7. The Ride
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Ride
W hen he pulled down his drive, she was the first thing he clapped eyes on. In a small, thin, white tank top and a snug pair of jeans, tan cowboy boots that looked like they’d seen a hard day’s work, and a ball cap rounding out the all-business look, his pulse didn’t just quicken, it raced like a mare in heat.
Somehow, she looked as at home in her element there, squatting with a dowel in one hand, a bag of mulch next to the other, as she did in the pictures in her apartment—on the beach, bikini-laden, tanned like a local.
She dug two long, skinny but shallow trenches parallel to each other. Seamlessly, she began transferring seeds from a pouch she pulled from her back pocket—where they hid in those painted-on jeans, he left to his imagination—to the trenches, covering them with mulch from the bag. She walked both rows repeating the same process, and he was mesmerized.
Her hands must do so many more complicated tasks with her profession being what it was, but right then, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect use of them.
Well, dammit, actually he could, but thoughts of what that might be made him blush and stumble where he stood at the corner of their properties. He let out a “whoa” as he lost his footing, and flushed an even brighter shade of crimson when Paige looked over.
She scowled; her lips twisted into a knot. The “I’m-mad-at-you” pose she attempted looked much cuter on her this time around than it had that morning. Her hands were filthy, so she settled for folding them back, resting her wrists on her hips instead. Owen fought a smile, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his lips from betraying him.
“I see you did pack shirts in the move, after all,” she quipped.
“Nope. Realized I had a prude for a neighbor and got some while I was out today.” The hint of a smile cracked her tough exterior.
He returned it and watched as she fidgeted with her hands, picking the dirt from under her nails. He’d made her nervous but hadn’t a clue how.
“I’m not a prude,” she argued, attempting the hands-on-her-hips move again, only to fail a second time. Finally, she sighed, left her arms hanging awkwardly by her sides. “I just didn’t know why my neighbor was shirtless and waking me up when I normally go to bed on visits home, that’s all.”
She thought she’d recovered nicely, a smug smile finally breaking through. Until he asked her, “You not have shirtless guys over often, then?”
Owen enjoyed making her uncomfortable, if only to watch the emotions flit across her face like the shadows of clouds on his fields. He was good at reading people—both a job liability and reward from his time in the Marines when knowing that information could save his or his men’s lives—but she would have been a quick read if he was blind and didn’t read Braille.
“No, I… that’s not what I… not the way I…” Paige stammered, finally throwing the dowel to the ground in what he would only call a temper tantrum before storming off towards her house.
“Hey,” he called after her, reaching her in a stride and a half, “that’s not how I meant back there to go,” he admitted.
“Yeah, well then how did you see making fun of me playing out?” she shot back at him. She was a pistol, that was for sure.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I just couldn’t help it. If you want to play, you’ve got to be prepared for a worthy opponent.”
“Who says I want to play?” She frowned at him, her brows back together in the center of her forehead.
“Fair enough. It’s not a game to me, though,” he added, his voice more serious than he’d intended it. He touched her face, rubbed at the wrinkles the frowning caused, smoothed them with his thumb. “Truce,” he said, offering her his hand.
She took it, her frown softening into something resembling a smile.
“Why did you come over anyway this morning?”
“Oh yeah, that,” Owen said, laughing.
So much had happened already in the first half of the day, he’d almost forgotten about the bear. He filled her in, sparing no details. Her face registered shock, then awe as he told her of fixing it up with Brad and grabbing a beer afterwards.
“Is the bear still out there?” she asked, her voice a little shaky.
“Well, yeah, him and a couple dozen of his closest friends, I’d imagine,” Owen said, laughing again as her eyes widened. “You do know you live in rural Montana, don’t you?”
She playfully punched his shoulder. “I do, but I haven’t seen a bear down here ever. Up on the trails above our valley, sure, but never this low.”
“Your brother thinks they’re looking for food and water, that both are probably pretty scarce at the higher elevations. He’s not on my property anymore, though, so that’s a win I’m happy to take.”
“Makes sense. You guys talk about all this on your little man-date?” she asked, one corner of her mouth turned up in a crooked smile.
“That and the pretty girls around here,” Owen said, winking at her. She swatted at him again.
“I’ll bet. Let me know if you find any—I’ve heard they’re as elusive as black bears used to be.”
“They aren’t that hard to find,” Owen said, all sarcasm stripped from his voice. He stepped towards her, heard her sharp intake of breath when he got within a couple inches of her. She clearly hadn’t expected him to drop the playful banter so quickly. He hadn’t either, but couldn’t help it. One minute, he was enjoying teasing her, then his body seemed to want more. So much more.
“You aren’t going to kiss me again, are you?” she asked. Her voice came out a throaty whisper, and Owen swelled against his jeans.
“Not here. I was thinking about it, though.” His reply came out as a soft growl, and he swore he heard her purr in reply.
“Where, then?”
Now he pressed up against her, forgetting all about his promise to her brother that he didn’t have “those types” of feelings for Paige. He didn’t, though, not really. The emotions brewing between them were so much more complex than just prurience.
“Let me take you for a ride,” he muttered into her hair. She pulled back immediately, the mood gone with the slight breeze generated by her swiftness.
“Excuse me?” she sputtered. This time, she didn’t seem to care about the dirt. Her hands rested firmly on her hips, and she stared after him, open-mouthed.
Owen got what he’d said just a few seconds too late.
“Shit,” he finally got out. “That’s not at all how I meant that to come out.”
“Seems to be a problem you’re dealing with,” she retorted.
“I’d say,” he agreed. He moved closer to her again, his arms outstretched as if in explanation, but she moved a step back, her right pointer finger warning him off. “I wanted to invite you on a trail ride behind the farm, up in the hills. Horses. I have two horses I’d like us to take.”
Why did everything with this woman take ten times the explanation? More so, why did half their interactions leave him flustered and acting like he’d never spoken to a member of the fairer sex before?
“Well, that’s better. Was that so hard to say?”
“Apparently,” he laughed. “But seriously, you wanna go? I’ve got a bottle of wine and some fruit I can throw in the saddle.”
“After your story of bears being on the loose?” she asked. He didn’t miss the tremble she tried to hide in her voice.
“They aren’t on the loose so much as they’re on a walk. And besides, I’ll bring my .45. I’ve been told I’m a crack shot, so you’ll be safe.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, her pointer finger wagging at him now.
“You’ve talked me into it, mister, but no funny business. Just a ride.”
His eyes danced with mischief.
“That’s all I was asking for in the beginning.”
She huffed out an exaggerated sigh and spun on her heels towards her house.
“Where you going?” he called out after her.
She tossed him a smile over her shoulder that about put him flat on his ass.
“To grab a blanket for the picnic,” she yelled back before opening her door and disappearing inside.
He turned on his own boots and took off in a full sprint towards his house. He made a list in his head as he ran. Wine, glasses, a water bottle, apples for the horses, the grapes and strawberries from the farmers’ market, the block of Parmesan from the welcome basket…
He found himself at his door, breathless but full of youthful energy, when he erupted into a cheesy schoolboy grin. Condoms , he added to his mental list.
Just in case.