Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
DYLAN
DYLAN: Watched the game. Great win.
DYLAN: Outlaws didn’t stand a chance against the Sullivan magic.
JAKE: Dragging Chase to the ranch for the weekend. Try not to get trampled before we get there.
CHASE: I want front row seats when you saddle Fury and he throws your ass in the dirt.
I never sleep when the rain comes down in sheets like this.
The sound like a broken faucet, gushing like it’ll never stop.
I think of Fury pacing his stall, hating the confinement.
Just rain, I tell myself. No storm like there was the night Dad died.
Still, the sound stirs memories I hate to think of and wish I could forget.
Eleven years old—I’d felt so grown up as I’d raced into the storm after my dad.
The weather had turned in a heartbeat and the horses were still in the paddocks and needed to be brought into the barn.
I charged into the rain with Jake, a year younger and a step behind me.
We were soaked through in seconds, clothes clinging to our bodies.
I was ice cold but determined as Dad led the first two horses through the barn doors.
Then a streak of lightning lit the sky and I caught sight of the horses in the paddocks.
They were spooked, galloping in circles, chasing each other.
Jake and I were side by side as we reached the gate.
Now, my covers are off and I’m out of bed in seconds, needing to stop the next memory from replaying. The decision I made that night. The chain reaction it caused. Mama widowed. My brothers and I without the father we worshipped.
If only I’d—
No!
I won’t go there.
I throw on a tee over my shorts and I’m down the stairs in seconds, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water and a bowl of cereal.
I keep the lights off. No need to turn them on when I know every creak and dip of this ranch.
So many nights I’ve tiptoed through the house, unable to sleep as a boy with the weight of grief and responsibility on my shoulders.
Maybe no one gave me that responsibility—the feeling like I had to take care of my brothers, be a rock of support for Mama. But it was there nonetheless. Still is.
They’re the same silent steps I made after my ACL tear too, when I was right back in my childhood bedroom, the pain of my injury and the fear of my future keeping me from sleep.
Across the kitchen, Buck stirs from his bed, padding over to greet me. I bend down to pet him. “You enjoyed watching me fall on my ass today, didn’t you?”
I think of my brothers and the win they’ll be celebrating against the Dallas Outlaws tonight: 34-17, with Jake scoring two touchdowns.
It’s their third and final pre-season game.
Their third win. With Jake playing his best football and Chase as their quarterback, they’re heading into the season stronger than ever.
The pain that I’m not with them is no longer a sharp sting.
More like a dull ache—something I’m finding easier to ignore most days.
It makes me realize I need to talk to Izzy about my plans.
But the last time we spoke about the future, Izzy told me she was leaving.
She had another ranch offer. If I tell her I’m keeping the horses, giving the ranch a real chance, will she feel compelled to stay?
It’s not just that I want her to stay. It’s that I want her to want it.
And that’s the thought that has my head spinning and I go right on avoiding talking to her.
Coward!
I’m grabbing a glass and heading for the fridge when a flash of light at the window snags my attention.
Lightning? No. If this were anything more than rain, Buck would be whimpering.
He’s always hated storms. I step to the back door and peer into the night.
The rain is still coming down in sheets.
The barn is in darkness. Except there’s the flash of light again.
Not lightning, but a flashlight. And Izzy.
“What the fuck?” I hiss, leaving my glass on the counter and throwing open the back door. My boots are on and I’m outside in seconds, wishing I’d grabbed a raincoat as cold raindrops pelt my body.
I call her name, but my voice is lost to the roar of the rain as I stride toward her trailer.
The door is banging in the wind and there’s a ladder lying on its side in a puddle of mud.
I stare up at her, still struggling to believe what I’m seeing—Izzy, standing on the roof of her trailer, rain beating down around her, the flimsy raincoat she’s wearing clinging to her body, soaked through and doing nothing to keep her dry or decent either, considering how much of her thighs and ass I see with every flicker of flashlight.
“Izzy.” I bark out her name, louder this time.
She lets out a startled yelp. “You almost made me fall.” She glares at me through the rain like this is my fault.
Sure, I’m the problem here. I bite back the retort. This is not the time for bickering. I force a calm into my voice. “Get down. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.”
