Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
HAILEY
“ Y ou saw Madison at Grenaldough’s?”
Dean storms toward me, kicking over a bale of hay. My eyes widen at his volume and then shrink beneath his intense gaze.
Reed told him .
I glance around.
“Looking for your boyfriend?”
“We wanted to tell you, but?—”
“But what, Hayes? I’m not privy to that kind of information from you anymore? I know I screwed up with us, but you’ve known for years how I feel about Madison.”
“I know,” I say, tugging on his arm as he pushes past me. Digging the heels of my boots into the ground does nothing but drag me along with him.
He could scream in my face. He should scream in my face. But even that wouldn’t devastate me quite so much as his watering eyes and sagging head.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” he whispers.
What’s worse than blindsiding him? Answering that question .
“Because…”
Think, think, think .
“You used to tell it like it is.”
Not about this I didn’t. But he wants honesty?
“It’s not like we’ve been talking. And I’ve always hated her, okay? She’s never deserved you.”
He glares at me. Ditches his gear in a pile and busies himself with his sleeping arrangement. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
“Dean, please,” I plead, reaching for him a second time and drawing my hand back after I discover he’s already flattened out his sleeping bag and is zipping himself inside.
“I need some space.” He rolls to his side and I have no choice but to honor his wishes.
I’m several yards in the opposite direction before I’m berating myself. I should have told him. What was I waiting for, a moment that wouldn’t hurt as much? Well, that moment doesn’t exist.
“Red?”
I must look ready to claw my own eyes out. He’s approaching me slowly.
“I told you I would tell him,” I say to Reed.
He cradles me against him. “I’m sorry. I was trying to protect you.”
I want to be mad at him, but all I feel is sad for Dean. I melt into Reed’s arms the moment he touches me. “No, I know.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers into the strands of hair that tangle around my face. “Speaking from experience, he just needs some time.”
I nod—or nuzzle my nose, I’m not sure which—into the comfort of his shirt. Even after endless hours of sweaty work, it still smells like him .
“It’s been almost two weeks without a day off,” he says. “I think we could use a little fun.”
Leave it to Reed Morgan to be thinking about fun at a time like this.
I tip back so I can meet his eyes. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
His face morphs into the brightest most infectious smile as he grips my hand and takes off across the open ranch field, towing me along.
“Where are we going?” I shout. With all of the trees cut down, it looks so desolate now. For a moment, I feel sorry for the owners. But the alternative would have been losing the entire property, and even the thought of that is a shame. Especially this part of it.
“Look at how majestic they are,” I gasp as our steps slow beside a herd of grazing Appaloosas. I run my hand along a spotted coat, and the horse whinnies when I lean my cheek against its muzzle.
“Wow. Bear defense, horse whisperer… I’ve got my very own Steve Irwin.” Reed watches me with an amused grin.
I smirk over my shoulder as I round the perimeter of the two-story barn. “What can I say… my talents are endless.”
“I have no doubt.” He chuckles and skips to catch up to me. “What else should I be preparing myself for?”
“I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” I say, pressing my ear against the barn door. I jiggle the handle but the latch clangs near the top.
“Hailey Hart,” he gasps, gripping his hips. “Are you breaking into a barn?”
I fiddle with the flappy clasp, giving it a good tug. “I don’t see any breaking, do you?”
The door hinges groan as I slip inside the small opening. He follows after me and toes the door shut behind us. Light spills through the gable windows that line the second story.
A John Deere factory threw up in here. Everything from excavators to dump trucks and riding lawn mowers to a lone combine with hay bales on the side fill the barn. Not a single animal stall in sight.
“I can’t believe you broke into a storage shed,” he teases from behind me. “I was supposed to be showing you the fun time.”
I spin around to face him. “So… show me then.”
He surveys the space until his eyes catch on something in the back corner.
“Bull’s-eye,” he says, weaving us through the heavy machinery. His broad shoulders block the object he’s beelining for, but knowing Reed, it’s a good time whatever it is. When he finally stops in front of a pile of hay, I step to the side to take it in—white with black spots and two giant horns protruding from the head.
“A mechanical bull?” I gasp.
“Don’t knock it. People have their things.” He winks at me.
“And by things you mean a one-way ticket to a concussion?”
He tromps through the straw, searching the ground until he finds a black cord snaking through the golden clump. In a squat, he plugs it into the nearest outlet. “Have you ridden one before?”
With a skeptical glance, I eye the rusty hinges. “Well, no, but…”
“You might like it. Here.” He holds out his fire helmet to me.
I back away. “There’s no way I’m getting on that thing.” It’s dangerous and reckless. We’re miles from the nearest doctor, and not to mention, we snuck away from camp. This bucking bronco isn’t going to be quiet .
