12. Sawyer
CHAPTER 12
Sawyer
HOTTER THAN A TWO-DOLLAR PISTOL
Well, fuck.
Ava in a Stetson?—
Just.
Fuck.
I stand there, metaphorical dick in my hand, and stare at her like a deranged asshole. I’m vaguely aware of the sights and sounds around us—Ella’s hair flying when Wyatt picks her up and tosses her into the air, the hiss of a nail gun—but really, I only see her.
The girl I took home that night in Austin.
The one who took a piece of me with her when she left, refusing coffee, water, a last kiss.
How is it possible that Ava’s even prettier than I remember?
How could she have a kid and not tell me about it? Because she definitely has a kid. The little one tugging on her hand is a carbon copy of Ava, from the green eyes to the long blonde hair that hangs in a pair of braids down her back.
How did I not know? Or at least guess that she was a mom? My God, all these things we have in common—the things we could’ve talked about, commiserated over?—
Is that why she ran? Because she had to get back to her baby?
“So what’s the story?” my idiot brother asks, setting Ella down. “You two run into each other in the produce aisle or something’?”
Ava lets out a threadbare laugh. “Um, no, actually. We met in Austin.”
“Austin?” Wyatt cocks a brow at me. “Bet that was fun. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to, ahem, witness it.”
My face is on fire. “I spilled a beer on her at a honky-tonk because I’m smooth like that.”
Ava laughs, but this time it’s for real. The rich sound sends a shot of warmth through my skin.
“Be honest,” she says with a smile, “I was the one who body-slammed you, which is why the beer got spilled in the first place.”
Wyatt’s eyes glimmer. “Body-slammed, huh?”
“Dude,” I say, trying very hard to ignore the way that warmth in my center has spread to every inch of my skin.
“It was an accident,” Ava continues, unfazed. “But we got it taken care of.”
“A happy accident, I hope?” Sally says.
Ava’s eyes search mine. “I’d say so, yeah.”
That mean she thinks about me too?
She feel the way the air is crackling too?
She’s being cute, confidently clever. But I notice Ava’s cheeks are pink. Same color they were when I had her bent over the couch in that ridiculous penthouse suite.
She’d look so hot riding my dick while wearing that hat.
Clearing my throat, I run my thumb and first finger over my mustache. It’s overgrown. But with Lizzie on the road—she is Ella’s mother—I’ve been on dad duty twenty-four/seven. I’ve barely had time to shower, much less shave.
“Small world,” I reply lamely. “Sally talks a lot about you. But I never would’ve guessed it was, well. You .”
Her eyes get this look in them. They’re soft, full. “Pretty wild, right?”
You got no idea how wild you make me. I wanna pull you aside right now, ask you out before one of these other dickheads makes a move. Because they will. Ava looks fucking good , all long legs and proud shoulders and perfect ass.
But I don’t go out. Like, ever. Where would I take her? Who would watch Ella? Wyatt took her while we were in Austin. He said he had fun, but I also know he barely slept thanks to Ella sneaking into his bed at all hours of the night. I call her the world’s cutest sleep terrorist for a reason.
“Totally wild, yeah.” I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I tug one through my hair again. “How’ve you been?”
Ava tilts her head to the side, making her hair fall over her shoulder. “We’re doing all right. You?”
“We’re doin’ just fine.” I nod at Ava and her little girl. “Y’all must be new to town.”
“Yep. Junie and I moved to Hartsville back in early November, and so far we’re really enjoying it. Right, June?”
My heart seizes. Ava lives in Hartsville now? How have we not run into each other yet?
Sounds like she’s here to stay. I know the Wallaces have been keen for years now to build out their training programs, and old man Wallace is a smart guy. He wouldn’t let someone as good as Ava slip through his fingers.
Because she is good at what she does. I’ve never seen her in action on a horse, granted. But judging by the ride she gave me?
Girl is top of her class.
Also, I love her daughter’s name. Makes me think of the Johnny Cash song that was playing when I spilled beer all over Ava.
The little girl looks up at her mom and smiles. “But please, Mommy, can I play with her?”
“I see some future besties,” Sally says with a smile.
Ava glances at me, then Ella. “Is she?—”
“My daughter. Yes. Ella, can you say hi to Miss Ava and June?”
But Ella, being the shy little bird she is around new people, curls into Wyatt’s chest.
“Ella.”
