Chapter 2
CHASE
As we walk in tense silence down the driveway, I rack my brain to figure out how things went so sideways so fast. I don’t know who Molly expected to show up at the house this morning, but it sure as hell wasn’t me.
Linda told me her daughter-in-law knew I’d been recruited to take care of the kids and property, which clearly isn’t the case.
And while we were both misled, I’ve got to find a way to convince a woman who hates my guts to let me help her in a role with which I have no experience, business, or desire to do.
But I want this property. I need it if I’m going to rebuild my life in Skylark, Colorado.
The price my former best friend’s mother agreed on for the sale is more than fair. It will allow me to buy the land. It’s the last piece of the puzzle I need and will even leave me with enough money to actually purchase the cattle to start my business.
A lot of retired bull riders get hired on at big cattle operations, but I never liked working for other people. I want something to call my own. One of the old-timers on the circuit used to say there’s nothing at the end of the road if you don’t own your own land. I took that to heart.
The kids skip ahead, smart enough to want to put distance between themselves and the anger radiating off their mother. This fiercely independent side is one I didn’t expect from a woman who initially struck me as the type to apologize for taking up space.
Silence doesn’t bother me, but it’s hard to tell whether she’s planning to stay quiet until after Luke and Laurel are on their way or because the exertion is catching up with her.
She seems to be slowing with every step.
I’ve done a couple of stints on crutches over the years. It sucks. No judgment here.
“Mommy, I hear the bus,” Laurel shouts over her shoulder. “We need to hurry, or we’re gonna miss it.”
“I’m coming,” Molly answers, sounding winded. And despite the cool morning breeze, I can see a sheen of sweat across her brow. “You guys go ahead. I’ll be there.”
“Mommy, faster.” Luke turns back with an anxious look that says he needs his whole family moving together to feel safe.
Molly lets out a little whimper of protest, and the sound hits me straight in the damn feels. I’ve never been one to play the white knight, but this woman has been through more than her share of shit. I don’t know where the irresistible urge to take care of her comes from but can’t deny it.
“Race you to the end of the driveway,” I tell the kids as I take off at a sprint.
After a moment’s hesitation, they start running along with me.
I expect Laurel to keep up, but I’m pretty damn shocked when Luke outpaces us both.
Granted, I’m running in cowboy boots and not exactly in my cardio era.
My leg, which was broken in three places thanks to Black Tornado crushing it, still protests, but I ignore it.
“Well done, Speed Racer,” I tell the boy as the bus pulls to a stop in front of the mailbox.
He shoots me a glare that’s about as friendly as how his mom looks at me. “You won’t be here when we get home from school, right?”
I let my shoulders lift and lower, trying to catch my breath. “I guess we’ll have to see.”
“Can you fix the sink before you go?” Laurel asks quietly, glancing around me. Her feathery brows draw together with the worry of a kid who’s seen her mother struggle with too many broken things and not enough help.
“Yeah,” I promise. I don’t know that Molly will let me stick around long enough for that, but I’m going to give it my best shot.
I lift a hand in greeting to the bus driver, who, judging by his age, could have been assigned to this route back when kids still rode to school in horse-drawn carriages.
Both kids wave from their seats as the bus pulls away, but they’re not looking at me. I wait until it’s almost out of sight before I turn, expecting to see Molly right there.
Only she’s on her way back to the house, struggling more obviously now, the crutches catching every few steps on the uneven ground.
I jog past her and then pivot to block her way. “We need to talk.”
She licks her lips, and the sight of that pink tongue—well, it does things to my insides. Things I have no business thinking about given who I am, and more importantly, who she is.
“I need to get back to the house,” she says, adjusting the crutch under her right arm. It looks like she’s working hard not to wince.
“Give me those,” I say, holding out a hand.
“I don’t want your help.”
“I get it. You don’t want anything from me. But I can’t just watch you struggle and sweat when it doesn’t need to be that way.”
She lifts one of the crutches and points it in my direction. “Do you have a problem with sweaty women?”