He closes in on me. “I’ll catch you if you fall. That promise worked once before, right?”
“That was a swing , Reed. Not a tornado on a stick!”
He chuckles and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. All of this seems to be amusing the heck out of him and also not changing his mind with the way his helmet is still outstretched.
“Let me see that thing.” I bump him out of the way to get to a metal box standing a couple feet tall near the outlet. A series of dials spreads across the top panel—buck, spin, speed. I release an exasperated sigh, pointing a finger at his chest. “Keep it at level one and whatever you do… don’t laugh.” I snatch the protective headwear.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He winks at me again.
I fit Reed’s helmet over my braid and hike my leg over the bull’s back. “This is a terrible idea,” I mutter to myself. “What am I supposed to do with my hands?” There’s barely a slippery hump to clutch onto.
“You’re supposed to swing your arm in the air like this.” Reed grips the waist of his pants with one hand and lassos the other arm above his head, prancing about.
“All right, Buffalo Bill.”
“Ready, cowgirl?” He closes his hand on the speed dial.
I shake my head.
The mischief in his eyes when he says, “You might like it,” has me forgetting to grip on tight, and the bull starts to sway with the twist of the dial. I lurch forward, clinging to the faux animal’s back for dear life. A loud clanking rings from the machine my legs are choking as it bucks me forward and back, side to side. Faster and faster, it jerks.
“This is not level one!” I holler right before it pitches me off the side into the bed of hay.
Three seconds. That’s all I lasted.
He yanks the dial to the off position and the whole barn quiets as he dives next to me, sending a vortex of straw swirling around us. I can’t stop giggling.
“So, what’d you think?” He brushes away the random pieces that landed on my face and removes my helmet. He’s practically draped over top of me and the weight of his body sends a swoop low in my belly. My laughter stills.
“I liked it,” I whisper, losing myself to the midnight sky of his eyes. His tongue wets his lips and my gaze traces the glistening path.
“What else do you like?” he whispers back.
Somehow the air feels more charged with the bull turned off. In every intimate exchange I’ve ever shared with someone, it’s always felt one-sided. It’s been about what makes him feel good. I’ve never considered what I might like before. No one asked.
“I don’t know what I like,” I admit.
He threads a hand in my hair and works his fingers in slow circles, massaging my scalp and the base of my neck with the perfect amount of pressure. A sigh escapes my lips.
“What about this?” he asks. “Do you like this?”
I swallow and nod. Then he leans in closer and my eyes flutter shut. I think he’s going to kiss me. I can feel his breath ghosting across my lips, and I want him to kiss me. But just when I think our lips are about touch, I feel a tingle skitter down the shell of my ear. The proximity of his body, his warm breath, his sultry voice when he says, “How about this?” My back arches toward him.
“Yes.” A broken gasp leaves my lips.
I want to tell him I need his mouth everywhere, but he’s already brushing it down the column of my neck like he read my mind.
I groan his name .
He drags down, down, pressing a kiss to my collarbone. “Do you like my mouth here?”
I finally get the courage to say it out loud. “I like your mouth everywhere.”
He touches his lips to mine, and I forget where we are. It’s brief. Not nearly long enough for me before he’s pulling back and making space between us. Pushing off the palms of his hands and standing. I instantly miss the weight of him pressed against me.
“I have something else I want to show you,” he says, holding out his hand.
“Okay.” It comes out in a breathy stutter.
I’m stumbling when he gets me standing. Tows me behind him until he’s hopping up on the first rung of a wooden ladder. Creak, creak, creak , it squeaks with his bounce. When the shabby step doesn’t give under his weight, he helps me onto the first one. Ten planks later and I’m pulling myself over a wooden platform at the top.
“Wow. It’s like a little home away from home up here,” I say to the twin-sized mattress on the left and the free-standing desk on the right. “And look at that view,” I add, peeking out the small window to the land below. Mini figures of our crew stake out camp on the grass surrounding the couple’s wraparound porch. None of them seem to be bothered by the ruckus our bucking bull just caused.
Reed’s hand grips my braid, pulling it to the side. His palm closes in on my hip. “I like the view in here better,” he whispers against the exposed skin of my neck, and my body instantly reacts to his presence. With one hand curling around the edge of the desk, the other fists his hair.
“What else do you like?” I spin in his arms, volleying his earlier question back at him.
“I like you,” he answers, taking the weight of the world out from under my legs as he grips my thighs and fastens them around his waist. He plants me on top of the desk, nudging my knees apart and making room to slide between them. Then he kisses me, even softer than before. I can feel a tremor in the hand he has at my neck as if it’s taking a Herculean effort for him not to drop it lower on my body.