I can tell by the way Ava’s expression flickers that she’s putting two and two together. She had to have seen the tattoo I have on my arm, but she didn’t ask about it.
“Hey, cutie. I’m Ava, and this is Junie.”
“Hi, Junie.” I give her a little wave.
She smiles and waves back.
Goodness, she’s cute.
“She’s three years old,” Ava continues. “How old are you, Ella?”
Ella blinks, pouting her lips.
“You know how old you are. Hold up those fingers,” I say, wagging my brows. “Maybe I’ll bite ’em.”
Her pout morphs into a grin. “You won’t bite me, Daddy.”
“Wanna bet?” I take a step forward.
Ella screams, laughing. “Uncle Wy, tell him no! Don’t let him bite me.”
“I won’t.” Wyatt shifts her onto his hip. “But you gotta tell us how old you are.”
Ella holds up her fingers. “I’m free.”
“That’s perfect!” Ava pulls her hands out of her pockets. “So is June Bug. Y’all are the same age, so I bet you both like?—”
“Cake!” Junie shouts. “I like cake!”
The whole barn laughs at that.
“I like cake too,” Ella says, wriggling in Wyatt’s grasp until he sets her down. She immediately makes a beeline for me, wrapping her arms around my legs.
“June is new here.” I put a hand on Ella’s back. “Think you could show her around?”
Ella shakes her head, tightening her grip on my legs.
Dear Lord, give me strength. How many hours until bedtime?
Speaking of bedtime: Ella’s recent bout of separation anxiety has been keeping me up way past mine. She does not want to be put to bed, and she definitely doesn’t want to sleep in her room alone. She’s been visiting me more often than not in my bed at all hours of the night.
Apparently it’s very common, but I can’t help but feel responsible. Guilty, even, because I’m raising her in a broken home. A nontraditional one, at least. Lizzie and I have a decent enough relationship as co-parents—as the lead singer of a country band, she’s been on the road pretty much nonstop since Ella was born—but ultimately, we’re not together.
Ella’s never lived in a home with a dad and a mom, and I hate that. My parents weren’t perfect. They did, however, have an incredibly strong bond until the day they died. My childhood was magical, and I worry all the time I’m not giving my daughter the life she deserves.
“How about this, Ella?” Ava drops into a crouch, resting her elbows on her knees. “Since you like cake, and June likes cake, maybe we can all get cake together?”
“Yes!” June teeters on her tiptoes. “But not the chicken, Mommy, okay? Just the cake.”
I cross my arms. “You’re missing out. That chicken is good .”
“No chicken,” Ella says softly.
Ava purses her lips, like she’s giving the proposal serious thought. Since when is she so fucking adorable?
Looking up, I see one of the Wallaces’ ranch hands checking her out. I give him a death stare, mentally hurling knives at him until he takes the hint and gets back to work.
“Okay, fine,” Ava says. “No chicken.”
“Yay!” Junie shouts, making me chuckle.
I can already tell this kid’s got a lot of personality.
I smooth Ella’s hair out of her face. By now I’ve become a pro at ponytails. But like me, she’s got so much hair that it ends up all over the place. Maybe braids might be better? I need to work on my braiding skills.
I wonder if Ava would teach me.
“You hear that?” I ask. “Miss Ava says you don’t need to eat chicken first. Would you like to go and get cake, then?”
Ella nods. “Yes, please.”
“Listen to those manners!” Ava pops up to standing, her eyes catching on mine. “Good job, Dad.”
I blink away the slight but sudden pressure behind my eyes. It’s a simple compliment. A small one. But when you’re a parent, people always seem willing to point out what you’re doing wrong. The compliments are few and far between. I appreciate Ava noticing this tiny but significant thing, my daughter being polite.
I appreciate being noticed, period. A counselor once told me that I was very much a typical middle child—I didn’t want to draw attention, but at the same time I always wondered why nobody paid more attention to me.
Here’s Ava, paying attention. Because I wasn’t obsessed enough with her already.
That’s another thing that keeps me up at night—memories from Austin. Our chemistry was pure fucking fire.
Still is, if my body’s reaction right now is any indication.
I keep waiting for that fire to go out. I haven’t had a ton of one-night stands, so my experience is limited. But none of them have stayed with me the way my encounter with Ava has. I’ll regularly sweat through my sheets thinking about the thoughtful, intentional way she put her hands on me.
