9. Piper #2
“You’ll be okay here?” Christian’s hand finds my upper arm, and I nod, trying to ignore how my skin tingles where he’s touching me.
His thumb brushes against my arm once before he lets go, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
It’s just a touch.
Just concern.
It’s just Christian being Christian.
It’s been hours since Christian disappeared down the mountain, and watching Callan work isn’t helping my already scrambled hormones.
The middle Crawford brother has been chopping trees like some lumberjack calendar model, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m ovulating or if the universe is just trying to torture me.
Because sweet baby Jesus, the Crawford genes are something else.
Callan’s not exactly hard on the eyes—all broad shoulders and that same devastating Crawford smile that could talk a nun out of her panties.
With a dark top knot and a beard thick enough for a woman to ride, grip, and get lost in, Callan Crawford looks like he was built for pleasure.
Any sane, red-blooded female would be tempted to pin him against the nearest wall and thank him for existing.
But not me.
Because I’m not attracted to Callan. Not beyond the obvious physical beauty .
No, what I am is fucking desperate.
Climbing the walls, someone please fuck the sanity back into me desperate.
The kind that makes my thighs press together every time Christian so much as breathes in my direction and has me teetering on the edge of absolute depravity, ready to throw myself at a man who could ruin me with nothing more than a look.
Callan’s fine. Hell, he’s better than fine.
But he’s not him.
Hot daddy cowboy— that’s what my brain settled on that day, and nothing’s changed since.
The last customers pull away, leaving nothing but tire tracks in the snow.
The farm settles into that familiar kind of quiet, the one that comes after a long, hard day, when the only thing left to do is lock up and let the land breathe.
Callan moves through the closing procedures like he could do them in his sleep, which isn’t surprising.
The Crawford brothers are a unit—Christian, Callan, and Colton—though the latter is currently off being a country music god somewhere warm, if his social media is anything to go by.
And yes, I follow him religiously, much to Travis’s disgust. I’d begged to meet Colton until Travis snapped that I was being embarrassing, which… okay, may be fair.
“You good here, Piper?” Callan asks, pulling off his work gloves and dusting stray bits of wood from his coat. “Christian just texted, said he’s only got a few deliveries left.”
“Yeah, all good. Guess I’ll go play housewife in the kitchen and have dinner ready like a good little woman for when he gets home.”
Callan barks out a laugh, shaking his head. He knows me well enough to know that’s about as far removed from who I am as it gets.
“You keep talking like that, and Christian won’t let you leave.”
The flutter in my stomach is instant because the thought of taking care of that brooding mountain man does things to me.
“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”
“Yeah, see you later,”he says, waving me off as he makes his way to his truck.
A couple of hours pass, and I manage to throw some food together so Christian doesn’t have to walk in and worry about dinner.I’m no expert in the kitchen, but I can handle the basics—some steak and potatoes, nothing fancy—but it’s warm and filling, and the least I can do.
After cleaning up, I take a shower and get ready for my shift at the bar. Cowboy boots, a denim skirt, and a tight red shirt that accentuates what my mama gave me—which, to be honest, is about the only damn thing she gave me.
I’m supposed to be at the bar in fifteen minutes, and I already know I’m going to be late.
It didn’t take much convincing to get me up here, but Travis promised—he swore up and down—that if I came to stay with him and his dad, he’d make sure I got to my shifts at the bar.
I’ve called and called, and then I’ve called some more, each time going straight to voicemail.
“Fucking Beaufords. Selfish, entitled assholes,” I mutter to myself, pacing in front of the fireplace before finally collapsing into the chair beside it.
I’m furious at Travis, but I’m more pissed at myself.
I should’ve driven my own car up here and maintained my independence.
But that’s not how Travis operates. He needs control, which is rich considering he turns into a fumbling mess in bed and has about as much control as a teenage boy discovering third base for the first time.
The door suddenly swings open, and I jump up from my chair, hope and dread warring in my chest.
Please be Travis , I think.
Please be Christian , my body answers.
“Jesus, Travis, where have you—” The words catch in my throat as Christian appears, and instead of throwing his keys down, he twirls them in his fingers before tipping his head over his shoulder, signaling me to follow him.
“Come on. I’ll take you.”