“It’s impossible for me to keep my distance from you,” he gets out as his mouth charts a rough path to my collarbone.
There is a very real possibility that after this fire season Reed will leave and never look back. I could be opening myself up to getting hurt and left behind again like the other men have done in my life. But if I allow myself to live in that fear, I’ll never know what this could be. And this feeling… I need more of it. Keeping my distance from him is driving me insane.
“I don’t want you to keep your hands to yourself.” I’m panting now. Forcing air into weathered lungs. I reach for the hem of his shirt and he shudders when I touch the sliver of exposed skin at his waistline. “You asked me what I like… I like being with you. I like”—I graze my hand down his chest—“touching you. And I have an IUD… We can take this as far as we want to, and you don’t have to worry about that part.”
“The only thing I’m worried about is not having enough time with you.” He draws a blanket off the desk chair and spreads it out on top of the mattress. Then he jerks me from the edge of the desk like he was waiting for that last string of willpower to snap. Waiting for permission to carry me over to the small mattress and tug my shirt over my head before laying me on top of it. My naked skin pebbles everywhere the cool night air touches.
“It drove me insane knowing there was nothing underneath here,” he groans.
I pause, blushing. “You saw that?” How embarrassing . I need an excuse for why I took it off, but all I come up with is the truth. The reason why most women hate wearing one in the first place. “I was hot, and it was uncomfortable, and?—”
“And I like it better when it’s off,” he finishes for me, flattening his tongue over my nipple. I arch into his touch. Is this what it feels like to be desired by someone? The way he takes his time working from one side to the other, leaving nothing untouched. He barely pulls away from my skin enough to tuck his forearm in the hem of his shirt and lift it over his shoulders.
He asked me what I liked. This . He hovers over me shirtless. This is what I lik e.
There’s very little room to spare from what we’re taking up on this mattress, and all I can think about is how there couldn’t be a more perfect place than this. It feels too good. Like one of those daydreams I’d have while working in the medic tent. I’m second-guessing if this moment is even real when he pulls off my pants and underwear. His hand rides up my thigh and— nope —this is definitely real, the way he leans over me and works small circles between my legs that sends me into another galaxy. One far, far away from this little barn we’ve found ourselves in. My eyes drop shut.
“Do you like it slow?” he asks, matching the speed of his hand to the pace he’s exploring my lips with. It’s intoxicating. I haven’t even touched him yet, and I don’t know how to when the sensation he’s urging is tensing every muscle in the lower half of my body. It’s winding tighter and tighter the more time he spends, and all I want to do is tip over the edge. It’s so close.
“Faster,” I say, and his lips stay slow but his hand… I cling to the sheets. My eyes fly open and stars burst across his face as I crest over that edge and fall apart in his arms. He doesn’t stop until every part of me sinks into the downey fabric.
In a hoarse whisper he says, “I knew you’d look like that.”
Suddenly I’m wishing I had a mirror. I’m sure my hair is a mess and my braid in shambles. I’ve never wanted to look more perfect for him.
Perfect . That’s the exact word he uses when he says, “You look perfect when you come.”
“Spontaneous Reed is my favorite,” I blurt, my cheeks hot.
I want to hide my face in my palms. That was the least sexy thing I could say. But judging by the crushing kiss he gives and the urgent hands that remove the rest of his clothing, I don’t think it was the wrong thing to say. In fact, with the way he’s looking at me right now, I don’t think anyone has ever said that to him before.
“ Everything about you is my favorite,” he says, nudging my nose with the bridge of his.
For the second time tonight, words leave me. Well, except one. “Everything?” I ask. He hisses when I close my hand around him for the first time and line him up with me.
“Everything,” he groans as he presses inside of me.
My daydreams will forever be filled with the sounds and expressions Reed makes as he gives himself over to me. I liquefy with every thrust of his hips and clench of his thighs wrapping my waist until the sight of him losing control burns itself into my memory.
He shudders and collapses around me. “I take it back,” he says, sweeping a lock of hair out of my eyes. “If I thought the men’s bathroom shower was a problem, I don’t know how I’ll ever concentrate again after that.”
I bite my cheek. Me neither .
“We should probably get back,” he says, but doesn’t move.
I’m not ready for this to be over, his arms around me and my legs snaked around him. I know being vulnerable is not easy for him, so I do it for the both of us.
“I don’t want to go back,” I admit.
He rolls to the side and gathers my underwear and pants from the floor, helping me slide them up my legs. He lets out a deep groan like he’s disappointed to see them going back on, but he’s not stopping when he tugs my shirt over my head too. Then he kisses me just once and says something I never expected him to say.
“We’ll have time.”
And we will, tomorrow , when we have forty-eight hours off.
I’m just not sure it’ll be enough.