The way she made me feel like I was a whole man. Not a dad. Not a chef, or a chauffeur, or a middle-of-the-night nurse. Just a man, free to do what he wants. Be who he wants.
God, I miss that.
Wonder if she misses it too.
I also wonder what her story is. Where’s Junie’s daddy? Was he ever in the picture, or are he and Ava divorced? Separated? Doesn’t sound like he moved to Hartsville with them. I feel like Sally would’ve mentioned him, as she’s mentioned little June in passing.
Or—dear God—are they still married? Ava isn’t wearing a ring, just like she didn’t in Austin. But that doesn’t mean she’s not married.
Have a hard time believing she’d cheat, though. She was so herself when we were together. So uninhibited. Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like she really fucking enjoyed not having to hide anything.
I enjoyed it too. A lot.
“C’mon, Dad.” Ella gives my hand a tug. “Let’s get cake.”
Junie’s already making a mad dash for the door.
“She’s a pistol, huh?” I say.
Ava sighs, sliding her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “That’s one way of putting it.”
I feel that sigh in my bones. Before Ella was born, I remember complaining all the time about how tired I was after a day spent cowboying on Garrett Luck’s ranch. Now I wish I could go back and smack myself, because my level of tiredness then doesn’t hold a candle to the utter exhaustion I feel these days.
Ella and I follow Ava outside to the picnic tables. I feel several pairs of eyes on us as we head for the cake. Or maybe that’s just me imagining—hoping—people notice what a cute couple Ava and I would make.
Stupid.
Is it stupid, though, to think we might hit it off in real life the way we did that night in Austin? We live in the same town. Have daughters the same age. We both work on ranches.
I grab Ella’s hand just before she shoves it into Mrs. Wallace’s famous Texas sheet cake. “Whoa whoa whoa. Let me cut y’all some slices, okay? Let’s just get some plates?—”
“Here you go.” Ava holds out a pair of paper plates. I notice she’s also got plastic forks and some napkins ready.
Can’t help it. I grin. “Tell me you’re a parent without telling me you’re a parent.”
She grins too. “So that’s why you were so distraught about not having your Tide pen on you. When I’m with her”—Ava nods at Junie, who’s helping Ella up onto the wooden picnic bench beside her—“I always throw one in my bag.”
“It makes laundry so much easier when you pretreat those stains, you know?”
“Wow,” she says.
I look up to see Ava staring at me. Maybe I gotta get out more with her . She feeling this energy between us too?
“What?” I ask.
She slowly shakes her head, a funny look on her face. “Just—that might be the sexiest thing to ever come out of a man’s mouth.”
I let out a bark of laughter. “What kinda men you been hangin’ out with?”
“The wrong kind, clearly.”
“We’ll set you right now that you’re in Hartsville.
Cutting two slices of cake, I grab the plates from Ava. Our fingers brush, sending a full-body shock wave of heat crashing through me. I look down, focusing on the plates which I set in front of our girls.
I gotta get out more.
“Hey, Elly Belly Boo, sit on your bottom, please,” I say.
My daughter is doing her happy dance while sitting up on her knees. She already has chocolate frosting smeared on her face from the single bite she’s taken. “Okay, Daddy.”
“Lemme go grab some wipes,” I say, meeting eyes with Ava. “I actually have some this time.”
She smiles, the kind that touches her eyes, and my heart hiccups.
“Of course you do. Thanks.”
I know I’m not imagining Ava’s eyes on me as I bend down to grab a pack of Huggies wipes from my diaper bag underneath a nearby table, because when I stand up I catch her looking at me. She’s got that funny expression on her face again, brow scrunched but eyes bright with curiosity. It’s almost like she doesn’t understand what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it.
It’s almost like she’s … pleasantly surprised?
I’ll take that any day of the week, and twice on Sunday. ’Cause I’m shocked as shit that we ran into each other again too, but I sure as hell ain’t mad about it.
Nice knowing Ava isn’t, either.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. It was a one-night stand, and she made a quick exit. Clearly didn’t want to stick around for seconds.
Why flirt with me now, though?
Why look at me like that now?
God, I wanna ask her on a date. If only so I can finally get her to share her story.
Her last name, at the very least.
I hold out the wipes, and Ava takes a few. The girls are done with their cake, and together we wipe their faces. I have no idea what to do next. Do we go back into the barn? Let the kids play out in a nearby field?
All I know is, I don’t want Ava to leave.
I don’t want our conversation to end.