“God, I’m sorry. You must be exhausted. I tried calling him, but?—”
“Don’t be sorry. I need to drop in and thank Callan anyway.” Christian holds the front door open, and as I step past, I swear I hear him inhale.
I halt, and he stops behind me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off his body as I turn and look up, meeting his eyes under the brim of his hat.
“You okay? ”
“I, uh… I cooked. I figured you might be hungry. It can be reheated, but I wasn’t expecting you to have to drive me.”
“You cooked for me?” I nod, suddenly shy in a way I never am, but then he grins, and it just about knocks the breath out of me. “I don’t remember the last time anyone cooked for me, other than Savannah.”
“Well, I can’t promise it’s anywhere near as good as what you make, but hopefully it won’t kill you.”
“Thank you, Piper. Really. I appreciate it.”
I smile, turning away but not rushing. I take my time walking to his truck, and when Christian’s long strides close the gap before I even reach the door, I know one thing with absolute certainty: He’s feeling this too.
He pulls the passenger door open, one hand resting casually on the frame as he waits for me.
“Well, no one can say you’re not a gentleman, huh?” I tease, brushing past him and flashing a grin as I slide inside.
Christian lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head as he rubs his jaw, glancing around the darkening property.
“Just basic manners on how to treat a lady.”
“So you’re not a gentleman?”
“Depends.” That single word carries enough heat to melt snow.
It feels like a hundred seconds pass before he shuts the door and moves around the front of the truck, sliding in beside me on the bench seat.
“How’d it go today?” I ask, desperate for normal conversation.
“It took longer than expected, but I had a lot of happy customers.” His hands flex on the steering wheel as he guides us down the mountain. “I take it you haven’t heard from Travis?”
I shake my head before speaking. “He’s probably at his mom’s. It’s his go-to whenever we fight, so I imagine it’s the same with you.”
“Sounds about right.” The truck rolls over a patch of uneven road, and his arm lifts to grip the wheel tighter, his biceps flexing under that black shirt.
God, with arms like that, my brain’s already on some dirty-ass fantasy of him pinning me over a stack of hay bales, grinding against me so hard I forget the horses are watching .
I’ve never wanted to be fucked stupid by someone this bad in my life, and I’m about two seconds from needing to rub myself against my seat just to stop the tears of frustration burning my eyes.
He’s all I can smell in here—leather, pine, him —and I’m sitting here making small talk like I’m not ready to fuck a fragrance.
“Can I ask you a question?” I turn slightly in my seat, angling my body toward him, but his gaze stays fixed on the road.
“Sure,” he says.
“Do you think there’s any way you two can fix what’s broken between you?”
“That’s the problem, darlin’. Nothing broke… It was just never fixed to begin with.” I listen closely, trying to detect any sadness in his voice, but all I hear is acceptance. “Sometimes people don’t turn out to be who we hope they will, no matter if they’re our flesh and blood.”
“He’s his mother’s son.”
“That he is.”
By the time we pull up to Callan’s bar, I can already hear laughter and music drifting out into the night air. Christian cuts the engine but doesn’t move right away. He just sits there for a moment, his hands tight on the steering wheel, like he needs a second to gather himself.
“Ready?” He glances over at me, and I nod.
We head inside together, and when we spot Callan behind the bar, Christian lights up. It’s like a switch flips inside him, something I wish I saw more often. That weight he always carries, the one pressing heavily on his shoulders, eases just a little.
I let myself watch them for a moment while I get ready for my shift, noting the way they fall into conversation like it’s effortless.
They remind me of my sister and me—that unshakable, ride-or-die bond that nothing and no one could ever break.
God, what she did for me. Stepping up when Lorraine decided motherhood was optional, making sure I had lunch money, clean clothes, and someone to cry to when the world felt too big.
She played mom until she finally found her escape route—a boyfriend and a one-way ticket to Rosewood Falls.
She and Dillon might not have lasted, but this town grabbed hold of her and wouldn’t let go.
I can’t blame her. Some places just feel like they’ve been waiting for you .
Christian and Callan make their way to the bar, Callan slipping behind it with me while Christian rests those strong, work-worn hands on the polished wood top.
“Are you staying for a drink?”
“I’m staying for the night.” When I shoot him a confused look, the corner of his mouth lifts in a way that makes my knees weak. “Someone’s gotta get you home.”