle Curtis from the moment he’d met me—if I could take a stab at cooking breakfast for everyone, he’d sent me straight to the chicken coop with a big wicker basket. There’d been no instructions beyond that, so it’d been a rough start with trying to maneuver myself around what had turned out to be some very hungry chickens, but a text from Brooks had explained that I needed to feed the little beasts first and had told me where to find the seeds they ate. His text had included an assortment of emojis, including chickens, eggs, laughing smileys, and several of the pile of shit ones.

In truth, I’d kind of forgotten about feeding breakfast to anyone after I’d started interacting with the chickens. They’d probably been a whole lot less fascinated with me than I was with them, but it’d been strangely soothing to interact with them after their feeding frenzy.

Then I’d had my own feeding frenzy with Hot Cowboy, whose real name now took up way too much of my brain.

Flynn.

God, even now I could feel the scrape of his beard along the skin around my mouth. I couldn’t say I’d ever fucked a guy, let alone kissed one, who’d sported more than just some scruff on his jaw. Who would have guessed that the sensation of the little whiskers would make my skin tingle?

I shut down the image of Flynn’s amber eyes glued to mine right before he kissed me.

There was no reason I’d ever need to interact with the asshole ever again. I wasn’t going to offer him any apologies and I wasn’t interested in any explanations, if he deigned to try and give me one. It would be easy to keep away from him. Like most of the cowboys on the ranch, he would spend most of his day working with the cows—no, cattle—so I’d never even have to set eyes upon him again until I left Wyoming for good.

You can get on that plane today, you idiot.

I could. I should. It wasn’t like I couldn’t afford to send for a car and driver or take Brooks’s rental to the airport and pay someone to drive it back to the ranch. Getting back to my life in New York was exactly what I needed to do. I knew who I was there. Others knew who I was there. It would be easy to find some strong, buff guy with whiskey-colored eyes to fuck me. Since I’d bottomed from the time I’d lost my virginity, I knew a random hookup would be exactly what I needed. The guy would clumsily fuck me in a bathroom stall at some random club and before my dick had gotten hard enough for me to even attempt to jerk myself off, the guy would be slamming me as hard as he could into the wall or whatever I was braced against and shouting in my ear as he filled the condom. I could spend the entire time imagining it was Flynn standing behind me, manhandling me, treating me like I was something to use to get off and then leaving me hanging. No kissing, no soft whispers, no slow, delicious exploration of my body before slowly working his cock into me as we lay face to face, our expressions locked in wonderment at how good it felt as we became one.

So why wasn’t I hightailing it back home and getting the gorgeous asshole out of my mind by having his lookalike fuck me like all the other guys did? One round of disappointing sex with a guy who looked like Flynn would instantly put him out of my mind. So why was I still here?

“Because I like it here,” I said softly to Lovey.

It was true, even if I didn’t know why it was true. As much as I’d joked with Brooks about finding a hot cowboy for myself, that had honestly been the last thing on my mind. The first had been that I’d wanted to be there for Brooks because I’d heard in his voice with each phone call how hard returning to Eden had been for him. There was no second explanation, no third one either. Bottom line was that I was still here because I liked being here.

That was it. I liked the busy working ranch where I stuck out like a flaming beacon even when I wasn’t wearing my designer outfits that were fresh off the runway and my flawlessly applied makeup. I didn’t have to be someone mysterious here. There was no need to hide. No clubs, no boring job, and best of all, no guys I allowed to use me in the hope that it would give me whatever it was that was missing from my life.

“Well, little girl, I guess we should put you back with your ladies and I should go shower,” I said to Lovey as I carefully held her against my chest while I stood. Like Brooks’s emojis, I had ended up covered in bird shit, though thankfully most of it was on my pants and shoes, but the feces was no longer the only reason I wanted to take a nice long, hot shower.

I wanted— needed to get his smell off me. I needed to scrub my lips until they were raw and brush my teeth for as long as it took to get his taste out of my mouth. I’d get myself all fresh and clean again and help Brooks with all the massive paperwork he was sifting through or help Uncle Curtis with the household tasks. Then when Brooks said the word, either he and I would be leaving the ranch for good, or I’d be heading to the airport on my own. Either way, I would be leaving the ranch and Flynn, whatever the hell his last name was, in the rearview mirror.

I could do that. No problem.

“Easy,” I said to the chicken.

