Chapter 5 - Lily
Why am I smiling?
Why am I trusting him?
I watch Mason clear the breakfast plates, and I can't shake the nagging voice in my head telling me this is all too good to be true. Men don't just help women out of the goodness of their hearts. There's always an angle. Always something they want in return.
That's the lesson I learned from every man I've ever known.
My mother's string of boyfriends who looked at me a certain way once I hit puberty.
My bosses who offered me extra shifts and better pay in exchange for "certain favors.
" Rosie's father who fucked me, got me pregnant, and disappeared the second I told him about the baby.
Mason was staring at me when I was wearing nothing but Sierra's robe. I saw the way his eyes dropped to my chest, how they traced the curve of my breasts through the thin fabric. Men always notice my tits first. Always. It's like they can't help themselves.
But Mason didn't do anything. Didn't make a comment about my body. Didn't suggest I could "work off" my debt to him. Didn't try to corner me or touch me or make any kind of move at all. He just apologized for scaring me and went back to cooking breakfast.
That doesn't make sense. Men who look at women the way Mason looked at me don't just stop there. They push. They test boundaries. They take what they want because they think women owe them something.
Except Mason hasn't.
And that's fucking with my head. Fucking with my body too, because I'm already soaked.
The second I saw him in those jeans that hug his ass, that henley stretched across his broad chest, the way he looked at me, my body decided to betray me completely.
My panties are damp, my nipples are hard, and there's an ache between my legs that I haven't felt in three years.
I hate it. Hate that my body is responding to a man I barely know. Hate that I'm apparently so desperate for attention that a little kindness and some flexing muscles are enough to get me wet.
I ignore it. I have to. This is about survival, not sex. This is about getting a job, finding stability, building a life for Rosie. Not about fantasizing what Mason's rough hands would feel like on my skin or whether that deep voice would sound different when he's buried inside me.
"Sarah doesn't open the saloon until noon," Mason says, interrupting my spiral of self-recrimination. "But we can head over after that. If you want, I could show you around the ranch first. Rosie might like to see the horses up close."
Horses. Rosie loves animals. She goes crazy every time we pass a dog on the street, squealing and pointing and begging to pet them. But horses are big. Dangerous.
"Are they safe?" I ask, my hand moving to Rosie's shoulder. "For kids, I mean?"
"They're well-trained," Mason assures me. "Been around kids before. Emma, Tucker's daughter, is seven and spends half her time in the stables. The horses are used to little ones."
Tucker. Another one of the six owners. I'm keeping track: Mason, Wade, Tucker. Three down, three to go.
"Horsies!" Rosie's eyes light up. She's been mostly quiet during breakfast, focused on her eggs, but now she's bouncing in her chair. "Mama, horsies!"
How can I say no to that face?
"Okay," I hear myself agree. "We can see the horses."
Mason's expression softens, something that might be pleasure crossing his features. "Good. Let me just text the guys, let them know we'll be out there."
He pulls out his phone and types quickly. Within seconds, his phone buzzes with responses. He glances at them and grins.
"Tucker says he's bringing Emma down. She'll be excited to meet Rosie."
More people. More of Mason's makeshift family.
Part of me wants to retreat, to grab Rosie and lock ourselves back in the cottage where it's safe and controlled.
But the other part, the part that's so fucking tired of running, wants to see what this place really is.
Who these men are. Whether the family they claim to be is real or just another lie.
We bundle Rosie into her jacket—purple with unicorns, slightly too small but still her favorite, and head outside.
The morning sun is bright, almost blinding after so many nights in dark parking lots.
The ranch spreads out before us, bigger than I realized in the dark.
Pastures, fences, a massive barn that looks like it's been standing for decades.
Mason leads us toward the barn, his stride long and confident. I have to take two steps for every one of his, and I can’t help but notice how my thighs rub together when I walk, how my breathing gets heavier faster than it should. Out of shape. Another thing to add to my list of inadequacies.
"That's the main barn," Mason explains, pointing. "We keep most of the horses there. The cattle are out in the far pastures this time of year. Equipment sheds are over there, and those cottages—" he gestures to a cluster of small buildings "—that's where the rest of us live."
