10. Clover
TEN
Clover
“Two seconds left on the clock. Will Lowe succumb to the pressure or nail this crucial penalty shot?”
I watch as Darby lines himself up in front of me. The soccer ball—which is more tan and black instead of white and black—is positioned right where he wants it.
He steps back, looking between the ball and me as I stand in front of a makeshift goal. I’m dripping sweat, which is a lovely sensation when it’s reaching down your ass crack, and this is the end of an intense match between us.
At once, Darby rushes forward and kicks the ball with everything he has. It soars up and to my right. I jump, trying to catch the ball, but it soars over and past me.
“Yes!”
I roll through the leap, careful not to truly injure myself, and Darby hoots and hollers about his fresh victory wrestled from the jaws of defeat, which was actually a tie.
All I can do is laugh as he cheers for himself, running little circles around the yard. I’m sitting on the grass, catching my breath a bit, when I see Brooks’s truck coming down the drive.
He’s back from getting groceries, and it’ll be on Darby and me to help him unload. All morning, I’ve been throwing myself into playing with the resident champ here in hopes that it’ll distract me from what happened the other night.
It’s been working okay, at least for a few minutes at a time. Still, it’s hard as hell to stop picturing the lethal weapon I saw Brooks toting around, thanks to that towel drop.
Men around the world would bow in respect if they saw that.
Which, of course, is annoying as hell. Not only does the guy have to be some cowboy heartthrob, but he’s packing serious equipment that I can’t stop seeing when I close my eyes, wondering what it might feel like, taste like…
Get your head out of the fucking gutter, Clover. He’s off-limits, remember?
But I’ve been trying to remind myself of that since day one, and my track record isn’t great.
Brooks steps out of the truck, and Darby and I hurry over to help unload bags from the back. We help him carry the stuff inside, setting everything down on the kitchen counter.
The A/C in the house feels amazing compared to outside, and I wipe my brow with the back of my hand. Unfortunately, it serves as a rather potent clue that my deodorant has stopped working.
Great.
“Alright, thanks, buddy. You can head upstairs if you want.”
Darby leaps at the chance for his nightly screen time with his video game friends and runs up the stairs like a bat out of hell. I laugh to myself, shaking my head as I put the last of the cold items in the fridge.
“I can’t believe it’s already almost five. That kid of yours has been kicking my ass up and down the soccer field.”
I also can’t believe that we’re approaching two weeks of my being here or that it’s been nearly seven days since I saw Brooks naked.
Stop thinking about it!
“Ha,” Brooks laughs, folding up the paper bags and stuffing them in the pantry so that we can use them for recycling, “he’ll do that alright. Soccer is one of his favorites.”
“I’m noticing that.”
I don’t know what it is, but suddenly, alone in the kitchen with Brooks, I want to ask him about my time here, about what he’s noticed. It’s been two weeks. He’s got to think better about my skills now…right?
“So,” I drawl, taking a moment to sit down at the island and meet Brooks’s eyes, “it’s been a while since I started helping out. How am I doing?”
Brooks smirks slightly, the left side of his mouth lifting as he leans back against the counter near the sink.
“Doing with?”
Ugh, he’s playing dumb. Just can’t resist, can he?
I sigh, rolling my eyes at him. “On the ranch, jerk. With Darby. The lot.”
He chuckles, and I still hate how the sound instantly makes my nerves buzz, my legs wobbling like jello. Thank God for the chair under my ass, or I’d stumble.
“Well, you still need plenty of practice dealing with the ranch.” Brooks pauses, purposefully dragging it out. “But you’re a natural with Darby, I’ll admit.”
“You’ll admit that, but you can’t be bothered to admit that the sheep like me better than you.”
“What?!” Brooks’s arms drop from where he folded them over his chest, a task considering the cast, and steps forward.
“You know it’s true. None of them pitch a fit when I have to line ‘em up to get shaved.”
“Sheered.” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Um, excuse me, is it done with a giant razor? Yes. Is that shaving? Yes.”
Despite his stoic expression, a permanent resident on his face, Brooks quirks a brow, just the barest hint of a smile creeping up. I can see him fighting it back, and something about it makes me want to draw that elusive sight out like a Big Foot hunter.
“They get their fuzzy butts shaved, and when I have to line them up at the fence for Rick to do it, they stay. They like me better than you.”
Leaning against the counter on his elbows, Brooks is suddenly much closer to me, and I remember how much taller he is than me. It’s easy for all that height to reach across the marble surface.
