7. Decker
“We’re gonna need to move the cattle from pasture seven down to two before the end of the month.” My oldest cousin, Tyler, points to me. “You can head that up, Deck. Make sure you take a few extra cowboys with you; that herd has been giving us trouble.”
“Done.” I sip my coffee slowly. It’s at that temperature where it’s just too hot to fully enjoy.
“And Ranger, you’re still heading down to Texas in a few short weeks for the next cattle auction. Is your dad going with you?”
“Yup,” Ranger says between bites of bacon and eggs. “Mom told him it’s his last time going since he’s officially retired. She’s gonna hold them reins tight.”
“No kidding.” Tyler laughs. “When my dad retired, my mom gave him three passes a year to attend work events, but after that, nothing.”
“These Slade wives,” Ranger whistles, “if there’s one thing they’re gonna do, it’s keep us Slade men in line.” Tyler finishes the statement with him, both of them laughing.
“You know what Brooklyn said to me the other day?” Tyler refills his coffee mug before sitting at the table with us. “She was pissed at me for something, and rightly so, but I told her to mind her attitude with me or I’d give her something long and hard to think about?—”
“Oh Jesus.” I laugh into my coffee and shake my head.
“She looked me dead in the eyes, and without missing a beat, she grabbed me through my jeans and whispered, Baby, in that husky voice of hers, I’m counting on it. Make sure you bring your belt too.”
I almost spit out my coffee. “Okay, I take back my comment.”
“That’s right,” Tyler smiles from ear to ear, kicking his boots up onto an empty chair, “you might think that playboy lifestyle of yours will never get old, but I’m telling you right now,” he points a finger at me, “someday you’re going to meet a woman like that, and she’s going to bring you to your knees . . . and trust me, you’re going to fucking love it.”
I already have.
The second the thought pops into my brain, I stand up, the chair clattering across the worn wooden floor. “Well, boys, are we going to sit around gossiping all morning or are we working this ranch, hmm?”
“Damn,” Ranger slaps my back, “didn’t realize you’d turned into Dad while you were down in Texas.” Tyler says something else and they both laugh as we make our way outside. I know a lot of people couldn’t stand to not only live next to but also work with their family all day, but to me, it’s the dream. There’s no one else I’d rather be busting my ass next to than my own kin.
“I’ll be right there.” I nod, securing my hat and taking a moment to look out over the expansive plains that butt up against the mountains. The sun is just peeking over the horizon with streaks of neon orange and pink, and the silence that was almost deafening an hour earlier is pierced with the trills of a few songbirds and the ever-present shrill of the black-billed magpie.
By the time 7 p.m. rolls around, my forearms are beat from cutting barbed wire for a new pasture fence, and my lower back burns from sitting in my saddle too much. I walk up the front steps to my porch—the same porch I walked away from just a few years ago.
All of us Slades who still live here have built our homes on the ranch, but we’re still at least a mile or two apart. I try not to let Tyler’s words from earlier echo in my head, but I can’t seem to push them away. I imagine Tyler coming home to Brook and the kids, and Ranger loving on his baby girl while Dahlia makes dinner.
I should have had that . . . I could have had that, but why didn’t I fight harder for it? Why wasn’t I willing to upend my entire life for Camilla? Before my brain can go too far down that rabbit hole, I remind myself that I’m not fooling anyone. You know exactly why, but you’re still too scared to do anything about it.
My boots drag across the wooden planks of the porch as I open the door and head straight for the shower in hopes that another night’s sleep is all it will take for me to get over her—to get over Juniper.
I pause,half-tempted to turn around and walk away before she sees me, but I decide against it, reaching up to grab the box of rice Juniper’s attempting to reach.
“Here, let me,” I say as my arm brushes against hers.
“What, are you, like, stalking me now?” She takes the rice from me and tosses it into her shopping cart. “You know you can just ask me out, right?”
