15. Audrey
AUDREY
I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this: a big house surrounded by smaller barns and outbuildings, horses eating hay from troughs in a fenced paddock, fields sprawling to the woods that surround the property on all side.
It really was a ranch.
I’d known there were working farms around Blackwell Falls. I’d passed them during my drives to and from the donut shop where Dean and I handed our daughter back and forth between us.
I just hadn’t imagined the fierce masked men who’d hunted me in the tunnels — who’d made me ride their bull naked — would own one.
Hadn’t imagined that’s where I’d be living for the next three months if I lost the Hunt.
“You can pull in next to the truck,” Ridge said as we approached a large dirt area between the house and a huge steel garage, its roll-up doors open to reveal a green tractor.
Graham pulled his truck next to a smaller dark gray truck. I parked between Graham’s truck and an orange Jeep Rubicon.
And there were more than cars.
Three motorcycles were parked side by side, polished silver gleaming in the afternoon sun. A medium-size dog that looked like a smaller German Shepherd sat next to them, his tail swishing in the dirt as he looked eagerly at Graham and Holden getting out of the truck.
Graham clucked his tongue. “Come here, boy.”
The dog came running, sniffing at Graham’s hand and trotting around him and Holden.
“This is it,” Ridge said, opening his door.
I didn’t know what to make of him. For one thing, he was… well, hot.
His dark hair was just long enough to be a little scruffy even under the well-worn baseball cap he’d shoved on his head in the holding room.
His gaze was observant, his dark green eyes somehow both warm and piercing.
I had to force myself not to stare at the muscular biceps under his short-sleeve T-shirt even though I’d gotten more than one good look at him when he’d had his shirt off in the tunnels.
He’d been polite during the drive, something that was hard to reconcile with the fact that he’d hunted me.
Now I was arriving at the ranch where he lived with the other two men, and instead of feeling like I was about to be locked up in an underground prison for the next three months, I got out of the car and was greeted with the pleasant smell of hay and manure on a warm breeze.
The dog trotted over and sniffed my legs.
“Can I pet him?” I asked.
“He’s a working dog,” Graham said, “but he won’t bite.”
I stroked the dog’s soft fur. “What’s his name?”
“Blue,” Ridge said. “Watch your bacon around him. He loves bacon.”
“Come on, doc,” the blond — Holden — said, his eyes as blue as the spring sky. “We’ll show you the house.”
I’d been right when I’d clocked him as younger than the other two. If Graham was the patriarch of their weird little family, Ridge, probably in his thirties, was the big brother.
Holden was the youngest, no more than twenty-six or twenty-seven, his long blond hair pulled into a ponytail, his muscle lean and wiry under jeans and a white T-shirt that showed off an old-fashioned tan, the kind you got from working outside instead of from a bottle.
I’d gotten the feeling he was going to be read the riot act by Graham on our way to the ranch — it was obvious only Holden had known I was a single mom, although how he’d known remained a mystery — but Holden didn’t seem any worse for wear.
He bounded ahead of us toward the house like an excited puppy.
I glanced at Graham as I followed Holden, but reading Graham’s face was impossible: his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, his chiseled jaw set in an impassive line.
Now that I was closer I was sure he was in his fifties, and I had to say, he made it look good.
I’d never had a thing for older men, but maybe I’d just never met the right older man because even with his brick-wall facade — or maybe because of it — Graham made my panties wet.
We passed the motorcycles on the way to the house and I saw that they were three different kinds of bikes: a big wide Harley, a slightly smaller bike with blindingly polished chrome, and between them a souped-up motorcycle with fancy rims that looked more suited to speed than cruising.
I didn’t know anything about motorcycles, but I was starting to see a pattern emerge among the men, could almost guess that the big Harley belonged to Graham, the sleeker, more stylish bike to Ridge, the sport bike (an Indian I saw when I got closer) to Holden.
Not the first thing that came to mind when I thought about ranching.
I was aware of Graham’s and Ridge’s gaze on my back as I followed Holden along a manicured pathway flanked with lush green lawn to the big house at the center of the compound.
The dog trotted behind us as we climbed the stairs to a wide porch that ran the length of the house.
It was surprisingly inviting, with a sweeping view of the surrounding landscape, a mix of dirt and dust (the corral in front of the horse barn), meadows and fields, and thick woods that ringed the property.
It was quiet, nothing but the birds chirping when they landed on trees that looked like they’d been planted a hundred years earlier and a gentle spring wind that gusted every now and then.
Holden opened the door and stood back. “Ladies first.”
I hesitated on the threshold, then stepped inside.
I blinked, looking around as the men filed in behind me, setting keys and hats on a rustic console table by the door and shutting it behind them.
“Something wrong?” Ridge asked behind me.
I hadn’t realized I’d been staring. “No,” I said slowly. “Not wrong.”
“What then?” Ridge’s prompting was easy, like he was genuinely curious what was on my mind, something I usually only got from patients or their family looking for answers.
It had been ages since a man had been interested in my thoughts.
Ages since I’d wanted a man to be interested in my thoughts.
“It’s just… nice,” I said.
“And that’s surprising why?” Holden asked.
“I didn’t say it was surprising.” I was definitely surprised.
Beyond the entryway a massive living room with soaring ceilings took up almost half of the house’s first floor, big windows overlooking one of the fields.
There were three sofas, and several wood-framed armchairs upholstered in earth tones, more than enough seating to accommodate the Bulls who lived here.
The Bulls who owned me for the next three months.
The end tables, coffee table, and bookcases were crafted out of rough-hewn wood. They looked handmade, and I remembered the piece of wood Ridge had been carving when I’d reached the room in the tunnels with the mechanical bull.
The TV was hung over a stone fireplace big enough to stand in, and printed carpets overlapped on the wood floors, creating a homy anchor for the room’s vaulted ceilings framed with raw timber.
The room flowed seamlessly into a gourmet kitchen with deep green cabinets. An island the size of a king-size bed separated the kitchen from an open dining area.
“Should I take off my shoes?” I asked.
Holden looked confused. “Why would you take off your shoes?”
“Germs?”
Graham headed for the kitchen in a swagger I was starting to recognize. “Germs are part of life. We live here.”
I tried not to look at his ass, more than a little appealing in his well-worn jeans.
Holy mother of god, what was wrong with me?
“You must be tired,” Ridge said. “I’ll show you to your room.”
The mention of my bedroom brought me back to reality. “I can’t stay here.”
“Already settled,” Graham said, popping the cap on a beer in the kitchen.
“I agreed to come with you, but I can’t bring my daughter to a house with three strange men.”
He studied me across the expansive living room. His blue eyes shone like polished steel, more gray than blue in the light. “When do you have your daughter?”
Ridge answered for me. “Mondays and Tuesdays. Every other weekend.”
“Maybe I can stay at my place when I have my daughter,” I suggested.
“We’ll figure something out by Monday,” Graham said. “But you’ll stay with us when your daughter isn’t with you.”
I felt the first blush of hope. Maybe this was workable.
I’d lost the Hunt fair and square. If they let me stay at my place when I had Ella, I was willing to spend the rest of the time with them, paying my debt.
I ignored the voice in my head that said it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.
“I’m going to shower.” Holden flashed me a wicked grin. “Care to join me, doc? We’ve got one outside.”
“Do I have to?”
He laughed. “Ouch.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” Graham’s gaze was locked on my face, his lips glistening with beer. “Yet.”
“Let’s go, wildcat.” Ridge headed for the hall. “Before these two animals fuck you right here.”