Lovey rubbed her beak gently against my hand. I took that as a sign of agreement, but in addition to living up to her name, she also let out a little squawk and shit in my hand.

“It’s fine,” I kept repeating to myself as I walked back to the barn. “Not a bad sign, just bad luck,” I said to Lovey as I put her in the coop via the outer door.

Then “bad luck” became my mantra as I walked toward the house. It wasn’t until I noticed a pretty, dark gray horse coming out of the barn with the newly christened Asshole Cowboy that my mantra changed yet again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

* * *

“You doing okay there, son?”

The question startled me so badly that I flicked the wooden spoon in my hand and sent globs of stew flying across the kitchen, narrowly missing Uncle Curtis’s head in the process.

“Shit,” I muttered as I dropped the spoon back in one of two huge pots on the stove and hurried across the room to clean up the mess I’d made.

“Yeah, sure, I’m fine,” I responded in what I hoped was a normal tone. I’d snapped at Brooks and Xavier more than once since the incident in the barn and while they hadn’t pressed me to explain my behavior, Uncle Curtis was a whole different story. For some reason, the older man made me feel comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.

“One of my boys been hasslin’ you?” Curtis demanded.

I quickly shook my head even as I worked to clean up all the spots of stew I could find. “No, no, really. Everyone’s been great.”

Except for the sexy cowboy who had kissed me senseless not once but twice and then shoved me away like I was a pile of garbage.

“Come sit, son,” Curtis ordered gently. He was already seated in his spot at the end of the table. I quickly tossed the paper towel I’d been using into the garbage, but for some reason I hung on to the little bottle that was nothing more than a glass with a modified sprayer on the end and peeling masking tape with the word cleaner written in black lettering on the bottle.

There was a long period of awkward silence, so long that I was about to ask Curtis if I was doing enough to earn my keep. I couldn’t exactly wrangle cattle or go zooming around on horseback, but I also couldn’t just keep taking the old man’s charity. I’d pretty much invited myself to stay on his property and in his house.

When I realized warm stew was running over my hand from the spoon I’d forgotten to drop in the sink, I began searching the table for a napkin. Fortunately, there were some in the center of the wide table, but I couldn’t reach them. As I began to stand, Curtis suddenly took the spoon from me and began licking off all the stew.

“Damn, boy,” Curtis murmured as he ate.

His praise made me feel like a superhero. “Is it okay?” I asked. I didn’t consider how crude I was being when I licked a big chunk of the stew off my own hand.

“It’s damn near good as my Del’s?—"

Before he could finish the statement, Curtis shifted his eyes to a picture of himself and his former ranch foreman who’d passed away. The pair were standing in front of the house which had several new pieces of wood on the ceiling and wall.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Curtis. I found a recipe box in one of the drawers and just thought?—”

“It’s fine, my boy. Del would’ve liked knowin’ someone was makin’ use of those old things.” Curtis seemed to drift somewhere else in his head, so I used the opportunity to pluck the wooden spoon from his hand.

After a long, awkward pause, Curtis looked over at the two huge stockpots. “You know the boys are responsible for feedin’ themselves, right?”

Since I knew “the boys” meant all the men who worked for him, I said, “I know. I was just thinking it might be a nice change of pace. I mean, they all work so hard and I just thought they might like a home-cooked meal and you have all those great vegetables in your garden. Oh shit, I didn’t even think to ask you if I could use them?—”

“Don’t fuss about it, son. You’re welcome to whatever’s in that patch of weeds. Del started that thing years ago but there ain’t nothin’ green about any of my fingers, so it kinda just kept growing,” Curtis said with a chuckle. “’Sides, I figured you’d be makin’ somethin’ special when Flynn dropped off all those eggs instead of takin’ ’em to the bunkhouse.”

I froze at the mention of Flynn’s name. I could still hear Curtis going on and on about something, but my mind was stuck on the fact that Flynn had picked up all the eggs that had survived when I’d dropped the basket and had taken the time to bring them into the house.

I’d been in the house all day and yet I hadn’t heard him.

And he hadn’t tried to seek me out.

Not to apologize.

Not to explain his behavior.

Not to kiss me again or whisper my name in that husky voice of his.

“What do ya think?” I heard Curtis ask. “You up for the challenge?”

Oh God, what had Curtis been talking about? I’d only heard him speaking in the background as I’d been thinking about Flynn, so I had no idea what the actual context of the one-sided conversation had been.

