Chapter 6 - Mason
I'm a fucking jerk.
I asked her to ride specifically so I'd have an excuse to touch her. To put my hands on her hips, press my body against hers from behind, feel her curves under my palms without it being weird or threatening. It's manipulative as hell, and I know it, but I can't seem to stop myself.
I want her. Want her in a way I haven't wanted anyone in years, maybe ever.
The way she looks at me with those wary green eyes.
The way her body fills out those tight jeans.
The curve of her stomach, the fullness of her breasts, the thickness of her thighs.
Everything about her makes my cock hard and my hands ache to touch.
But I can't just grab her. Can't corner her in the cottage or make demands or take what I want. She's vulnerable, exhausted, running from something. The last thing she needs is another man trying to use her.
So, I'm doing this instead. Teaching her to ride. Using the excuse of instruction to get close to her, to feel her body against mine, to pretend for a few minutes that she's mine to touch.
It's fucked up. I know it's fucked up. But I'm doing it anyway.
"First thing," I say, leading Daisy to the mounting block, "is getting on. Left foot in the stirrup, swing your right leg over."
Lily approaches the horse cautiously, her eyes darting between Daisy and the corral where Tucker's playing with Rosie and Emma. Making sure her daughter's safe. Good mother instincts.
She puts her foot in the stirrup and tries to pull herself up, but she doesn't have the upper body strength. Her arms shake, and she falls back, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"It's okay," I tell her. "Most people can't do it without help the first time. Here." I move behind her, my hands settling on her waist. Fuck. Even through the cardigan and her shirt, I can feel how soft she is. How perfectly curved. "On three. One, two, three."
I lift, and she swings her leg over, settling into the saddle with a small gasp. Her hands immediately grip the saddle horn, knuckles white.
"That's good," I murmur, adjusting the stirrups for her shorter legs. My fingers brush her calf through her jeans, and I swear I feel her shiver. "How does it feel?"
"High." Her voice is tight with nerves. "Really high."
"You're doing great." I move to Daisy's head, stroking her neck to keep her calm. "Just breathe. Daisy can feel your tension. The more relaxed you are, the calmer she'll be."
Lily takes a shaky breath, then another. Slowly, her grip on the saddle horn loosens. She's trying. That's more than most people do on their first time.
"Good girl," I say without thinking, and her eyes snap to mine. Fuck. Did I just call her a good girl? Like she's a horse or a dog or—
Her pupils dilate. Her lips part slightly. And I realize she liked it.
Fuck!
I clear my throat and focus on the horse. "Okay. I'm going to lead you around the corral a few times. Just get used to the movement. Keep your back straight, shoulders relaxed."
I need to cool the fuck down.
My cock is throbbing so hard it's painful, pressing against my jeans in a way that's impossible to ignore.
My hands are sweating, palms slick, and I have to grip Daisy's lead rope tighter to keep from slipping.
The last thing I need is to lose control of the horse and put Lily in danger because I can't stop thinking about bending her over in the barn and fucking her until she screams my name.
I need to get my shit together. Act like a grown man and focus on actually helping her ride.
I start leading Daisy around the corral at a steady pace.
Lily's dark hair flutters around her face as the horse moves, catching the sunlight.
She looks around, taking in the view of the ranch: the pastures, the mountains in the distance, the vast Montana sky.
There's something almost peaceful in her expression now, like she's allowing herself to relax for the first time since she arrived.
"This is nice," she says after a few minutes. Her hands have loosened on the saddle horn, her body moving more naturally with Daisy's gait. "I can see why you love it here."
"It's home." The words come out rougher than I intend. "Only real home I've ever had."
We make another circle around the corral.
I can see Tucker and Emma with Rosie over by the fence.
Emma's showing Rosie how to pick wildflowers that grow near the fence posts, and Tucker's watching them both with that calm, patient expression he always has with kids.
Lily keeps glancing over, checking on her daughter, making sure Rosie's safe.
"When did you learn to ride?" Lily asks suddenly. "You make it look easy."
"I was around fifteen or sixteen when Frank started teaching me." I adjust my grip on the lead rope. "He was a fantastic teacher. Patient. Never got mad when I fucked up. But I still fell a lot because I wanted to do everything on my own. Wouldn't listen to his advice about taking it slow."
"That surprises me," Lily says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "You seem so controlled now."
"I learned the hard way." I reach up to pull at the collar of my henley, tugging it down to expose my left shoulder. There's a scar there, thick and raised, about four inches long. "See this? Got it from being a stubborn idiot."
Lily leans forward in the saddle, squinting at the mark. "What happened?"
"I was seventeen. Been riding for about a year, thought I knew everything.
" I let my shirt fall back into place. "Started raining one day while I was out on one of the trails.
Most people would come back to the barn, wait it out.
But I loved riding in the rain. Felt free. Like nothing could touch me."
"That sounds beautiful," Lily murmurs.
"It was. Until the thunder started." I lead Daisy in another circle, the memory playing out in my head as clear as if it happened yesterday.
"Thunder struck close, real close, and the horse got spooked.
