Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DARBY
Ididn’t want him to leave last night. It felt so good, sitting by the fire, talking with him. And every single time he calls me Duchess, I swear to God I get the tingles.
I’ve never had tingles a day in my life, and all this man has to do is say one little word and I’m a mess.
This is bad.
It’s really bad.
Because I work for him. If he was simply an employee here, maybe something could happen. But he’s the boss, and I’m sure there’s a proverbial line in there somewhere that we’re not allowed to cross.
Damn it.
After I’ve checked on Tom and her little ones and see that they’re all sleeping peacefully, I get to work mucking out stalls and laying fresh bedding.
I’ve got one stall cleaned when Tucker strolls in, looking like sex on a fucking platter in those faded jeans and a black T-shirt that molds over the muscles of his chest. He has a red plaid shirt, unbuttoned, thrown on because it’s chilly in the morning, but I know all about the muscles beneath it.
Those muscles do things to me.
Those goddamn muscles.
For fuck’s sake. Maybe I need to suck it up and go downtown to a bar one night soon and hook up with a stranger. Scratch this itch.
That’s what I’ll do tonight.
“Good morning,” he says and digs right in to work with me, as if we’ve been doing this together for years. “Do you ever sleep, Duchess?”
“Not much,” I admit and pick up the wheelbarrow to take the old hay to the compost, and when I return, he’s already shed his flannel, and his muscles are front and center.
Why does he have to have so many muscles?
“Why don’t you sleep?” he asks.
Because nighttime was always the worst when I was a kid, and I had to be on high alert at all times to make sure the monster didn’t hurt my sisters.
But I can’t tell him that.
I wouldn’t admit that to anyone. Not even my siblings, who lived through that hell with me.
“I’m an insomniac.”
He hums behind me, and then we settle back into that quiet rhythm once more. Tom pokes her head out to say hi and get some back scratches before she returns to her litter.
“Are you ready to ride?” Tucker asks, breaking through the silence.
Shit. My stomach rolls at the thought.
“Are we really doing that today?”
Tucker’s lips tip up into a half smile. “Unless you have other plans.”
“Don’t you have other plans? Fence to fix, or something to butcher, or animals to feed?”
“We’ll feed the animals, my crew is out riding fence, and I don’t butcher much of anything here.”
My shoulders sag.
“What’s wrong, Duchess?”
He steps toward me, almost close enough to touch, but he doesn’t reach for me. This man is really good at respecting my boundaries, which only makes me like him even more. His voice is soft and not at all taunting. He sounds concerned.
“I might be just a little intimidated,” I finally admit, and I refuse to look him in the eyes because damn it, this is a vulnerable thing for me, and I’m not good at being vulnerable.
“Hey, look at me.” I press my lips together and finally look up into his gorgeous green eyes. Why do they have to be my favorite color? “There’s no need to be intimidated. Ellie’s the sweetest, and I’ll be right next to you. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
My feet stay planted where they are at his words.
I’ve got you.
God, I almost believe him.
Finally, I nod, and he leads me to the animal, who’s as sweet as can be.
Tucker shows me how to saddle the horse, and then we lead her out to a nearby empty pasture.
“Here, I’ll help you up.”
“Wait.” I take a step back, and Tucker lifts an eyebrow. “So soon?”
“We’re not here to stand around and admire Ellie, although she’s pretty enough. We’re here for you to ride her.”
“Right.” I lick my lips and push my hands down my jeans. Why are my palms sweaty? “Okay.”
“I have to touch you to help you up. I’ll just grip your waist.”
I nod and step closer. “Okay. That’s fine. How do I do this?”
He shows me how to put my foot in the stirrup and grip onto the saddle horn.
“I’m going to touch your waist now, okay?”
He’s right behind me. I can feel the heat of his body, and I instinctively want to lean back into him. Instead, I bite my lip and nod, and then his big hands are bracketing my waist, and he boosts me up into the saddle.
“Loop your leg over,” he says calmly as my heart goes into overdrive, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die. “And slide your foot in the other stirrup. Good. You look like a natural up there.”
I can’t breathe, I’m so fucking nervous.
“Duchess.”
I shake my head. I can’t look at him. I can’t move. It’s so high up, and I feel like I’m going to fall any second.
“Take a breath for me. Come on, you’ll pass out and fall off. I need you to breathe, Darby. I swear, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He rubs his hand up my thigh, and I immediately pull in a breath. I don’t want to shake his touch off at all. In fact, when he pulls away, I miss it.
His voice, his very presence is calming.