“Yeah, um, sure. Of course,” I said.

“Good,” Curtis said as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll ask one of the men to take you into town. You wanna start with this Sunday or the next?”

I stumbled over my response in my head. What the hell had I agreed to? “Um, next, I think. It’ll give me more time to… prepare.”

“Sounds good. Make sure one of the men helps you with gettin’ those pots down to the bunkhouse ’fore dinner. It’ll be a good time for you to tell ’em all about the Sunday dinners you’ll be makin’ for us while you’re here.”

Curtis continued talking but once again I wasn’t truly listening.

Oh God, he wants me to make Sunday dinner for more than a dozen cowboys every week?

It’d taken me more than three hours just to figure out all the ingredients from Del’s recipe for the stew. As much as I liked to cook, I’d only ever done it to feed myself and it’d always been light and healthy meals. Guys who worked hard all day needed real food and a lot of it.

Curtis gave me a gentle pat on the back before heading up the stairs.

Brooks chose that moment to emerge from his uncle’s office where he’d been working on the ranch’s financial records. His hair was mussed, and he was in the midst of buttoning his jeans. His cheeks reddened when he saw me, but before he could say anything, Xavier grabbed him from behind and kissed him heatedly.

I turned away because the sight of the two gorgeous men going at it always got me going, but now that I had the memory of getting kissed like that only to be dropped like I was a hot potato, the sight of my friend and his lover made a stream of ugly envy trickle through me.

After a few deep groans and hushed words, I heard Brooks say, “Hey, Jules.”

“Jules,” Xavier said as he left Brooks’s side and hurried to the door. He tipped his hat at me.

“We were just, um, going over some finan?—”

“Shut up,” I said snidely. “I’ve been working on this stew for like three hours now. My AirPods ran out of juice twenty minutes ago so believe me, I know exactly what you two were doing in there.”

I didn’t move as Brooks made his way farther into the kitchen and ultimately stopped behind me and gave me a hug from behind. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said softly.

“I’m glad I’m able to make your sex life even better by playing the role of voyeur. If you wanna do it right, at least make a peephole in the wall between our rooms so I can watch you two going at it,” I groused.

Brooks chuckled and dropped a kiss to my cheek. “Don’t worry, Jules, I’m still on the lookout.”

“Lookout? For what?”

“For your hot cowboy, of course.”

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I thought about Flynn’s tongue licking over mine as he’d held me pinned against the wall of that stall.

And then the disastrous fallout.

“I think I’m good on that front,” I responded. As much as I liked knowing my friend was happy and he wanted to share that happiness with me, the absolute last thing I wanted or needed was a setup of any kind… with anyone. The whole wanting my own hot cowboy nonsense had been a way to keep Brooks’s mind off all the memories he’d have to deal with when he temporarily moved to Eden to help his uncle with his financial records. I’d already known the emotional toll would make him feel like he was drowning, so I’d wanted to make sure he knew I was there for him, even if I had to be outlandish and over the top to do it.

Brooks released me and forced me to turn around. “Wait, did you already find one? Don’t let what those assholes in town did to you turn you off all?—”

“It’s not that,” I cut him off because the last thing I wanted to talk about was having the crap beaten out of me only to be rescued by a man with bourbon eyes and a sinfully talented mouth.

“Then what is it? You were so set on hooking yourself a cowboy, I thought for sure when you saw all those guys in boots and Stetsons at the airport, you’d?—"

“I met someone,” I interjected.

“Here on the ranch? Who is it? That new guy, Flynn? I know he’s super hot—and don’t tell Xavier I said that because he’ll be pissed…” Brooks’s words dropped off as he got this faraway look in his eye the second he said Xavier would be pissed. His face was flushed with even more color now and his eyes were glazing over.

God, I already had to listen to the happy couple go at it like bunnies on steroids, but to imagine my friend being “punished” in such a way that left him forming an erotic fantasy in his mind right in front of me was more than I could bear.

“Brooks,” I said. The man didn’t move a muscle but when he closed his eyes, I yelled, “Brooks!”

“What?” Brooks asked in confusion. He seemed to not even remember how he’d ended up in the kitchen.

“I swear to God, if I could figure out how to ram this wooden spoon through your?—”

“Okay, okay, right,” Brooks cut me off. “Sorry, bad habit,” he acknowledged.