I blink. How the fuck am I supposed to answer that question? Honestly, I guess, because before I can stop my mouth from saying it, my brain spits out, “I’ve had some of the best times of my life with sweaty women.”
And that level of truthfulness knocks Molly McAllister on her ass—literally.
It could also be the fact that she drops the first crutch, bobbles the second, and before I can grab her, she lands with a yelp on the gravel. A cloud of dust swirls around her, and she starts blinking hard, like she’s trying not to cry.
We’ve established that I’m not a prince among men, but I do my level best not to make women cry. I grab both crutches, then hold out a hand. She shies away from it the way my horse would if there was a rattlesnake on the path in front of us.
“Come on, Molly. I understand you have zero reasons to like me.”
“More like I’ve got several reasons not to,” she clarifies, still staring at my outstretched hand.
“Not debating that, but give me a tiny break here. I hate to think that Teddy’s watching from the great beyond and seeing me let his wife—the mother of his children—wallow in the dirt. He’d want me to help you.”
“As if I have time for wallowing,” she mutters.
It’s soft, but there’s an edge to it. “Despite your opinion of me back in the day, Teddy would know I can take care of myself. He certainly left me alone often enough to get good at it. So I’d appreciate it if you lay those crutches on the ground and head back to your truck. ”
“I’m not leaving.” I shake my head. “I’ve got nowhere else to be.”
Her eyebrows furrow over those deep green eyes. She considers that statement, which reveals far more than I intended, but eventually places her hand in mine.
To my surprise, the calluses I feel on her palm nearly match those on mine. I shouldn’t be surprised since I know she uses the field next to the barn for her flower farming business. Farming of any type is hard work.
I lift her to her feet—well, her one foot—but before she can reach for the crutches, I scoop her into my arms, tucking the crutches under the arm cradling her back.
“You can’t carry me to the house,” she says.
“Don’t squirm, or I’m going to drop the crutches, and we’ll have to start this balancing act all over again.”
“Chase, you’re going to drop me.” She’s so stiff it feels like I’m carrying one of those department store mannequins.
“I won’t, Molly. I’ve got you.” There’s no explanation for how rough my voice sounds, but I can feel the heat coming off her.
There’s the scent of sweat and earth, and the faint smell of sugar cookies, which I figure comes from her lotion.
I bite back the urge to lean in and run my lips along the graceful column of her throat. To taste the salt on her skin.
Yeah. I like sweaty women just fine.
But this one is off-limits, I remind myself. I’m here to do a job, and I have to convince her to let me.
The wisps of her hair brush my cheek, sending my blood and brain cells rushing south. A physical reaction, nothing more. I like women—all shapes and sizes. Molly McAllister isn’t special to me. There’s nothing to see here, folks.
She stops protesting but doesn’t relax into me. I’m quickly coming to appreciate that she’s got more sense than I gave her credit for the summer she and Teddy married. Back then, I figured she was just young and starry-eyed, but there’s a steel in her spine I completely missed.
Back at the house, I leave the crutches resting against the front porch rail while I carry her inside and lower her to the old sofa.
“You want a glass of water?”
“Yes, please.” She winces as she lifts her foot onto the coffee table.
She fixed the buttons at some point, but this movement causes the flannel to bunch above the waistband of her black leggings, revealing a sliver of skin as creamy as moonlight.
I like those leggings, or maybe they’re called yoga pants.
Who the hell knows. But I thank whoever invented them because they show off every curve of a woman’s body.
Note to self: stop noticing Molly’s body.
I retrieve the crutches, then place them against the edge of the couch where she can reach them. We need to talk, but I don’t want her to feel like she can’t get away if she wants to. And that hopping business from earlier will only cause more trouble.
“I need to call a plumber,” she announces as I walk toward the kitchen. “The sink in the laundry room works.”
Her voice is even, but I hear the frustration in it.