“So, you’re a sheep whisperer. You still fall down on your ass every time you try to pick up a hay bale.”
I glare playfully at Brooks, and now I’m leaning over the table, getting up in his business. There’s no way I’m going down without a fight, and he has to know that.
He’s goading me.
“And you broke your arm doing what exactly?” I raise my brows, smirking. “You still haven’t told me, and I have a feeling that’s because you’re embarrassed. Did the big, strong rancher fall on his ass?”
Brooks’s expression tells me everything I need to know. My assumption hit the nail on the head, and as he slides back from the counter, he holds up his hands in defeat.
“Oof, shots fired.” He grins, though, appreciating the good ribbing just like I do. “I may have been a little less than careful.”
“Ha! And you’re up my ass about the hay bale that’s half my size.” I sit back in my chair, folding my arms as I smirk victoriously. “Not my fault I came out a shortie. You can blame my genetics for not providing you with a nanny the size of a linebacker.”
That smile stretches wider, and dammit, I love seeing it there. My brain starts tumbling down the dark hole that leads nowhere good, though. I’ll be thinking about his dick in no time.
Oops, there I go.
“I think I can thank your genetics for a lot of things.”
I blink. I’m not sure how to take that, but there’s this air of…flirtation behind Brooks’s words. I can’t be sure I’m hearing that right, but shit, am I right?
Is he flirting with me?
Shaking myself into focus because I cannot go there, I remember the other thing that I was going to ask Brooks about.
“Oh, hey, I meant to ask.” I drop my stare to the island, feeling a little stupid for what I’m about to say. “Do you get a lot of wild animals on the ranch? I’ve been hearing…some noises at night. They’ve been loud enough to wake me up, and…I was just a little curious .”
Cocking his head, Brooks continues with that damned smirk, but his expression does soften.
“City girl’s not used to the outdoors, that’s for sure.” He nods. “Yeah, we get all sorts of animals. We’re well away from town so they aren’t shy about coming up to the property looking for food. It’s why I take such care to keep the livestock safe.”
That all makes sense, but I still can’t shake the feeling of needles prickling down my spine. I know I’ve been jumpy and on edge since I arrived, but this feels different.
“Sure. Okay. Do we need to be worried about them getting into the house?”
Brooks lets out a chuckle. “Unless I missed something and a cougar or wolf can open a door now, I think we’ll be fine.”
He doesn't seem worried in the slightest, utterly brushing off my concerns. So I should feel better. Except I don’t.
Ping.
I startle a little, hearing the classic chime of my phone in my pocket. I fish it out of my shorts to take a peek at who’s messaging me.
Rosie is supposed to be texting me about meeting up, and I’m hoping that she picked a time since it’s her schedule we’re working around.
“Got a date?” Brooks drawls.
“Hardly.” I make a face at him. “It’s Rosie. We’re trying to pick a day to get coffee.”
When I look down at my phone, however, I quickly learn that it’s not Rosie, and my stomach drops.
You think you can just run and hide, Clover? Wrong. This isn’t over until I say it is.
Nausea crawls up the back of my throat, and I stumble out of my chair, my eyes glued to the words on my screen and who sent them—Kyle.
“Fucking shit,” I mumble, the words out before I can think better of it. “Goddamn it. You’ve gotta be fucking shitting me.”
My blood pumps ice through my veins, and I notice that my fingers are trembling as my pulse ticks up.
“Clover?” Brooks walks over, and I’m snapped back to reality where I’m in the kitchen with my boss and he’s about to look at my phone. “What’s going on?”
I turn around, trying to block my screen so that I can delete the message and pretend like this never happened, but Brooks is tall. And as I pointed out earlier, I’m not. He looks over my shoulder, right next to me in a flash, and it’s too late as I stuff my phone back into my pocket.
“What the?—”
“It’s…” I try to cut Brooks off with some lame excuse, but it disappears as I stare at him.
Dammit.
My thoughts are churning, and I can’t help but think about the other day at the park. I felt like I was being watched. Was I?
I’ve been hearing noises. I’ve noticed bushes rustling as I pass, felt eyes on my skin. Is it Kyle? Is he in fucking Red Lodge?
I’m wobbling on my feet, and I think I’m breathing too quickly. My head feels like it’s full of cotton, and then Brooks is in my face, holding either of my shoulders.
“Clover, you need to talk to me.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. Besides, I’m not looking for a damn pity party because I got freaked about something.”