“I do know that,” I chuckle half-nervously as my eyes drift from hers. I pretend I’m looking for something on the shelves in front of me.
“And yet . . .” I’m not sure if she intended for me to hear her, or if she said it to herself.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing. What are you making?” She peers into my basket then glances at the shelf I’ve been staring at for an abnormally long time now. “Risotto.” She lifts her hand and points to the plastic jar in front of me. “You’ve already got salmon, lemon, and asparagus in your basket, and risotto would go great with those.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever made risotto.”
“It’s easy. Well, kind of,” she laughs. “It’s Italian rice that just takes longer to cook. Oh,” she grabs the jar and puts it into my basket, “you’ll also need some goat cheese, and be sure to stir it frequently because it can burn easily.”
I follow behind her, unsure of how my Thursday night plans suddenly turned into cooking myself a gourmet meal. I had planned on just tossing everything on the grill and calling it a night, but any chance I have to interact with Juniper always leaves me craving more.
“This is sounding a bit outside my wheelhouse, Juney.” I stare down at the basket as she places a small carton of mushrooms next to the goat cheese and what I think are fresh chives.
She gives me a coy grin, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Hard to believe there’s something a six-foot-three cowboy can’t do.”
God, this woman.
I feel myself throb against my thigh as I look down at her pouty lips. Her cleavage is visible from my height, a perfect shot down her tank top beneath the oversized flannel she’s sporting.
“Fine, I’ll take that challenge, but you have to eat it.” I know it’s a bad idea asking her over, but my cock has clearly taken over my mouth.
“You’re going to cook for me?”
“I guess I am.”
“Can I at least pick the wine?” she asks with excitement.
“Of course.” After opening our Slade Wines division a few years back, it’s exceeded our expectations and led to us having access to some amazing vintages thanks to my cousin Trent marrying into the famous Blanc wine family.
“I actually need to grab a few more things, if that’s okay?”
We walk side by side through the store, chatting about our week. She reaches for some laundry detergent and I step closer to place it in her cart. Then we check out and head to our cars.
“So I guess I’ll just meet you at your house?” She looks up at me from her driver’s seat.
“Yeah, see you there.” I walk over to my truck and climb inside, heading toward my house as I tell myself over and over again that she and I are friends, nothing more—just friends.
A nervous energy flows through me as I pull down the long driveway of my house. My fingers bounce against the steering wheel as I pull my truck into the garage and shut off the engine. I grab the bag of groceries and make my way toward Juniper’s car.
“Let me take your refrigerated items inside so they don’t get warm in your car.”
“Oh, good idea!” She spins around and yanks open her back door, leaning inside to grab a bag that slipped onto the floor of her car. I try not to look . . . well, that’s a lie. I don’t even attempt to look away as her denim shorts ride up her ass. She jostles something, causing her cheeks to jiggle and my jaw to clench so tightly, I feel a headache starting almost instantly. Part of me wants to spank her and grab a handful of her ass, telling her no man but me should be getting an eyeful like this. The other part of me wants to fall to my knees and worship her, burying my face between her thick cheeks.
“Here.” She spins back around with a smile on her face, swiping away a tendril of hair that’s fallen over her eye.
“Thanks.” I let out a long breath, trying to bring down my blood pressure as I walk toward the front door.
I drop everything on the kitchen island, placing Juniper’s items in the fridge before turning around to see her peeling the flannel—which once covered most of her upper body—down her arms.
“Wow,” she says, glancing around the large custom kitchen, “I feel like I haven’t been to your house in years.” She cocks her head for a second. “I guess it has been over a year. I think it was a going-away party for you.”
“Listen,” I avert my gaze from her breasts, which are now fully on display in her tight tank top, “I haven’t had a chance to shower since work. Is it okay if I clean up real quick?”
“Yeah, take your time,” she says, thumbing over her shoulder toward the wine cellar. “I’ll go find a good vintage and prep the salmon.”
