12. Presley
Chapter 12
Presley
Why are people awake this early? That’s what I want to know. The sun hasn’t risen yet, and the roosters aren’t even awake.
I turn my head to look at the digital clock on the small nightstand next to the twin bed. I have about ten more minutes till I need to be at the barn to meet Kade for chores at five-thirty am sharp like he so nicely “requested.”
Last night, as I was falling asleep and questioning my life choices, I almost decided to just get in my car and leave. After the adrenaline and bravery wore off, I had to ask myself why I needed to show Kade I could do this work. It’s not like I have anything to prove to him. But there’s just something about this cowboy that makes me want to show him that he’s wrong about me. Had he been Derek, I would’ve just admitted defeat before I even tried.
I chalked up my desire to stay to the fact that I have nowhere else to go. Maybe Nashville, but I’d run out of my money even faster there, not to mention the much stronger possibility that I’d run into Derek or someone I know—which I’m not ready for. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for that.
I tie my hair into a ponytail and look down at my attire, jeans and a men’s T-shirt with an MTV Spring Break logo from the ‘90s on it that I bought from a thrift store.
I let out a breath, and my lips flap comically. I need to put on some clothes that make me feel more like me eventually. I’ll probably have to go for a night out to another town to wear them so I don’t stick out even more.
Once I’ve pulled on the pair of old cowboy boots Blake gave me, I’m ready to go.
I turn off the light to the modest room with green walls and two twin beds then close the door. Nobody’s staying in this place but me, but I feel weird leaving it open, especially with my violin in there. Not that I think anyone would steal it, but I’m still not ready to let people know I play.
Once the door clicks shut, I walk into the small living area that has the TV and kitchen. I wonder if there is any food stocked in the pantry. I doubt it, since the gas isn’t even turned on for the stove, but I may as well look. There’s no way I’m going up to the house like Blake said to get breakfast. Normally, I wouldn’t want to eat this early, but I forgot to eat dinner last night because of all my overthinking. By then, it was too late to try to figure something out, so now, my stomach is growling.
I take a few steps toward the kitchen when a soft snore stops me in my tracks. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I turn my gaze to the couch. My eyes are just adjusting to the dark, but a large lump is definitely there, one the size of a man. Blake didn’t mention anyone else sleeping in here, and she doesn’t strike me as the type not to tell me.
I stand as still as I can, trying to determine what to do next. I could scream, but the main house is a good distance away, and I don’t think anyone would hear. I look around the space, but I doubt they have a baseball bat.
Just as I spot a fire poker near the old fireplace, a sleep-filled voice fills my ears and makes me jump. “You didn’t strike me as someone with somnophilia, Lemon.”
Somno-what? What the heck? “Kade?” I question, my normally low voice high-pitched with lingering fear.
He groans and sits up. “The one and only, City Girl. ”
I see we’re starting early with the nicknames. How is his brain even functioning enough to be snarky? “What are you doing here?”
He moves and puts his booted feet on the ground. How did he fall asleep with those clunky things on? Then he reaches over and flips on a table lamp, making both of us squint at the light. Once my eyes have adjusted, I see he still has his clothes on from yesterday, a pair of dirty Wranglers and a white T-shirt that’s smeared with dirt.
“Well?” I ask him again. “Don’t you have a house to sleep in?”
He looks up at me through sleepy eyes and long lashes, eyelashes that any woman would kill for. How have I not noticed them before? Oh yeah, because he’s generally been an asshole to me despite how handsome he is. In this light, he resembles Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall . My mom used to love that movie.
Kade narrows his eyes at me, and I’m reminded that ogling him isn’t what I should be doing right now. Or ever.
“I’ll be staying here from now on,” he says.
My mouth drops open. “What? Why?”
He stands. At his full height, he’s got several inches on me, but I try not to cower. I don’t feel unsafe around him, just small, which is a rarity for me growing up in a larger body. I can’t help but notice he smells like alcohol.
“Lemon, I don’t think I have to tell you what I do on my own property.”
“But Blake said I’d have the place to myself.”
“She was wrong. I’m staying here.”
