Chapter 7
F uck the Mason’s and their disrespectful bunkhouse boys. The men we hire may not be saints, and yeah, some of ‘em have done time, but at least the boys in my bunkhouse have respect.
“Jesus, Garrett, I was getting somewhere with that red piece,” Wade moans as we head back to the ranch. I’m still seething, and what makes it worse is the fact I’m sure I’ve scared the girl. I just unleashed a little of the demon that lurks inside me, and she got a front seat at the show.
I don’t respond to Wade. He’ll get over it.
It’s only a few more days until he’s back on the road, fucking whatever throws itself at him.
What bothers me is that Maisie remains silent.
I feel her eyes everytime they glance at me, and I hate that she’s probably feeling sorry for the cocky, little prick who thought he could put his hands on her.
Coming out tonight was a bad idea, and bringing her with us was an even worse one. I blame Wade for that.
We arrive back at the ranch, and Wade heads over to the bunkhouse, hoping to carry on the party. I go straight inside the house and aim for the liquor cabinet.
The place is quiet and deserted, and after I’ve poured myself a whiskey, I turn around and find Maisie standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
I don’t know what she wants from me, an explanation, an apology? Either way, I ain’t got one for her.
“What are you looking at?” I grasp the crystal in my hand so tight it feels like it could shatter under the pressure.
“I… I’m sorry,” her bottom lip wobbles like she’s gonna cry, and I wanna scrub that vulnerable, sad little look off her face when it replaces all my anger with guilt.
I don’t fucking let her know that, though. The last thing I need right now is to show any weakness.
“What the fuck are you sorry for? He was the one who grabbed your ass.” I swallow my drink and pour myself another straight after.
I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t care if the girl gets felt up in a fucking bar, but I do; and realizing how much I’ve overreacted, for someone who supposedly doesn’t give a shit, makes me furious at myself.
“I should have been clearer. He’d been pushing his luck through the game, and I… I thought it was a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?” I shake my head at her in confusion.
“Yeah, I don’t have a lot of experience in these kinds of things. I don’t…”
“Stop.” I cut her off before she overshares, and suddenly all I can think about is the fact this girl standing in front of me could, quite possibly, be a fucking virgin. I like that idea far too much to get confirmation of it.
“I’m sorry.” She says those words again, and it only escalates my rage.
“Will you stop fucking apologizing!” I snap at her for a second time, and damn, don’t it make me feel like shit when she drops her head and looks at the floor. I’m not good at this crap. Horses and herds are so much simpler to understand.
Where’s the girl who came here last week, saying inappropriate things at the dinner table and being obnoxiously rude?
“I should go to bed,” she sighs, and when she starts walking towards me, I suddenly feel nervous.
She gets close enough to stretch up on to her tip toes and press a kiss against my stubbly jaw.
I have to wonder if this girl’s a liar because the way she lingers for a few seconds more than she should, and the tiny little breath she lets out into my ear, has my cock stiffening and my conscience doubting her lack of fucking experience.
“Goodnight, Garrett. Thanks for taking care of me.” She's smiling when she pulls away, and I watch her all the way up the stairs and across the open landing, until she disappears into the room next to mine.
I like how that sounds… me taking care of her… and despite the shield she’s had up since she arrived and her bratty little attitude, I decide it’s exactly what I wanna do for the rest of the time she’s here.
“Holy shit,” my brother’s voice takes my attention away from her door, and I glare over to where he’s standing in the archway with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Holy shit, what?” I pour him a drink and leave it on the bar, taking mine with me to rest in the high-backed leather chair beside the fire.
“You got it bad for her. I questioned it when you lost your shit with that little asshole at the bar, but that look you got on your face right now…” he shakes his finger at me and laughs. “You’re fucked.”
“You’re talking crazy, Wade.” I shake my head and knock back my whiskey.
“Nah, I know what I’m talking about.” grabbing his glass and the bottle, he brings it over and tops me up before refilling his own. “I’ve known you my whole life, and I ain’t ever seen you look at a girl like that before.”
“Will you keep your damn voice down?” I whisper-yell at him, fearing she might hear.
“What’s the issue? I mean, she ain’t blood or nothin’,” he laughs.
“No she ain’t, but she’s eighteen, and I’m thirty-two,” I point out.
“So what? You follow in the old man’s footsteps. I can think of worse scenarios.” He toasts his glass and raises his shoulders at me.
“It's not what you think. And don’t make out you ain’t falling for it, too. I’ve seen you. You enjoy her company. It feels good to have her here because… because we miss Breanna.” I say her name for the second time this week, and the playful smile immediately slips off Wade's lips.
“I’m fed up with acting like she never existed. I’m tired of trying to stop thinking about her. It hurts too much. This place ain’t the same. Pops ain’t the same. And we ain’t the fucking same.” I open up to my little brother, and he nods his head sorrowfully in agreement.
“She’s just a fix, Wade. It’s dangerous to let ourselves get too distant from how things were before she came.
When summer’s over, she’ll be leaving, and everything will go back to how it was.
” I finish what’s in my glass, then placing it on the table I stand up and squeeze my brother’s shoulder as I pass him on my way to the stairs.
“Do you hate her for what she did?” he calls after me, and when I turn around, I see my carefree, crazy-assed brother’s eyes brimming with tears.
“No more than I hate myself,” I give him his answer ,before heading up the stairs to try and get some sleep.