"Six cottages for six owners," I observe.
"We have 8 now, with Sierra's investment. But she lives with Wade." Mason glances at me. "You'll meet her when they get back. She's good people. You'll like her."
I'm not sure I will. Women with money who marry into ranches usually look at women like me with disdain. But I don't say that. Just nod and keep walking.
We're almost at the barn when a man appears leading a horse. He's tall, lean, with a calm presence that immediately marks him as someone comfortable with children. A little girl with pigtails walks beside him, wearing pink cowboy boots.
"Mason!" The girl runs toward us, then stops short when she sees me and Rosie. "Oh. Hi."
"Hey, Emma." Mason's voice goes softer, more tender. "This is Lily and her daughter Rosie. They're staying at Wade and Sierra's cottage for a bit."
"Tucker Hayes." The man extends his hand to me, his handshake firm but not crushing. "And this is my daughter Emma. Mason texted that you might want to see the horses?"
"Horsies!" Rosie practically shouts, pointing at the massive animal standing placidly beside Tucker.
"That's Butterscotch," Emma informs her seriously. "She's very nice. Do you want to pet her?"
Rosie looks up at me, her eyes huge and pleading. I'm terrified. The horse is enormous, easily ten times Rosie's size, with hooves that could crush my daughter's skull. But Tucker and Emma are standing right there, and Emma is seven. If a seven-year-old can be around these horses safely...
"Okay," I say, my voice tight. "But you have to be very gentle."
Tucker lifts Rosie up, asking my permission first with a glance, and brings her close to Butterscotch's nose. The horse sniffs at Rosie's hand, and my daughter giggles with pure delight.
"She likes you," Emma declares. "Butterscotch is a very good judge of character."
Despite my fear, I smile. Emma is adorable. Precocious and confident in a way I never was as a kid.
"You ever ridden a horse?" Mason asks me suddenly, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
I shake my head. "Never."
"Want to try?" His dark eyes hold mine, and there's something in them that makes my pulse quicken. "I can teach you. It's not as scary as it looks."
Riding. Me. On a horse. With Mason teaching me.
The image that floods my mind is completely inappropriate. Mason's hands on my hips, his body pressed against mine from behind, that rough voice in my ear telling me what to do. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the throb of arousal between my legs.
"I don't know," I hedge, my voice coming out breathier than I intend.
"Tucker can watch Rosie," Mason continues, his gaze never leaving mine. "Emma loves having other kids around. And the corral's right there. You'll be able to see her the whole time."
Watch Rosie. Let a stranger, another one of these men I don't know, watch my daughter while I'm on a horse with Mason's hands on my body.
Every instinct screams no. Screams that this is how it happens, how you lose control, how everything goes wrong. But Tucker is holding Rosie so gently, and Emma is chattering away to her about horses and ranch life, and Rosie is laughing. Actually laughing.
When was the last time I heard her laugh like that?
"I'm a dad," Tucker says quietly, reading my hesitation perfectly.
"I understand. I wouldn't trust just anyone with Emma either.
" He meets my eyes, and there's something honest there.
Something real. "But I promise you, Rosie will be safe with me.
I'll keep her right here where you can see her the whole time. "
A dad. He's a dad. He has a daughter right there. He wouldn't do anything. Couldn't do anything with Emma watching. And Mason trusts him, that much is obvious from the way they interact, the easy camaraderie between them.
"Okay," I hear myself say, even though my heart is racing. "Okay. But I need to see her. The whole time."
"The corral's right there." Tucker points to a fenced area maybe fifty yards away. "Perfect sightline. You'll be able to see us the entire time."
Mason's already walking toward the barn, and I follow, my legs feeling shaky. He leads out a smaller horse, brown with a white blaze down her face, and brings her to the corral.
"This is Daisy," he says, stroking the horse's neck. "She's the calmest one we have. Perfect for beginners."
I look back at Rosie. She's sitting on Tucker's shoulders now, Emma walking beside them toward the corral fence, both girls chattering away. Safe. Happy.
"You ready?" Mason asks.
This is such a bad idea. Getting on a horse with this man, letting him touch me, guide me. But I can't seem to make myself say no.
"Yeah," I breathe out, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm ready."