Reared up, threw me clean off. I went flying into the fence, shoulder first. Broke my collarbone, cracked three ribs, needed twelve stitches. "
Lily's eyes widen. "Oh my god."
"Spent two weeks in the hospital, another six in physical therapy.
Frank banned me from riding for a month after that.
Thought I was going to die from boredom.
" I shake my head at the memory of my seventeen-year-old self, so convinced of his own immortality.
"But I learned my lesson. Respect the horse.
Respect the weather. Don't be a cocky little shit who thinks he knows better than everyone else. "
"So, if you could choose," Lily says, and there's a teasing note in her voice now, "would you rather have been hit by the thunder than stop riding in the rain?"
I can't help it. I laugh. Actually laugh, the sound rough and rusty because I so rarely do it anymore. "Back then? If I could've chosen, I would've taken the lightning strike. Anything to keep riding. I was that fucking stupid."
"That's not stupid," Lily says softly. "That's passion. That's loving something so much you're willing to risk everything for it. I envy you." she adds.
I glance up at her. "Why?"
"Because it sounds like you had freedom when you were a kid.
" She looks down at her hands on the saddle horn.
"My parents were overboard with their control.
I wasn't allowed to do anything without their permission.
Couldn't go to friends' houses, couldn't join clubs, couldn't stay after school for activities.
I never made many friends, and the ones I did make, I couldn't keep because my parents wouldn't let me see them outside of class. "
"That's fucked up."
"They thought they were protecting me." Lily's voice is flat. "Keeping me safe from bad influences. But all they did was isolate me. I never went to a party. Never had a boyfriend in high school. Never got to be a normal teenager."
"Your parents were crazy," I say bluntly. "A kid should be able to enjoy themselves too. Should get to make mistakes and learn from them. That's how you grow up."
I pause, considering how much to tell her. "I never had a good childhood either, Lily. The ranch wasn't an extra for me. It was a lifeline. The only thing that kept me from—" I cut myself off. From becoming my father. From ending up in prison or dead. From giving up entirely.
Lily's quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed. I just heard you talk about riding in the rain and thought—"
"You thought I was some carefree kid who got to run wild," I finish for her. "I get it. But that's not how it was. Not before Frank."
"Do you..." She trails off, then tries again. "Do you want to share anything about your childhood? You don't have to. I just… I told you about mine, and I thought maybe—"
Should I? My brothers know how rough my childhood was. They know about my father, about what he did to my mother, about why I joined the military. But nobody else does. I don't talk about it. Don't let people see that part of me because it's ugly and painful and makes me feel weak.
But how can I expect Lily to open up to me if I don't do the same? How can I ask her to trust me when I'm holding everything back?
This isn't about sex. Isn't about getting into her pants or manipulating her into something. This is about wanting to share a piece of myself with her. About wanting her to see what's behind the facade of the messy, bearded cowboy who offered her shelter.
I must be thinking too long because she starts talking again. "You don't have to tell me anything. Maybe I talked too much. I always do that when I'm nervous. My mother used to say—"
"You didn't talk too much," I interrupt, my voice rougher than I intended. "And I want to tell you. I just... I don't talk about this shit. Ever."
Daisy keeps walking at a steady pace around the corral. I have no idea how many times we've circled now—ten? Twenty? But I'm not stopping. Not when we're having this conversation. Not when Lily's actually opening up to me, showing me pieces of herself.
She glances toward the fence again, checking on Rosie. Tucker's lifted both girls onto the lower fence rail now, letting them watch us ride. Emma's pointing at something, probably explaining horse anatomy or some shit. Rosie's laughing, her little hands clapped together with joy.
The sun beats down on us. Sweat drips down my chest, soaking through my henley. Lily's face is flushed, beads of perspiration on her forehead, her cardigan clinging to her body in ways that should be illegal. But somehow, in this moment, I feel more whole than I have in years.
No nightmares last night. No waking up in a cold sweat, reaching for a gun that isn't there, my heart racing with phantom fear. Just solid, dreamless sleep for the first time in months.
Lily feels right. Like the light at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel.
I take a deep breath and make the decision.
"My father used to beat my mother," I tell her, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
"Started when I was young. Five, maybe six.
I'd hear her crying at night, hear the sound of his fists connecting with her face, her body.
Hear him screaming at her that she was worthless, that she deserved it, that if she was a better wife he wouldn't have to hit her. "
Lily's gone completely still in the saddle. I can feel her eyes on me, but I keep my gaze fixed on Daisy's head, on the worn leather of the lead rope in my hands.
"When I got older, maybe eight or nine, I started trying to intervene.
I'd get between them, tell him to stop, push him away from her.
" My jaw clenches at the memory. "He'd just hit me instead.
Said I needed to learn respect, that a son who didn't respect his father deserved punishment.
My mother would beg him to stop, and that just made him angrier. "
"Mason—" Lily's voice cracks.
"I couldn't protect her." The admission feels like ripping open an old wound. "I was too small, too weak. He'd knock me aside like I was nothing, and then he'd go right back to hitting her. I was useless."
We make another circle around the corral. The sun is relentless, heat radiating off the dirt, but I barely feel it. All I can feel is the old shame, the old rage, the knowledge that I failed the person I loved most.