Chapter Fifteen
Loosen the Reins
Jordan
‘Oh, this is so much better.’
Hands on hips, Rebecca and I take a step back to admire our handiwork. Her old shed is now painted a baby-blue with white trim – way more put together, much more fitting for her beautiful garden.
‘Told ya you just needed another pair of hands,’ I insist with a smile, adjusting the strap on my Carhartt overalls.
‘You were right,’ she admits. ‘It looks perfect, Jordan.’
Rebecca’s definitely done enough for me in the span of two weeks, so helping her with the garden project she’d been putting off for years was the least I could have done. The glimmer
in her eyes when she looks at the fresh paint job is totally
worth it.
‘Every girl needs a she-shed.’ I crouch down to close the paint cans and set the brushes aside. ‘And now, you got a she-shed that doesn’t look like it’s seen multiple world wars.’
‘You say you learned all this on a ranch?’ says Rebecca in disbelief, wiping her hands on her jeans.
‘You’d be surprised what needs upkeep, all the time!’ I point out. ‘Always something fuckin’ breaking.’
I think Rebecca’s going to explode with happiness as she pulls out her phone for a photo of our magnum opus.
In her driveway, a puttering tugs my attention away a little too quickly.
Okay, so people love to drop by Rebecca’s just because.
I get it – small-town behaviour. But part of me jumps just because I’d possibly love it if it were someone particular coming to bother Rebecca.
Maybe? I mean, you can’t fault me after I played strip lacrosse with the man.
That, and the multiple rounds of wild sex that followed.
A wave of excitement – anticipation – fills my chest.
I squint. Pickup truck with the Whittaker Farms and Equestrian logo slapped on the side. Definitely not Rod and his mom van. I try to ignore the butterflies dropping dead in the pit of my stomach.
‘You got company,’ I nudge Rebecca, who’s still fawning over the photos of her shed.
‘Oh!’ She looks up at the truck, and then, ‘Must be Genny. Gosh, what’s that girl doing here?’
Sure enough, Rod’s older sister is heading our way, boots, jeans, and all. ‘Beck and Jordan!’ she calls with a wave. ‘What did you two do?’
‘Painted my shed.’ Rebecca gestures to the art project with a proud arm full of thick bangles and Pandora bracelets. ‘Look at her! It’s all Jordan. This kid, I tell you.’
‘Stop it,’ I tease, shooting her a grin.
‘You’re spoiling me. It’s the least I could do considering you’re lettin’ me stay here with the rent you’re charging for that beautiful guesthouse, you know.
This place, this entire town …’ I sigh. Where do I even start?
I love Oklahoma enough. But this is a different sort of pretty, straight out of a Pinterest page.
Scenic downtown, rolling-hill-type farms, impossibly aesthetic ranch houses. The coastline just a short drive away.
‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?’ Genny quirks her head with a smile rife with a joke only she seems to understand. ‘Well, anyhow. I had a sort of strange request for you, Jordan, if you’d be willing to double-time on jobs for the day.’
‘I got zero other things to be doing. Shoot.’ I wince a little internally.
This is all I did back home. Maybe I should take a break.
But when it’s all I’ve done for years, my brain and body don’t know anything else, as much as I want to force myself to embrace the languid camp coach-tourist lifestyle.
‘How good are you with horses? Colt mentioned something the other day.’
‘Good as good gets. I grew up with ’em.’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘What’s the job?’
‘Well … I’m short a few farmhands today, and I got quite a few horses to bring in for a lesson. Would you be willing to pitch in?’
‘Would I be willing?’ I can’t help the big grin that comes out. As much as I’m an unhealthy workaholic when it comes to the horses back home, I do love them dearly. And Genny’s offer is all the horses with none of the ranch-related stress. ‘Lemme get a chai in my system and I’m game.’
‘Good!’ chirps Genny. ‘Just so you know. I’m asking my brother to help us.’
Genny flits off to her truck, and Rebecca just lets out a laugh beside me.
‘What’s so funny?’ I chide her, sliding the paints aside so I can get up and fix my hair. Fix my hair? Since when did I care what my hair looked like before heading to the farm to get shat on by animals? Jordan. Homegirl.
‘Oh, honey. Let me tell you,’ Rebecca chortles. ‘That girl is so clever, I’ll have you know. I’m sure as sure she’s not missing any farmhands today.’
The drive out to the Wilsons’ property once more reminds me of just how huge it is, for an equestrian facility.
They’ve got multiple paddocks, a large section of land for grazing.
The evening of the championship bonfire, I didn’t get the sort of look at it I’m getting now, and it’s pretty incredible. A piece of home, up in New England.
Genny brings her truck in near the barn, which immediately triggers not unwelcome memories of beer, s’mores, and hands on asses. I have to shake the intrusions away as Genny and I head up the path to the doors.
‘You,’ she says as we enter the familiar space, work boots slapping the floors, ‘are going to get along wonderfully with Hermes.’
‘I trust you,’ I hum. Genny leads me to the stable of that same beautiful roan stallion I’d seen a week back. He pokes his head out, as if alerted to our presence; unlike some of the skittish quarter horses I’ve worked with in the past, he stays there even as I approach. ‘Hey, old pal.’
Genny’s right: he warms up to me fast, as I give him my hand to sniff. He nuzzles it immediately, all excited to get attention.
‘Gen, are you making guests do our chores again?’ a woman calls from behind us.
She looks extremely similar to Genevieve – the same eyes and nose, but with a sharper jaw and black hair instead of brown. Rather than Genny’s bootcuts and T-shirt, she wears a pair of flared jeans with a loose white blouse and designer tennis shoes.
‘I never made anyone do our chores!’ Genny retorts with a mischievous smile. ‘Jordan, this is Bianca, our oldest sister.’
