20. Cala
Alot has happened this past week.
The construction of our new home finally began.
Oliver redesigned my father’s old house into something that fits his new needs—a single-story home, larger, open, easy for him to move around without obstacles.
He showed me the blueprints and asked for my opinion while meeting with the architect.
We stood together over the plans, pointing things out, adding ideas, like a real team.
And for the first time, I felt part of his world.
The second thing—maybe the most important—is that Oliver has knocked on my door every night.
Well, almost every night. There was one when he worked until midnight; I heard him come in, pause outside my room, then walk away.
And when he did, something inside me ached.
So, I went to his room instead, and we talked until morning.
Every night, he asks me to touch him, to trace my hands over his skin, to remind him he’s human. Sometimes it turns into something heated, other times it’s just gentle, almost innocent.
But never sex.
We haven’t had sex again, and every day it gets harder not to beg him on my knees to have him take me the way he did that night, with that same fire, that same hunger.
But at the same time, our conversations have grown deeper, dangerously close to the parts of him no one gets to see. And I can’t complain.
Oliver is a puzzle, one with pieces hidden inside his mind, some broken, others locked away. Figuring him out has become my favorite pastime. And every evening, I find myself counting the hours until nightfall, until it’s just the two of us again.
I’m on my break, sitting on the grass with my butt sinking into the earth.
Astro’s lying beside me, and my hands are running gently between his ears.
The sky’s starting to fill with clouds, rain’s coming in the next few days, which means work’s about to get harder.
So, for now, I’m soaking up the sun while it lasts.
On the bright side, my dad started rehabilitation. He spends almost the whole day there, three times a week, talking with other men and women going through the same thing. The first day he looked miserable, but by the second, his mood had already lifted a little.
My mom, on the other hand, found her peace here on the ranch.
She helps me with small chores, getting used to the animals and the way I work, always careful not to let her condition get in the way.
I can tell that the time we spend alone fills her back up, gives her strength to face the evenings with Dad when he comes home.
Everything feels like it’s finally settling. Flowing naturally—just like things with Oliver.
Astro lifts his head, ears perked, eyes locked on something in the distance. I follow his gaze and spot Oliver walking toward us. He’s wearing a cowboy hat this time, his plaid shirt unbuttoned halfway down, and his jeans torn and dusted with dirt around the knees.
I swallow hard, trying to hide the warmth blooming in my cheeks. He’s strikingly beautiful.
“I’m on my break,” I say defensively, squinting against the sunlight, one eye open, one shut.
Oliver kneels beside Astro, scratching him right where I was. The dog wiggles between his legs, tail thumping the ground.
“Mind if I join you?”
I motion to the grass beside me with a little smile.
Ever since Oliver’s brothers confirmed they were coming for Thanksgiving, the man hasn’t stopped working on the ranch.
Fixing, cleaning, rearranging, making sure everything’s perfect.
I love seeing him this way, full of energy, and I can’t help feeling a little proud for pushing him to do it. The results are beautiful.
He drops down beside me, covers his face with his black cowboy hat to block the sun, and props his left arm under his head.
I don’t want to sell his pictures anymore. I want to keep them all to myself.
This week he’s been working from the ranch so he can spend more time here. I like having him around all day. Sometimes I catch him spying through the window of his study and now, instead of annoying me like it used to, it makes my cheeks burn.
Taking advantage of this rare moment alone —my mom’s usually with me now—I decide to finally say what’s been stuck in my throat for days.
“Oliver” I whisper “The rehab center is hosting a Thanksgiving dinner. My folks are going, we’ll go with them, so you and yours have the house to yourselves.”
Oliver lifts his hat off his face and sits up beside me.
“Why?”
“Well, you know my dad. He doesn’t want to be a bother, and since the center’s throwing this big meal…”
“But there’s room for everyone here. I want them here.” His voice is getting firmer.
“I know, but you know how he is.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna put some sense into his head,” he mutters under his breath. “I want you at my table, Cala. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have a full table this year.”
I feel his eyes on me and I look away. Suddenly the feelings clog my throat, feelings I shouldn’t have for my boss, and I want to swallow them down and make them disappear.