“I really hate you right now,” I said snidely. “I get it. You’ve got your cowboy. He’s hot as fuck and you’re finally letting your freak flag fly. On top of all that, you’re like… in love and shit.”

When Brooks began to look all doe-eyed again, I began reaching for one of the wooden spoons I’d been using to stir the stew. He snapped out of it and grabbed my wrist. “Okay, sorry, for real this time. What were we talking about—right, the new guy, Flynn. I’m sorry, Jules, but I don’t think he’s ga?—"

“I met a guy in, um, Casper. At that club,” I blurted. “What did you think I was doing those extra few days I stayed in that dump of a motel?” I improvised. Anything to get off the topic of Flynn…

Brooks almost seemed disappointed by my admission. I hated lying to him, especially since our friendship was growing stronger every day, but the last thing I needed was him playing matchmaker. “You did?” he asked in surprise.

I turned back to the stew and began stirring it again. “Yeah, he’s actually from New York. Some kind of investment banker or some shit like that. Anyway, he had a long layover in Casper before his flight to LA, so he went looking for a hookup.” It took all I had to soften my voice so I could coyly add, “He extended his layover by a few days. We made plans to meet up once we’re both back in New York.”

“Wow,” Brooks said. I could see and hear suspicion mixing with his disbelief. It took him several beats to open his arms again. “I’m so happy for you.”

I forced myself to step into his embrace.

“What’s his name?” Brooks asked.

My brain and tongue chose that moment to battle over blurting Flynn’s. Thankfully, my brain won out and I managed to keep Flynn’s name to myself, but when I saw Brooks watching me expectantly, my brain decided it was a good time to take a break and go blank altogether.

I opened and closed my mouth half a dozen times before I nearly shouted “Stew” when I saw one of the cans of stewed tomatoes that I’d just tossed into the recycle bin. “Yeah, Stew. Short for Stewart.”

“Stew,” Brooks repeated. “An investment banker named Stew.”

“Yeah, Stew,” I said as I backed away from Brooks. I crossed my arms, ignoring the fact that I had stew spraying my clothes because I’d neglected to leave the stirring spoon in the pot. “What’s wrong with Stew? It’s a real name,” I insisted.

“I know, I know,” Brooks said evenly before he removed the spoon from my hand. “It’s just when I think of you and an investment banker, it’s… surprising.”

I turned so I was facing the sink. I began washing my hands as my mouth continued to spew complete and utter bullshit.

“Yeah, well, he may wear suits and shit, but he’s a freak in bed,” I insisted. “I mean, we’re talking toys and cuffs… that man got the full Jules treatment,” I said with a nod. “Why do you think he decided to stay in Casper two extra days? Only time we left the motel room was to get some more condoms and lu?—”

I froze because in the process of turning around so I could be looking at Brooks while I convinced him that I was still “the same ole Jules,” my eyes connected with Flynn’s. He was standing in the open door several feet behind Brooks and he did not look happy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

“Did you say something—” Brooks began to say even as he shifted his weight with the intent of looking behind him.

“Nothing!” I practically shouted. Brooks jerked his eyes back to mine. I could tell he thought I was going nuts, but the last thing I needed was for him to see through all my lies. “I heard something,” I yelled before catching how loud I was being. “Uncle Curtis, was that you calling for Brooks just now?” I called over my shoulder. I didn’t even wait for a response before steering Brooks toward the stairs. “He’s coming, Uncle Curtis. I told him about the boxes of receipts you needed help with.”

When he heard the word receipts, Brooks began shaking his head. “No more receipts!” he called before he began plodding up the stairs. I knew my cover would be blown the second Brooks reached his uncle, and with Flynn still watching me like I was a tiny pebble he was trying to remove from the sole of his heavy boot, I couldn’t risk Brooks or Uncle Curtis seeing us anywhere near each other.

My prayers that Flynn had magically disappeared didn’t work, so I did my best to act cool as I ignored him and returned to stirring the stew.

“Curtis told one of the guys you needed help carrying some pots down to the bunkhouse?” Flynn asked coldly before he entered the kitchen and moved toward me. I held my breath as his hands reached out, but all he did was take one of the massive stockpots off the stove. I turned off the flame on the smallest pot that held the stew for the family which included Curtis, Brooks, Xavier and me. When I went to reach for the second stockpot, Flynn grunted, “Leave it. Thing probably weighs more than you do. I’ll come back for it.”

