Chapter 26
Beckett
I ended up eating a frozen microwave meal last night in the cottage alone.
It was best I gave Carson some time to calm down and leave Lacey alone.
I grabbed her hand on the porch; I know I shouldn’t have but I did it.
I wanted to. I wanted to comfort her when I saw the emotion in her eyes about her brother.
I wanted to comfort her like I did when I found her on the floor of the shower.
I wanted to pull her into me, crash my lips to hers, and take her worry or anger away.
But she doesn’t see me like that, so it’s best I don’t even try.
No matter how hard I have to physically restrain myself.
Washing out my morning coffee cup, I grab my cowboy hat off the rack by the front door and walk on the porch. It is another beautiful day; the sun is finally up just enough over the mountains showing mist on the grass throughout the land.
Some of the cattlemen ride off on horseback on their way to morning chores. Lacey’s truck is still parked up at the main house, but I don’t see Carson’s.
I lean over the porch railing, the same one Lacey leaned against yesterday evening. I noticed it was barely holding her skinny ass up. I was able to release the breath I was holding when she finally moved away from it when I grabbed her hand.
“I guess you will be first on my agenda today,” I tell the railing moving it slightly with my strength. It rattles back and forth until it finally comes apart with ease.
“Yeah, you got to go.” I finish pulling the rest of the piece in my hand off, throwing it into the yard. I guess that will be my new junk pile until I find something to do with it.
I make my way down the porch, pulling up each piece of railing.
Most come off with ease. By the time I am done with the entire porch, all there is left are the steps and the post holding the porch ceiling up.
All rails are gone. I have even discarded my t-shirt, which quickly filled with sweat out here in the morning Georgia sun.
I look around at the progress I have made; next, the porch flooring and steps need to be done. I need a hammer and pry bar, or my hands are going to be full of splinters. Ouch, yep, I already have a few.
Using my dirty fingernails to dig them out, I jump when I hear her voice.
“Brought you some sweet tea and figured we need some tools,” Lacey smiles, holding a small toolbox with one hand and a pitcher of tea with the other.
I smile back, still holding my splintered hand. “Thanks.”
“What did you do?” she looks concerned, setting the toolbox and tea down on the porch steps, walking over to me, her hand grabbing mine.
I am glad I was already sweating because her touching me right now is causing it to be severe.
“You goof.” She laughs, “Why didn’t you put gloves on?”
“Because I didn’t think about it,” I tell her honestly. One thing I have never been afraid of is a little pain.
“There should be some in the closet inside. Come on, let’s go get them and get some pinchers to get those splinters out.”
She doesn’t give me time to argue before she grabs the items she brought and pushes the door open with her backside to walk in, gesturing for me to follow her.
Moments later, she has me a tall glass of tea fixed at the table, points to a seat, and brings a first-aid kit out from the bathroom.
“You know, for a guy, you keep a clean place,” she says, and I feel a sense of warmth growing in my chest from her praise.
“You learn not to make a mess when you jump around from place to place.”
She eyes me curiously but doesn’t ask. Instead, she takes the tweezers from the box and grabs my hand again. That feeling of warmth making waves back through me.
“Ouch!” I yelp when she grabs hold of one of the tiny pieces of wood in my skin.
“Oh, it doesn’t hurt that much,” she says. “You ride bulls, Beckett King, you’re not a wimp.”
“I am when you are literally digging in my skin. Ouch, Lacey.”
She giggles, clearly enjoying herself.
I am tough—I literally ride bulls for a job but damn it, my finger hurts now.
Finally removing the last piece of wood from my flesh, she lays the tweezers down. Her eyes find the letter her mother wrote me.
“You’ve read it?” she asks, her eyes twinkling.
All I can do is nod.
“Good,” she says before standing and putting the first aid kit back in the bathroom. She didn’t pressure me into telling her what it said or how I felt about it. She just seemed relieved I had read it.
I feel the urge to follow her, tell her I am sorry about yesterday out on the cottage porch—but I don’t, and she is back faster than she left.
Her hand goes on my shoulder making me a little dizzy from the lack of blood in my brain at the current moment. “Well, let’s get to work.” She throws gloves at me. “This time you need to wear these.”
Nonchalantly, she turns and walks out the door to the front porch, putting her own pair of gloves on. I need to sit here for a minute and think of anything else but her ass in those jeans.
* * *
One thing about Lacey Taylor, her work ethic is unmatched. Just when I think she couldn’t get any more incredible, she goes and shows me her remodeling skills with a hammer and tape measure.
“What?” she looks up at me curiously while pulling up the last piece of the wood flooring on the porch.
“You have a man’s worth ethic,” I tell her.
She throws her head back in a laugh, my heart thumping loud with the sound. “Well, what do you expect when I grew up with two older brothers and a father who were all cowboys?”
I wince at her calling me a brother. I most definitely was not her brother, nor do I want to be.
She stands, placing the hammer back in the toolbox, “Well, guess we need to ride to the lumber yard and get some fresh wood.” My stomach rumbles loud enough for her to hear, “And maybe some food, too.”
I nod, stepping around the pile of wood we threw in front of the porch. It is piling up fast; we will need to do something with it before it rots out here in the elements. “Is the BBQ place still open around here?”
“Absolutely!” she grins at me. “You remember all of us going and eating there some nights?”
“I remember you throwing your fries at me with ketchup on them.”
She giggles. “I might just have to do that again.” She walks beside me, a little room between us. “I guess we will be taking my truck?” she winks at me, and I think my heart just skipped a beat—or two.
“Yeah, I didn’t entirely think it through, not having a vehicle when I came back here.”
“Where is yours?” she asks, sliding into the seat of her truck. I close the passenger door after getting in on my side.
“Back at the airport in Las Vegas.”
“Vegas? You were in Vegas when you found out about Mama?”
I nod. “Yeah, getting ready to announce a sponsorship that is going to up my bull riding career and safely land me in the National Finals Rodeo.”
“That’s awesome, Beckett.” She seems genuine. “But does that mean you will have to leave the ranch soon?”
I shrug. “My season doesn’t start fully until August. I can stick around here until then.”
“That’ll give us enough time to get a lot done on the cottage and the filly.” She smiles at me. “I am really happy for you. I know your dream was to one day ride bulls professionally. Looks like you made something of yourself.”
“I guess so,” I tell her. But honestly, I think it was more me not wanting to feel my feelings and keep moving that kept me good at what I did.
If I stopped even for a second, the emotions would surface, and the biggest enemy I had would take over—the thoughts inside my head that kept me up at night.