“I thought it’d be good for your family time. We can—”
“You are my family too,” he interrupts. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s not up for debate.”
I smile and meet his gaze. Sometimes he makes me feel like I belong, like I belong to him, but that warmth vanishes whenever my parents or Eliza are around.
I don’t even want to imagine how tense things will be when his brothers arrive.
Oliver gets cold when there are people watching, and I get it, what we have isn’t exactly convenient, and if we let it grow it could end up messy.
“It’s time for your training,” he says, voice back to that firm tone. I know I miffed him, but I had to get this out before my dad did.
This past week, we’ve been training with the horses an hour before sunset. The sessions are the highlight of my day. Oliver knows everything there is to know about horses and somehow, he’s endlessly patient with me.
He takes my hand and helps me up. My favorite is Ruby, the cow-wannabe mare, sweet, steady, and forgiving of my mistakes.
Oliver’s hands always find the most distracting places when he helps me mount or dismount. His touch sends sparks down my spine, and he knows it, because he always gives me that half-smile, the devilish one.
I’m finally starting to feel like I can handle the animal and I’m not just talking about Ruby.
“Do you feel that freedom up there?” he calls out as I ride past him.
Yeah.
There’s no better way to describe it. And I can’t wait to find out what it’s like out in the open fields.
On my last lap around the corral, I slow Ruby and stop beside him.
“It’s an incredible feeling,” I say, still catching my breath.
His hands find my waist to help me down.
“I feel that every time I’m with you,” he says quietly, his eyes fixed on the mare instead of me.
I can’t say a word.
Whatever comes out of my mouth could damn us both. But maybe I don’t have to, because he sees it in my eyes.
Oliver ties the mare to the fence, just far enough to hide us from the house, and strides toward me with purpose.
He tilts my chin up and kisses me.
Soft.
Slow.
Oliver.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I woke up,” he murmurs against my lips.
Me too.
Every day it gets harder to stay away from you.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathless, lost in the heat of it. His eyes roam over my face, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“See you after dinner?” he asks.
I nod, swallowing hard, hoping it’s a promise.
Oliver taps lightly on my door, careful not to make a sound that will echo through the rest of the house.
When I open the door, I see that there’s something different in his eyes tonight — something heavy and restless. Then he’s on me, claiming my mouth hungrily and passionately, and kicking the door shut behind him.
So much for keeping quiet.
We tumble onto my bed and his weight presses against me. That same wild desperation that I’ve been fighting all day ignites all over again.
“Touch me,” he begs again, and I run my hands over his body.
He removes my pajamas and kisses my tattoo adoringly.
I remove his nightshirt and throw it on the floor but freeze when I see him taking off his pajama bottoms for the first time.
His underwear too.
His erection unfurls before me, large and thick, ready to nest inside me.
I want to touch it, to kiss it, but I’m so afraid of ruining this moment that I can only watch and admire his body.
Once he has finished undressing, he kisses my stomach and goes straight to my pussy.
“Oliver, wait,”
He stops what he’s doing and waits for my instructions.
“I want to do it myself,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in my words hangs in the air as I search his face for a reaction.
He looks at me, and suddenly, terror flashes in his eyes.
The moment feels fragile, as if it could shatter with the slightest misstep.
I sense him slipping away, panic rising in the silence between us.
Not wanting to lose this connection, I quickly reach for reassurance, letting reckless honesty spill from my lips.
“Let’s try,” I offer gently, doing my best to keep my voice steady and calm.
“If you can’t, then don’t.” The words are an invitation, a promise that there is no pressure, only understanding.
The cowboy nods, worry and anguish evident in his eyes, and sits on the bed.
I kneel between his legs, kissing his broad knees and slowly moving closer to his cock. His muscles are so tense that they feel like a log.
“Wait, wait,” he says, his hands gripping my shoulders firmly. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath shaky and uneven. The anxiety boiling up inside him is nearly palpable—so intense it feels as though it could spill over at any moment, threatening to become a full-blown panic attack.
I have no idea who inflicted such pain on him, but the thought of the person responsible sends a surge of protectiveness through me.
If I ever come face-to-face with whoever wounded this cowboy so deeply, I know I would be capable of anything—even violence—to defend the fragile soul he tries so hard to shield.