“On the couch?”
He smirks at me. “What, you want me to stay in your bed? We could see if it squeaks.”
I scoff. “You’re gross.”
He chuckles. “I’ve been called many things, but that’s not one of them. ”
“Seriously, Kade,” I huff. It’s too early to be having this conversation, and I just want a straight answer from him. Which is apparently hard to get.
He crosses his arms over his chest, and I attempt to keep my eyes off the way I know his veins are bulging on his forearms. I’ve watched them while he makes drinks at the bar, and I know their power—and I refuse to fall prey to them.
“As much as I know you’re wishing I was sleeping in your bed, Lemon, there aren’t any mattresses in those other rooms. I’ll get one today.”
“My name is Presley.”
Kade’s eyes smile. “So you’ve told me.”
“Then why don’t you use it?”
He shrugs and turns to walk away.
“Hey, I asked you a question.” Without thinking, I reach out and grab his elbow to stop him. A zap of static electricity hits me, and I yelp, pulling back. I look down at my hand then up to a chuckling Kade.
“Well, look at that, Lemon. I think we just had one of those romantic moments in movies.”
I want to ask him what romcoms he’s watching, but that’s not important right now. “It’s called science, you idiot.”
His lips press into a hard line at the barb, but then he collects himself. “If you say so. Or maybe we’re just electric.”
“More like a dumpster fire.”
He lets out a laugh that hurts my ears. Again, it’s too early for this.
“You’re funny when you talk, Lemon.”
I release a quiet sigh, resigning myself to the fact that Kade is never going to stop calling me nicknames. Given how I’ve felt about nicknames in the past, I could make a real fuss about it and put him in his place, but something holds me back. A part of me feels like I’d miss the banter it sparks between us.
When he calls me Lemon, even though it stems from my embarrassment over the back room, I like that it’s personal, that it was created just for me. It’s not a generic “sweetheart” or a lazy variation of my name. If he tried to call me Pres or P, I might knee him in the balls. Or at least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself.
“We’re late,” I say to change the subject, pointing to the digital clock that now reads five-forty.
The smile doesn’t leave his face as he says, “Gavin and I start earlier than everyone. The hands get here at six-thirty am for chores.”
“You told me five-thirty.”
“I wanted to see if you got up.”
“I got up before you.”
“I woke up just when I meant to—didn’t know you’d be staring at me when I did. Did you like what you saw?” He traps his lower lip between his teeth and gestures to his body.
I roll my eyes. Does this man ever not make things sexual? I suppose it fits with what I saw in the back room this weekend and all the chatter I’ve heard about him being a playboy. I guess he’s consistent—I can handle consistent. It’s the chameleons that throw me off my game, like a certain ex I have.
“Can we just get to work, please?” I ask.
He eyes me up and down like he did yesterday with Blake. When he catches my cowboy boots, he grunts. “You may have the right shoes now. But let’s see if you last the day.” Those flirty hazel eyes connect with mine, and he winks.
The urge to stick my tongue out at him like a child is strong, but I manage to remind myself to be an adult, even if he’s not acting like one. I want to tell him that he underestimates me, that just because I’m from the city doesn’t mean I can’t work hard. The work I do looks different from his, but playing the fiddle day in and day out, being onstage, and constantly traveling to catch gigs isn’t easy.
“I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so, Lemon.”
“I do.”
He chuckles. “Alright, then. I look forward to seeing you eat those words. But first, I need some fucking coffee.”
Kade walks toward the door, ass flexing in his too-tight Wranglers that make me once again wonder how he fell asleep in them. I’d feel like an anaconda was suffocating my thighs.
When he notices I’m not following, he stops and turns. Before I can move my gaze, he catches me. I blush and try to act like I wasn’t just staring at his ass, but he couldn’t miss it. “I know it’s fun to watch me walk away, but we’ve got coffee to drink and work to do.”
Then he’s strutting outside, once again whistling “Hurricane” by Luke Combs.
My stomach grumbles, and I stare at the kitchen. It looks like it hasn’t been used in years, so I doubt any food is there. I guess coffee will have to do for now. I just hope I can stomach Kade on no food and bitter liquid.