If the man had left out the snide remark about the stew weighing more than me, I probably would have happily left both pots to him. But his pissy attitude and condescending tone pressed all my buttons—and not the good ones.

“It’s fine,” I announced. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Flynn made a little grunting sound but otherwise ignored me. I picked up the pot, which was in fact very heavy, and practically waddled out of the house. Flynn was several steps ahead of me. He carried the pot like it weighed nothing more than a cup of coffee.

As slow as I was moving with the stockpot, it was made all that much worse because I had a delicious view of Flynn’s ass and the flexing of his back and arm muscles.

I expected Flynn to merely leave me behind, but when he slowed his steps, I eventually caught up to him. I felt like I was going to pass out.

“Stew?” Flynn asked pointedly as he looked down at the pot of stew before shifting his gaze to me. The asshole was calling me out on the pretend guy I’d made up to Brooks.

“Stewart,” I corrected. “What about him?” I asked as sweat began pouring off my forehead. It was all I could do not to let any of it end up in the stew that was causing the sweat in the first place.

“Convenient,” Flynn said simply.

Was the dick actually implying that I was lying?

You are lying, you twit.

“What does that mean?” I snapped while simultaneously ignoring the voice of logic in my brain. I was out of breath and my arms ached, but I refused to show any of that to a man who could wield so much power over me, whether it was with a sensuous kiss or a cruel rejection.

Flynn didn’t answer me, which was good because I wouldn’t have been able to talk anymore at that point anyway. I had to preserve my oxygen so I didn’t keel over in front of the dick. I was reliant on following Flynn once again, and what had probably only been minutes seemed to turn into hours.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought I heard Flynn insisting that I leave the pot on the ground and he’d come back and get it, but I wasn’t sure. I pretended he was saying it, though, because that was the only thing keeping me moving. The man had seen me beaten to a pulp, he’d assumed I was a woman not once but twice, he’d made me feel stupid with passion with a couple of amazing kisses and then he proved that he was just like every other ignorant asshole who looked at me twice when I had my glam on. Hell, he probably would have joined in on my beating in town if he’d realized I was a guy and not a girl.

Stupid fucking damsel in distress syndrome. I had it in spades, though I’d obviously altered it a bit, especially after reading so many romance novels as a teenager. They’d been books about men and women getting together, of course, but since I always put myself in the girl’s spot, it hadn’t really mattered. Despite how silly some of the storylines had been and certain parts hadn’t left me hot and bothered, I’d always loved the moment when the pirate or the duke—or yes, the fucking cowboy —saved the woman who always did something stupid that left her captured by the villain. I’d envisioned my own steamy fantasies as needed, but the end of the story was always the same.

The couple got their happily ever after.

That was where fantasy and reality always collided and knocked me back on my ass. Even at that age, I’d known in my gut that I wouldn’t get my own happy ending. Not the kind I truly wanted, anyway.

It had been nice to begin to identify with more and more characters in books and movies that had featured same-sex couples and become socially acceptable, but even when it’d been a couple guys facing a perfect future together in the story, I was always left feeling a little sad.

Those stories should have given me this wild hope that I’d find someone like the badass guy with the heart of gold, but I knew better than that. Even as being gay became more mainstream, I was anything but mainstream. I was lost somewhere in the middle, and I couldn’t really even explain why.

“Jules,” I heard someone call, though they seemed far away.

Wasn’t I supposed to be in the middle of something?

The reminder of where I was came screaming back to life when I felt my body catch fire.

“Jules!” Flynn yelled, but he was too late because as I lifted the pot from what had to be the kitchen tile floor in the bunkhouse, my noodle-like arms chose that moment to give out on me. While the stew wasn’t searing hot on the top, what splashed onto me as the entire pot tilted when it hit the lip of the counter came from the deeper contents of the container.

And that shit was fucking hot.

Fire licked at my skin as the stew from the tipped pot began tilting left and slid over my entire forearm before hitting the kitchen floor in big splotches. I wasn’t sure whether I cried out or not but instead of following my instinct to release the pot and pull my arm away, some small part of my brain told me I couldn’t let the whole container hit the ground, so I did my best to try and right it on my own.

“Jesus Christ!” Flynn yelled and then, thankfully, he was pulling the pot out of my weak arms.

“Is most of it still in there?” I asked tiredly, even as my brain began to process the howling nerve signals it was being sent. Somewhere in the melee, I’d sunk to my knees. I thought I might be holding my arm, but I wasn’t sure.