“I’ve almost got it,” she shouts, wrestling with a trash bag—the black plastic flapping wildly in the wind. As she moves, one of her boots slips on the wet roof and I swear my heart stops dead. Then a second later, she rights herself.
I step back, craning my neck for a better look. Rain drips down my face. I’m cold and soaked through, but it’s nothing compared to the state Izzy is in. “What are you doing?”
“My skylight started leaking.”
“For God’s sake, Izzy,” I holler. “You need to get down before you kill yourself.”
Her response is so exasperatingly typical of her that I almost laugh. “I have nowhere to sleep.”
“Like there isn’t a ranch house with four empty beds just across the driveway,” I yell at her. “Are you seriously telling me that you’d rather risk death than knock on my door?”
She pauses, and even in the flickering light of the flashlight, her face streaming with rain, I can see the realization dawn.
“Yes?” The single word is a question as much as an answer.
She frowns and I breathe a little easier as she stops her fight with the trash bag and steadies herself.
She’s still on a slippery metal roof in the middle of the night in the pouring rain, but at least she’s no longer moving.
“How were you planning on getting down, genius?” I shout up.
She glances toward the edge of the roof, her eyes widening with another bolt of realization. “The ladder—”
“Is in the mud,” I finish for her.
Her mouth drops open, and I can’t decide if I want to keep shouting at her or charge up that ladder, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her down myself.
“It’s too late, and I’m too wet and too tired to keep arguing with you,” I growl before moving to grab the ladder. “I’m putting this back and you’re climbing down. Then you’re sleeping in the house tonight. End of story.”
“I’ll come down,” she says, shuffling toward the edge of the roof, “but I can sleep—”
“Just get your ass down here, Brooks.”
“Talking of asses, don’t stare at mine while I’m climbing down, Sullivan,” she calls out.
“Because you decided clothes were optional for roof repair?” Probably not the time to question her clothing choices, but I can’t help it, just like I can’t help my eyes snagging on the strip of black lace barely covering her ass.
“I’m wearing clothes!” she replies as her hands grip the wet rungs. “Just… not many.”
I hold the ladder, trying not to be a giant perv as I watch her climb down, telling myself it’s so I can be ready to catch her if she slips.
When she finally makes it to the ground, I heave out a breath.
Izzy is soaked through and might as well be naked for all the good her clothes are doing.
Her raincoat clings to the swell of her breasts, her nipples showing through the fabric.
Her hair is loose and dripping down her face and back, and damn if she still isn’t infuriatingly sexy.
She’s also shivering. Before she can argue, I grab her hand, threading my fingers through hers, and give a gentle tug.
“You’re coming inside,” I say.
I ignore Izzy’s protests as I lead her through the house, up the stairs, and to the bathroom, never letting go of her hand as I turn the knobs in the shower to hot. “Don’t move,” I say as warm steam starts to fill the room.
A moment later I’m shoving two fluffy clean towels and some clothes at her. “Get in that shower and get warm.”
Izzy looks like she might argue some more, but then something else entirely dances in those green eyes of hers. “You’re kind of cute when you’re bossy, Sullivan.”
It’s the last thing I expected her to say and I can’t help but laugh. “You get struck by lightning on that roof?”
“Maybe.” She laughs too, the sound wrapping around my chest like it does every time I hear it. “What about you? Don’t you need to get warm?”
My brain short circuits at the implication in her voice, and my dick twitches, growing hard in seconds.
It’s on my lips to ask if there’s an invitation in that question, but I hold it in and mentally shake myself.
I’m not the kind of man who takes advantage of a woman with nowhere else to go.
Even if all I can think about is peeling off her wet clothes and stepping into that shower with her.
“I’ll shower downstairs.” I turn for the door before I can change my mind.
I’m in the kitchen with two steaming mugs of cocoa when Izzy pads barefoot into the room.
I glance up, ignoring the way my breath catches in my lungs at the sight of her.
Her face is glowing, clean, and fresh. Her hair is damp, scooped behind her ears.
She looks softer somehow. Younger, I think.
The oversized tee and shorts I dug out for her are too big, but of course she still manages to make them look good.
Or maybe that’s because my mind can’t stop wandering to what’s underneath—nothing but smooth skin and her perfect ass.