Turns out, I can’t handle Kade on an empty stomach. After he took me to a mud room in the main barn where a pot of coffee sat brewing on a timer, he got me started on our chores. He’s having me work beside him, though I think he just wanted to annoy me while I muck crap.
“You missed a spot.”
We’re in another one of the horse stalls. I don’t know how many we’ve mucked because I lost count. At first, I didn’t mind it—it was kind of meditative. But one thing kept ruining my groove: Kade.
For a man that I’m assuming is hungover considering how I found him, he sure isn’t functioning like I would be. His mood has also changed greatly from when I saw him yesterday. He seems lighter, happier. Which again, weird, especially for a dude who probably got a few hours of sleep on a couch after drinking.
Maybe he got laid, or maybe it’s because he’s young. Before I turned twenty-five, I could sleep in awkward positions without needing a chiropractor afterward, though I’ve never been great at tolerating alcohol. I may be a bigger girl, but a couple of drinks, and I’m three sheets to the wind.
“Did you hear me, Lemon?” he chirps.
I look to where he’s pointing, a spot I just cleaned, and put my hand on my hip. “There’s nothing there, Kade.”
He chuckles. “Just keeping you on your toes.”
I sigh, wiping sweat off my forehead. It’s hot for the morning, which means it’s only going to get sweltering as the day goes on. Freaking heatwave.
I fight the urge to close my eyes as a wave of dizziness hits me. My blood sugar is low, that much I know. But I’m not going to give Kade the satisfaction of making the “city girl” ask for her break on the first day. If I sneak another cup of coffee, I could at least dull the hunger pains. Too bad humans can’t eat hay, because there’s plenty of that around.
I ignore the stabbing pains in my stomach and pick up more horse poop. This stall is a mess—there’s crap everywhere, and it’s all mixed in with the shavings. Until today, I had no idea people used shavings for horses. I thought they were just for gerbils and hamsters.
I scoop up more poop and go to dump it in the muck bucket when Kade’s hand on my wrist stops me. I shift my gaze from where we’re touching to his eyes.
“There are good shavings in there,” he says. “You need to sift it.”
He pulls his hand back and picks up some of the muck with his pitchfork.
“This horse is what we call a tornadoer .” He shakes the fork so the shavings start to fall to the ground. Eventually, all he has left is poop before he throws it into the bucket. “If you don’t sift, then it costs us more money. Which is never a good thing on a ranch.”
I salute him. “Save the shavings, got it.”
He cracks a half smile as a bead of sweat trickles from beneath the band of the backwards cap he’s wearing. Lyla said there was nothing hotter than a cowboy working in a white tank and a ball cap, and now I understand what she meant. While Kade isn’t wearing a tank top, the white T-shirt he’s got on does the job. I’ve had to stop myself several times from drooling. I’m going to blame my hunger for making me look twice. But with the way his shoulders bunch beneath his shirt as he works, I can’t help imagining what his broad, sweaty muscles look like sans clothing.
I swallow and get back to mucking, my mouth as dry as a desert. Yep, I’m definitely blaming this weak moment on no food and a lack of water. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be thinking of Kade in this way. I wouldn’t be thinking of him in a nice way at all. The man is annoying. We don’t get along. And he’s a walking red flag. I can’t let my hormones and delirium change my opinion of him. Right?!
Kade clears his throat.
“What now?” My question comes out exasperated, and not just because of my prior thoughts. If he tells me I’m still doing it wrong, I may scream.
He starts to point to a spot on the ground, and I snap. “I didn’t miss a spot! I’m still working.”
He stifles a laugh. “Your weird hippie nicotine vape fell out of your pocket.”
Heat licks up my neck. I forgot I even put it there this morning. I haven’t been using it as much in the last few days, relying more on my random word reciting to get me through my anxiety. “It’s not nicotine.”
“Whatever you say, Lemon.”
I sigh, bending over to pick up the pen. “It’s not. I told you; its peppermint, valerian root, and chamomile. ”
He cocks his hip and props himself against his pitchfork. “Can I try it?”