My body screamsat me for release in the shower, my hand finding its way down to my shaft to grip myself more than once. I audibly groan as I release myself, with thoughts of Juniper just a floor below me in her barely-there shorts and her tight shirt.
By the time I make it back downstairs, the house is filled with the indulgent aroma of garlic and black pepper. I run my hands through my still-wet hair, Juniper spinning around to greet me with a glass of wine in her hand. I take a long sip, the deep flavor of ripe berries and bourbon lingering on my tongue.
“Smells amazing,” I murmur, taking another sip of the wine. “What can I do to help?”
She points toward the cutting board, which has a knife, asparagus, and lemon on it. “You can cut up the asparagus; it’ll be ready to go in soon.”
I step toward the board just as she turns away from the oven. Her hand goes to rest against my stomach as she catches herself against me. “Oops!” She giggles as I jump back. I know we’re both aware that I overreacted, and I turn my attention to the vegetables as silence settles between us.
“You know I don’t bite, right?” she finally says.
I still my chopping movements and glance over my shoulder. Her back is still toward me as she stirs the risotto. I turn back to the asparagus, my voice coming out in a much deeper register than I intended.
“Yeah, maybe that’s the problem. I want you to.”
The soft, rhythmic scraping sound of the spoon stills, and I swear I hear a sharp intake of breath. A second later, I hear her place her wine glass back on the counter and a jolt of excitement shoots through me.
Good to know I can still get to her.
“How did I end up cooking dinner for you? I thought we’d agreed to the opposite?” She pokes my side, completely ignoring my comment.
“I blame you. You took charge when I went to take a shower.” I step aside as she gathers the chopped asparagus and folds it into the risotto. “And we both know you’re not the type to listen to a man.”
“Maybe it just needs to be the right man.” She focuses her attention on the pot, reducing the heat to low.
“How can I make it up to you?”
“Come to my birthday thing this weekend,” she says without missing a beat.
“You’re having a party?”
“No, but your sister insisted we all go out, so she sent a group text. You didn’t get it?”
“No.” I shake my head then walk over to my phone to double-check.
“Weird,” she shrugs, “she probably figured you wouldn’t be interested.”
“Why wouldn’t I be interested?” I drop my phone back onto the counter, my attention now fully on her.
“Ya know . . .” She laughs but doesn’t explain further.
“I don’t think I do know.” I walk over to where she can see me and lean against the counter.
“Nothing.” She keeps her focus on stirring the food.
“Juniper,” I say her name and she looks over at me, “why wouldn’t she invite me?”
Her eyes dart back but I reach my fingers out and hook her chin, pulling her toward me. “I won’t ask you again.”
“Because she thought I still had a boyfriend.” She blurts it out in a rush, her cheeks flaming.
“And why would that factor into whether I’m invited or not?”
“Oh, please,” she drops the spoon onto the counter and wipes her hands on the towel next to it, “can we stop with the denial already? I’m not some pariah, so is it really so awful and disgraceful that I had a crush on you growing up?” She shakes her head. “It’s like nobody can just let that shit go around here.”
Had? Had a crush?
I selfishly get so hung up on that word—the past tense of that word, to be exact—that I almost miss her marching right by me. “Hey, hey, wait!” I grab her arm and pull her back toward the kitchen so I can look at her. “Where are you going?”
She stares up at me, her eyes shifting away from mine. “Home. I’m exhausted from work and now cooking.”
“You’re not a pariah, Juney. I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way. Please stay and eat.” We both stand there for several seconds, my hand still resting on her arm. I can tell myself not to do it a million times over, but it’s not going to stop me. My hand slowly glides over her skin, up her arm, till it settles against her neck. I tilt my head slightly, about to close the distance between us, when she steps back.
“I should go. Enjoy the dinner.”
She grabs her keys and walks out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, the loud thud of the front door closing snaps me back to reality.