“Is most of it still—?” Flynn said in disbelief before he reached down and wrapped his arm around my waist. As he pulled me upright, I realized I was holding my left arm with my right hand in order to protect it, but every little jostle had me moaning in agony.

“So stupid,” I muttered.

Flynn maneuvered me to the sink. I braced myself for the cool water that was going to hit my still-sizzling skin, but to my surprise, Flynn said, “Keep holding your arm like that. I need to see how bad the burn is.” As he spoke he pulled a first aid kit from a large drawer next to the sink. “Did it get you anywhere else, Jules?”

My eyes hovered over Flynn’s big hands as he used a pair of scissors he’d gotten from the first aid kit to snip through the fabric of my sweatshirt, revealing reddened skin that was missing several layers. I knew it was my own skin but couldn’t yet process that it was the cause of the pain searing through me.

“Jules?!”

I jumped at the anger in his voice. “No,” I managed to say. “It’s just my arm.”

The more Flynn muttered things under his breath, the angrier I became. Just as he finished removing the part of the sleeve he’d cut, I yanked my arm from his hold.

Which of course brought even more tears to my eyes. Thankfully, I hadn’t shed any of them, but it was only a matter of time. “I’m fine!” I declared despite the fact that I really wasn’t. I began turning away from Flynn with the intention of leaving the kitchen so I could return to the house and lick my wounds, when he grabbed the upper bicep of my uninjured arm.

“Don’t even think about it,” Flynn growled. It would have been sexy if I wasn’t so pissed and humiliated and in pain all at the same time.

“Let—” That was all I got out before Flynn snatched the emergency kit with his free hand and began to lead me from the kitchen. I was about to protest when I heard men’s laughter. Great, another humiliation I really didn’t need right now. Before I could open my mouth to explain to Flynn that I needed to get back to the house because I didn’t want anyone to see me in this condition, he tugged me gently out of the kitchen. I saw a couple of the workers entering from another door. They were the ones laughing, but not at me; not yet, anyway.

As bad as my arm hurt, the pain that had literally robbed me of my breath for a few moments was easing enough that I could speak. “Flynn, I can get back to the house on my own?—”

I didn’t even get to finish the sentence because he ushered me into one of the many doors that lined the building. I already knew behind each door was a private room for every ranch hand.

“What are?—?”

“God, don’t you ever shut the fuck up?” Flynn snapped.

His anger caught me off guard, enough that I didn’t object when he sat me down on the edge of what I assumed was his bed. The room was nothing than four white walls with a few pieces of utilitarian furniture including the queen-sized bed I was currently sitting on, a gray dresser, and a simple wooden rocking chair that looked kind of homey. The floors were actual hardwood and were even stained to bring out the natural maple color.

The only thing that told me the room belonged to Flynn was a picture of his horse on the little table next to the bed. It took me a moment to realize there was another picture next to it. I shot a quick look toward the bathroom before scooting closer to the nightstand. The other picture was one of a young, pretty blonde woman with her arms wrapped around two children. The little girl was the spitting image of who I could only assume was the mother in the photograph. The little boy appeared to be about the same age as the girl, but he had dark hair and brown eyes.

Unique brown eyes that also belonged to his father who was behind his family in the picture, his long arms wrapped protectively around them.

That’s what a happy ending is supposed to look like.

Flynn reappeared without warning. I quickly looked at the wall like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. If he had seen me looking at the picture, he didn’t show it. Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of me. I let out a soft little gasp of surprise before I could stop myself.

He’s looking at your arm, you idiot.

I might have been an idiot and my arm might have been sending radiating waves of pain throughout my entire body, but my dick didn’t care about either of those things.

He was right there .

Flynn was right there .

Kneeling at my feet meant we were at about the same height for the moment, but since Flynn was more focused on my injured arm which I’d foolishly decided to rest on my thigh, he was lined up with a particular part of my body that he most definitely shouldn’t be.

“Flynn, seriously, I’m fine—” I began as I started to rise.

His big hands grabbed my hips. A violent shiver racked my whole body. It was all I could do to keep from moaning as I imagined what his hands would feel like when they were wrapped around my hips while he fucked me from behind. He’d have his foot on the bed so he’d have even more leverage to ram into me while all I could do was dig my fingers into the bedding and hang on for the ride of my life.