It’s like he soothes my overactive nervous system.
“Are you afraid of heights?” he asks. It would be great if he could just talk to me all the time. Not just now, but . . . always.
“Isn’t everyone?” My voice is tight, just like my grip on the saddle horn. But then his hand covers mine, and the muscles in my shoulders and hands relax beneath his firm touch.
“You’re not that far up. I promise, you won’t get hurt up there. We don’t have to move from this spot until you’re comfortable in the saddle.”
“We might be here until Christmas,” I whisper, and I can see him smile out of the corner of my eye. Tucker Hendrix has a great smile. “What do you plant in the flower boxes on the house?”
“Is this your way of distracting yourself?”
“Yep.” I chance looking down at him and then squeak and look up again. “Just talk to me, Hotshot.”
“I haven’t planted anything in them. When I was little, my mom put things in there, and when Ava was in high school she planted black-eyed Susans because she liked the name.”
“Black-eyed Susans are considered a noxious weed,” I inform him, shifting in the saddle. Okay, this isn’t so bad. “They’ll take over everything. But they’re pretty. You should plant something in there this summer. Do you have a vegetable garden?”
“No, I don’t.”
Now I do look down at him and find him watching me with the calmest green eyes. So patient. So freaking good.
“You have the space,” I inform him. There’s so much space out here. It’s a shame he doesn’t have gardens.
“I’m going to lead Ellie in a slow walk. Are you okay with that?”
I nod and then do my best not to yelp when Ellie starts to walk.
Jesus, who’s idea was this?
“So, you think I should plant a garden?”
“Sure. You could do raised beds, but you’d have to do an enclosure of some kind to keep the deer out. Or, you could have a greenhouse. Both, really.”
“What kind of vegetables would you plant?” he asks, as if we’re sitting on the porch, having a normal conversation. As if I’m not forty feet in the air, riding around on a beast that could take off running at any second and throw me to the hard ground, breaking my leg in the process.
“Oh, the usual things. Tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers. Potatoes for sure. Maybe some lettuce and squash. You could do onions and jalapenos, and then you could make your own salsa.”
“Do you make your own salsa?” he asks me and steers Ellie to the left.
“Shit, I’m going to fall off.”
“No, you won’t. Whoa, girl.” Ellie comes to a stop, and then Tucker takes my hand in his and presses it to the horse’s neck. “Just pet her. Enjoy her. Ellie loves being out here with someone on her back. She loves the attention.”
I brush my hand back and forth and soak in the warmth of the horse and feel myself relax a little. I love horses. “She’s a good girl.”
“Yes, she is. You’ll get used to this. Now, you take the reins.”
“I should not be in charge of any of this, Tucker.”
He chuckles and presses the leather into my hands. “Yes, you should. I’ll tell you what to do, and this horse will mind her manners.”
I want his hands on me again.
And that never happens.
He talks me through riding this gorgeous animal on my own, and when we make our way back to the barn, he helps me slide off her, and I turn in his arms and high-five him.
Tucker looks surprised as he slaps his hand against mine, and then he laughs.
“Did you actually enjoy that?” he asks.
“Holy shit, it was great. I mean, my ass is gonna be sore”—his eyes darken—“and I’ll never win at a rodeo, but yeah. That was fun.”
“We’ll get you back on her tomorrow.”
I blink up at him. Does that mean he’ll touch me again? “Tomorrow?”
“Yep. And every day until you’re a natural. Now, let’s go find that other herd so we can make sure everyone’s healthy.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
I need to get laid. That’s my whole issue. It’s been a long time, and I have an itch to scratch, and that’s why I can’t be within twenty yards of Tucker Hendrix without wanting to climb him like a damn tree.
The vibrating, silicone kind of partner isn’t helping. Trust me. I tried.
I’m not a relationship person, never have been.
I prefer to meet someone the old-fashioned way—a.k.a.
in a bar—and enjoy one night with them, then go about my life until it’s time to scratch the itch again.
This means less drama, fewer complications, and everyone is happy in the end.
No, I don’t love to be touched, and strangers aren’t my vibe, but a girl still has needs.
I can suck it up and grit my teeth to fulfill those needs.
I’m just picky in who I choose, and I want someone who wants to get off pretty fast, no snuggling—yikes—and then go our own way.
So, after taking a shower, blowing my hair dry, and putting on a little makeup, I dress in clean jeans with a simple black sweater and head into town. I’ve heard Ava talk about Lucky’s Bar in downtown Silver Springs, and since it’s a Friday night, I’ll give it a shot.