‘Jordan …’ Something registers in Bianca’s eyes as she regards me, lips pursed as if holding back a smirk of her own. I detect a note of Boston in her voice. ‘Very nice to meet you.’
‘Nice to meet you too.’ I beam at the majestic stallion. ‘Y’all both have gorgeous horses.’
‘Just Genny,’ laughs Bianca. ‘I don’t live out here. I’m in Boston, handling the family restaurant. This is a rare occurrence.’
‘She hates me,’ Genny says matter-of-factly.
‘Oh, shut up,’ quips Bianca, rolling her eyes. ‘Where’s the baby, Gen?’
I’m still trying to absorb the lore I’ve evidently become privy to. Family restaurant? Farm? What in the Wilsons?
‘Baby’s here,’ booms Rod from around the corner of the barn door.
This time, Genny and Bianca both roll their eyes in tandem as their younger brother decides to join us. I don’t think he’s expecting me to be here, because he does a double take when our eyes meet. He clears his throat all awkwardly. Casual, my ass. ‘Uh – hey, Jordan.’
I’m suddenly very conscious of my work overalls and rat’s nest of a bun.
I reach for a ring to twist before realizing I’m also jewellery-free and, by association, at my most vulnerable.
If there’s anything I hated back home, it was people I knew seeing me on the job.
It’s like when you’re working the grocery store and your worst enemies suddenly appear in the check lane.
I hated it when it was people I really didn’t like.
I’m not sure how I feel about it being Rod.
‘Hey,’ I manage.
‘Genny?’
‘Yes, Bianca?’
‘Why don’t we – ’ Bianca cleverly smirks our way – ‘go make ourselves some iced tea?’
‘Why don’t we?’ Genny echoes back happily.
With a peppy ‘we’ll be back!’, Genny disappears out the door with her sister, leaving us very alone. Which, clearly, has proven a very treacherous place for Rod and me to be.
‘They’re just messing with us,’ he says all quickly, running a flustered hand through his waves of dark hair. ‘They get a kick out of that.’
‘I see.’
He scratches his stubble, then does this thing like he’s about to say something, mouth open, before closing it promptly.
‘What?’ I prod.
‘Nothing. Just …’ He gestures to my overall’d form, mouth twitching with a smile. ‘Don’t be self-conscious. I can tell. You’re getting all shifty.’
‘I don’t go out in work clothes,’ I start to explain, cheeks heating up, but he shakes his head.
‘Aren’t you the one who said not to scare each other away?’
‘That’s not technically exactly what I said.’
‘Close enough,’ he deduces with a grin and a tug of his shirt collar, a sliver of silver chain round his neck flickering. ‘And anyways. This is not scary. You look good in those.’
Now I’m fully blushing. My work overalls? No way. I scoff, distracting myself from my dumb bashfulness. ‘You’re a real special one, you know that, Big Time?’
‘Really!’ he insists. His wholesome smile goes just a touch mischievous, flirtatious. My pulse escalates as if on cue. Keep it locked down, Jordan. ‘You look like a million bucks in those fucking overalls.’
I let out a laugh that wobbles just slightly with breathiness. I’m so not locked down right now. ‘You’re too much.’
‘You do.’ He’s hitting me with the infinite-wattage, but that smirk gets less playful and more sultry as we close the gap between the two of us, his hands finding my hips, overalls and all.
Just-visible freckles dance across his nose in the light from the afternoon sun filtering through the windows.
His long lashes flutter, his voice deliciously low.
‘You look like a million bucks in anything. You look like a million bucks in nothing.’
Oh, mama. This man. My nonexistent defences are crumbling so quickly. This is not very friends-with-benefits of us. ‘Is that so, Romeo? Pushin’ your luck?’
‘Who’s to say it’s luck?’ Rod’s lips brush my ear, the words clear as day. ‘Way you’ve been screaming my name makes me think it’s strategy.’
Risky business. His sisters will be back any minute now. But my eyes squeeze shut involuntarily, my whole body automatically responding to his touch. I tilt his chin so I can meet his gaze. ‘I dare you,’ I whisper, ‘to make me do it again.’
Speak of the devil. A rattling at the front doors jolts us both back to reality. Our eyes go comically wide in sync, like something out of a Looney Toons episode, and we immediately burst apart, arm’s length. Tension? Who’s she?
‘Back so soon?’ says Rod way too quickly. ‘Where’s your iced teas?’
Bianca and Genny exchange a knowing glance, and Genny beams. ‘Alright, baby brother. Time to bring the horses in.’
‘Wait … you want me …’ He’s struggling to get the words out. Mister Hasn’t-Ridden-Since-High-School looks like he’s frozen to the spot at the very thought of standing face-to-face with a horse.
‘Get your boots on, cowboy.’ Genny chucks a set of keys at Rod, and he snatches them out of the air with a gulp. ‘I still have yours in the farmhouse. Can’t brag about living on farm property to our guest without putting your butt in the saddle first, am I right?’
‘Ditto.’ Bianca raises a perfect eyebrow at her brother. ‘I’m not running after the horses. I trust you can handle it.’ She smiles wryly before turning her grin my way. ‘With Jordan.’
Now it’s my turn to wrangle shock. Which, I mean, I shouldn’t be shocked. Rebecca warned me. This is a Wilson family ambush. ‘What?’
‘You’re doing black magic, woman,’ Rod grumbles, poking Bianca in the shoulder as he heads out the doors and up towards the house.
Bianca scoffs. ‘Flying a little too close to the sun, dumbass,’ she calls behind her.
‘Well, then.’ Genny practically glows with satisfaction. ‘Jordan, want to tack up Hermes?’