I’m a snappy bitch on the best of days, but the words coming out of my mouth feel like they’re being spoken by someone else. I don’t know why I’m being so defensive, except for the obvious need to pretend like this isn’t happening.
It’s not working.
“I want to help you, Lucky, but you have to talk to me. Let me in.”
When I meet his eyes, Brooks squeezes my shoulder. I haven’t seen him like this before. His touch is soft but reassuring, and I can see genuine concern in his challenging stare like he’s really looking to help me out.
Why? Why does he even care? We’ve been around each other for like two weeks. He has no reason to want to help me.
Still, it’s there. That empathy and worry—about fucking me, of all people. Seeing it from someone who isn’t my dad breaks me.
Am I really doing this? Do I really trust him?
I search the depths of his hazel eyes. He’s so protective of Darby. He’s volunteered his home to help me out just because he knows my dad. Everyone in town says he’s an “ace,” that guy you can count on to have your back.
“Remember that shitty work situation I was talking about?” Brooks nods. “Well, it’s shittier than I let on.”
With a sigh, he drops his head before leading me back to the chair, getting me to sit. “Alright, Lucky. Talk to me.”
“My boss, Kyle Grant, well, he became my business partner when I was just coming up in the industry. He was having trouble with his current venture, not bringing in enough new marketing clients and alienating the ones he had. I saved his ass. But…”
I haven’t said this bit out loud to anyone but my dad, and as I gear up for it, I feel like some ridiculous main character in a Lifetime movie, even if I have to be honest with myself and admit to loving them.
“Just recently, we were working with a current client to see if we could push things harder, get more from them. It was a risky move, and I never supported it. But Kyle…he doesn’t really love listening to anyone who isn’t him.”
“Let me guess.” Brooks dips his head as he nods to himself. “It went to hell.”
I nod. “It did. In a fucking handbasket. Kyle blames me for that, even though—well, I suppose that’s not important. He does. Worse, he’s…he’s actually threatened me. I didn’t believe it at first, figured he’d take a day and cool off. But I found a threatening note that night stuffed under my door. I called up my dad, he offered the chance to come here, and bam.”
Brooks eyes me, his brows down low over his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is a dark whisper of itself.
“You came here…to escape your boss?” I nod, not hiding how stupid I feel about it. “Because he threatened you?”
I just nod again, but this is fucking exhausting, and before I know it, I’m slumping into the chair and dropping my head into my hands.
“Clover, I?—”
“I know. You can’t believe I would drag my mess to your doorstep. I’m sorry.” My voice is muffled against the shell I’ve created around myself with my arms. “I shouldn’t have, and I can get gone in no time. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor or finding some motel or something.”
“Clover,” Brooks starts again, but I can’t hear him get upset about all this.
“I was so dumb. And I’ve been feeling like I’ve been watched. At the park with Darby, at the store. I can’t do that to anyone. No way.” I sit up, meeting Brooks’s eyes with a shake of my head. “I won’t. Dammit, I wanted to know about the animals because I worried it was Kyle. That’s nuts! Don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me for another moment.”
I push off of the stool at the counter, ready to go collect my things, but Brooks snags my arm at the bicep, keeping me right there in front of him.
As I hold his stare, Brooks’s features soften slightly. He lets out a long breath and then makes me face him directly, taking both of my shoulders again in a gentle but firm squeeze.
“As long as you’re under my roof, Clover,” Brooks’s eyes pierce into me, and I can’t look away, “I’ll protect you.”
And that’s it. He just nods like it’s all settled. “Are you serious? You hardly know me. Why?”
I can’t wrap my brain around it, but it does nothing to change the fact that I’m fucking choked up because he’s offering to keep me safe. My vision blurs as I fight to keep it together.
“You’re a part of this household now, and I protect my ranch.”
A sad smile creeps up on my face, and we just stare at each other. I give Brooks a nod, indicating that I’m not going anywhere, but there’s something else behind his eyes.
I can’t tell what, and I don’t know what I’m feeling either. But it’s something new, different. It’s something that’s been growing between us since I got here and just surged up several notches.
What’s happening here?
My pulse slows, but it’s still pounding against my ribs. Brooks clears his throat, catching himself and stepping back as he gradually slides his fingers off my arm.
“We’ll need to eat soon. We should, umm, get cleaned up.”
A nod is all I can manage. Brooks echoes it, then turns around and heads up the stairs. I stand in the quiet kitchen for too long before I snap out of it and follow after to wash up for dinner.