I scrunch my nose at him. “You think I’m lying?”
He expels a breathy chuckle. “Just wondering what you like about it.”
I stare at the pen then look back up at him. For a second, I debate if I should let him. This interaction leans toward normal conversation between two people who are getting to know each other. Usually, every other word out of his mouth is him telling me how I’m doing something wrong.
“I swear I don’t have cooties,” he chirps.
I shake my head but decide to let him try it; this conversation is better than him annoying me. I hold the inhaler out, and he smirks as he takes it. His work-calloused fingers brush mine as he does. While there’s no zap of electricity this time, my stomach flips despite my desire to be irritated at him.
Kade pulls back with the inhaler in his hand and an even wider grin like he knows I felt something when we touched. I try to remain neutral, but my eyes track his movement as he brings it to his lips, mouth wrapping around the small cylinder before he sucks. My breath hitches in my throat as his cheeks hollow, and my grip on my pitchfork tightens. I think my body now lacks any moisture at all.
When he removes the pen, my heated gaze meets his amused one, and I feel like a kid being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. I’ve never been good at being subtle. He holds the vapor in, and while I expected he would cough, he doesn’t. When he exhales, peppermint mixes with the scent of hay and horses, making my nose tingle.
“That,” he says, handing the pen back to me, “is the weirdest shit I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
I huff a tense laugh, wanting to shake the feelings coursing through my body. “Something tells me you’ve had weirder.”
He quirks one dark-blond eyebrow at me. “What do you think I’ve had in my mouth, Lemon? ”
“I don’t know. Rocky Mountain oysters?”
Kade barks a laugh that vibrates down to my toes. “See, I knew you were funny. I told Jake you were just hiding your personality from us.”
His comment makes me anxious, and that flip in my stomach turns to rocks tumbling around. I suppose it’s not hard for the people around me to notice that I haven’t exactly been forthcoming about myself. I’ve done that intentionally. But even with that, I’m not the type of person who shares or relaxes until I feel comfortable. And nothing about my spontaneous move to Randall is comfortable. Nothing about my life right now is.
I bring the pen to my lips and inhale to tamp down some of the anxiety. Kade goes silent as he watches me take a drag of my “hippie pen.” Gooseflesh breaks out over my arms as I observe the way he licks his lips, his gaze trained on my mouth as I inhale. Maybe it’s his comment that makes me do it, but I hollow my cheeks a little more than necessary. When I exhale the minty cloud, I put the pen back into my pocket and face Kade.
“Does it work?” he asks, making me blink. I would’ve thought something sexual would come out of his mouth after my blatant tease.
“What do you mean?”
“Did it actually help you quit smoking?”
More surprise fills me, and I don’t answer right away. Instead, I try to figure him out. Everything about the question—the way he said it, the curiosity in his hazel eyes—tells me he genuinely wants to know the answer. Which I find curious.
“It helped, but it was a process,” I say truthfully. “I did the patches and even tried hypnotherapy, but I still needed something to do with my hands, and the inhaler helped. Probably still bad for my lungs, but I don’t use it that much anymore unless I get too—I mean, at least it’s not nicotine, right?”
“Unless you get too what?” he digs .
I should’ve known he’d never let me get away with that. “It helps me with my anxiety attacks.” I tell the truth because—well, honestly, I don’t know why. But he seems to really want to know. And maybe I told him because this is the first serious question he’s asked me all morning.
Kade stares at me thoughtfully, his usual grin a pensive line and shoulders relaxed. It’s a far cry from flirty Kade, and the intensity of him has me wanting to know what he’s thinking.
“Kade?” I ask after another moment of him staring. He blinks, and I watch his body go from relaxed to tense. Was I too honest?
But before I can think much on it, he cracks one of his dimpled smiles and points behind me. “You missed a spot, Lemon.”
Right. I guess serious Kade is gone now. With an internal sigh, I turn to the spot and see there’s nothing there. Fucking Kade.
His laughter sounds behind me, and I don’t satisfy him by looking back. Instead, I try to ignore my hungry stomach and the sweat now trickling down my back then get to sifting.