“Don’t move,” Flynn said in irritation.

And there went the hard-on. While I’d been lusting after the man, he’d been annoyed at having to patch me up.

“Idiot,” I whispered beneath my breath.

“What?” Flynn asked sharply as he examined my arm.

“Idiot!” I practically yelled at him. I shoved him away from me and managed to slip past him. He grabbed my elbow just as I went to open the door.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Flynn growled. “I swear to God, you need a fucking keeper.”

His declaration stung.

“Fuck you, Flynn,” I hissed before jerking free of him. I managed to get out of the room, but he was right on my tail.

“Jules, that’s?—”

“Not what you meant,” I finished for him.

“A serious burn,” Flynn said at the same time.

Seriously? The man was lecturing me at the same time I was trying to spare him from needing to be anywhere near me?

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do all cowboys or ranch hands or whatever it is that you call yourselves pop out of the ground full grown and stupid right alongside the corn or wheat or whatever the hell things you grow out here besides cows?” I snapped as I turned around and slammed right into Flynn’s chest.

With my bad arm.

All I saw were stars, and that breath-stealing agony was back. “Fuck,” I whispered as a few tears I couldn’t hold back dripped from my lashes.

“That’s it,” Flynn said with determination. Before I knew it, he was lifting me into his arms. He made sure to do it so that my arm was on the outside, which meant it wouldn’t rub against his clothing. I could keep it protected by cradling it in my lap.

“God, I really am one of them,” I whispered on a choked laugh that might also have been a harsh cry.

“One of who?” Flynn asked. His voice sounded like it was all he could do to keep his temper in check.

“Never mind,” I murmured. If I was going to be a damsel in distress, my hero needed to actually want to save me. “I’m fine now,” I bit out. “Put me down. I can walk to the house.”

“You’re not going to the house,” Flynn responded simply.

When I realized he wasn’t kidding, I began to squirm. No way in hell was I letting the man carry me around outside for the whole ranch to see. All the cowboys already didn’t know what to make of me. I was Brooks’s weird little city slicker friend—the one who had something off about him.

Flynn came to a stop before the door leading outside. “Fine. If you stop acting like a brat, I’ll let you walk to the car.”

“The car?” I said stupidly. Did he really just call me a brat? What the fuck?

Flynn put me down and began carefully putting strips of wet gauze along my arm. I didn’t have a chance to rip him a new one for calling me a brat because the sensation of the cool, wet fabric felt good and hurt like hell at the same time. I had to lean back against the door and accept that I was just one big, exposed raw nerve. It was all I could do to keep from leaning over and throwing up all over the floor and Flynn’s very worn-out looking boots.

“Hang on, sweetheart, almost done,” Flynn said. His voice was calm but shaky at the same time. “Just keep breathing.”

Did I have any other choice? I could barely breathe, let alone move or call out to someone. Hell, I couldn’t even be mad enough that Flynn once again had me at his mercy.

It seemed to take hours, but it was probably only a couple minutes for Flynn to dress the wound with damp gauze, cover the whole thing with a light layer of bandaging, and furnish a sling out of what seemed to be a piece of torn flannel that looked a lot like the shirt he was wearing. By the time he was done, I could barely stand, so I didn’t even try to protest the damsel in distress move again.

It was only when Flynn settled me into some kind of seat that I became aware of my surroundings. I’d just assumed he’d take me to the house, but instead, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Brooks’s Range Rover. Before I could even utter a syllable, the seat belt was on, and the door was closed.

Flynn was kidnapping me.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving me with an overwhelming need to sleep but unable to even attempt nodding off because my body hurt so bad.

“I told you I would grab the pot and lift it onto that counter,” Flynn growled. “But God forbid that anyone helps you.”

Flynn’s anger should have been directed at me, but for some reason, it seemed like he was having a conversation with himself… about me. Was that a hint of worry in his husky, smooth voice of his?

Nope. No way. The man had been needling me from the moment he’d entered the house. He hated me as much as I hated him.

“Did you slip me something?” I asked.

“Slip you something?” Flynn responded, obviously confused.

“For the pain,” I explained. “’Cause I don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

“I’m sure they’ll give you something for the pain as soon as we get there, sweetheart.”

“I meant am I on them now because I feel weird. And where is there?”

I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but Flynn’s confirmation was strange. It wasn’t that he’d said the word; it was how he’d said it.