“I bet I can fix the sink.” I grab two glasses and head down the short hall to fill them. When I return, she’s still eyeing me warily, but takes the glass with a trembling hand.
“Have you eaten today?” I down my water and then turn back for the kitchen, not liking how seeing her so fragile makes my heart twist with something dangerously close to tenderness. “I’ll make eggs.”
I hear her snort. “No, thank you.”
Ignoring her, I open the fridge and peer at the contents. “You’ve got some veggies and ham. I could—”
“I do not want eggs and ham. Not in a box.” Her tone is indignant as she continues, “Not with a fox.”
I chuckle and then marvel that she can make me smile in the midst of what is turning out to be a giant shit show of a morning. “Got it, Molly-I-Am. No eggs and ham.”
She rolls her eyes, but one side of her mouth curves. It feels like a victory from where I’m standing.
“I don’t know what Linda was thinking asking you to help,” she says as much to herself as to me. “I don’t want to bother her on her trip, but this makes no sense.”
She takes another long sip of water, and a few drops dribble down her chin before she wipes them away with her shirt sleeve. Maybe I’m the one who needs help, because why do I find that adorable?
I grab a granola bar from a basket on the counter and bring it to her. She narrows her eyes like it’s some kind of a trick. “I’m here to help you and the kids.”
She snatches the granola bar and rips open the wrapper. “Why you? Is it your years of experience with children? Your love of the domestic arts?”
My lips twitch. I can’t remember the last time a woman gave me this much shit, and I kind of love it. “Because I have a debt to pay to your mother-in-law.”
It’s the truth, just not all of it.
She inclines her head. “What kind of debt?”
“The kind she’s called in,” I say. “You’re going to have to trust me.”
“Hard pass,” she answers as she chews. “I don’t trust you. Why would Linda have set this up without asking me first?”
“Because she knew you wouldn’t agree to it,” I say, like duh.
“I’m not agreeing to it,” she confirms, like double duh.
“I owe Teddy and Linda a lot,” I say quietly. “Helping you will repay that debt.”
That should be a mic drop moment.
She draws in a sharp breath but doesn’t exactly look impressed. “What does that mean?”
“Your late husband and his mom saved me. They gave back my future when my asshole of a father took it from me. Hard to tell what would have happened if—”
“I’ve never been a big fan of puzzles, Chase.” She holds up a hand. “Stop talking in riddles or get the hell out of my house.”
Her full mouth thins. Like I needed another reason to notice her sweet pink lips.
“I spent a lot of time in this house as a kid.” I run a hand over the back of the sofa, tracing the worn spot where we used to vault over the back instead of walking around like civilized humans. “Linda wasn’t the greatest mom in the world, but she loved Teddy to distraction.”
She closes her eyes briefly, exhaustion written in every line of her face. “He could do no wrong in her eyes.” Those quiet words tell me everything I need to know about how the years since Teddy’s death have been for her living with his mother. Not that I’m surprised.
“But what does that have to do with him saving you?” she asks before my thoughts wander too far.
“Part of the reason I was here so often is because I didn’t want to be at my own house. My dad is…well, things were rough.”
She goes brows-up again, and I wonder if she’s aware of her ability to have an entire conversation with just her eyebrows. “How rough?”
“Very.”
She studies my face for a long moment, and I can see her weighing whether to dig deeper for the details I’m unwilling to share. Whatever she finds there must convince her to leave it alone, because she sighs and looks away.
“I won’t pretend to understand what that means, but I’m glad Teddy helped you.” Her voice lacks the edge it’s carried since I arrived. “And I’ll think about letting you help me.”
It’s not a yes, but it’s not the flat rejection she gave earlier.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“I’m going to take a shower,” she says, struggling to her feet with the crutches. “You need to be gone by the time I get out.”
“Understood,” I answer, telling myself not to think about this woman in the shower. I head for the door, but pause with my hand on the knob. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes, Molly.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she says with a tired laugh, and then starts up the stairs.
The urge to beg her to let me follow leaves me wondering what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.