Chapter 11 Princess
Princess
SADIE
This might just be the best summer I’ve ever had.
The days at Wild Rose have a rhythm to them I didn't know I was missing. Easy mornings with Jonah over breakfast, long afternoons exploring the property or working on reading under the cottonwood tree by the creek. Warm evenings and home-cooked dinners at the table, like we’re a little family.
I’ve never had that before. Didn’t know how much I was craving it, either. I grew up eating peanut butter sandwiches for dinner off of a TV tray while Momma watched her shows. Or, if she was at work, I just ate alone.
Everything about living at Wild Rose makes my old life in that double-wide trailer feel like it belonged to someone else entirely.
Jonah is an awesome kid, and I can’t believe I’m getting paid to hang out with him.
Work doesn’t feel like work when you're finger-painting and building blanket forts.
And I love teaching, love helping this little boy discover that the squiggles on a page are words that turn into dragons and spaceships and far-away places.
And then there's Walker.
Walker, who I’m pretty sure I almost kissed the other day. Or who almost kissed me. Who can be sure?
I catch him watching me sometimes when he thinks I'm not looking, from across the dinner table, or from the porch while Jonah and I play in the yard.
He comes in at the end of a long day with dust on his jeans and his hat pushed back, looking like the cowboy fantasy I never knew I had. He takes the cold beer I hand him with a surprised thanks every time.
For someone who spent years living in the lap of luxury in Nashville, he sure doesn’t seem used to being looked after.
After dinner, once Jonah's been excused to go play, Walker will pour us both another glass of wine and we sit there in the long golden evening, talking about whatever's on our minds. What’s happened that day at Wild Rose, or the books we’re reading, or something Jonah said that made us both laugh.
And then I'll realize an hour has passed and neither of us has moved except to lean closer across the table to each other.
Once he told me about the summer he taught himself to play guitar and I told him about the first book that made me cry and neither of us noticed it had gotten dark until the fireflies came out.
He’s coming home earlier and earlier each day, I notice.
It’s only three o’clock on this hot summer afternoon and he’s already back, pulling up the road in the vintage Ford F-250 he likes to take instead of the Sierra, when he doesn’t have Jonah’s booster seat to contend with.
I’m barefoot in the grass, pinning my sundress to the clothesline, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air while humming to myself.
I don’t even realize it at first, but it’s one of Walker’s songs that I’m humming.
I stop when I notice.
His voice has been living in my head rent-free for a decade and apparently nothing has changed.
Then I stand there for a second, annoyed at myself, before going back to the laundry.
Right before he comes around the corner of the house with that furrow already forming between his brows, mouth opening to tell me I'm doing too much again.
But then he halts.
His eyes catch on the row of dresses swaying in the breeze, all those soft colors against the blue sky with the mountains in the distance.
I reach up to pin the yellow sundress and the wind takes the line again, swinging it out of reach. I make a frustrated sound and step back.
Directly into his chest.
He steps in behind me, reaching past my shoulder to catch the line and hold it taut. His body presses against my back. His arm brackets mine as he holds the line steady for me.
“You gonna pin your dress yet, copperhead?” he murmurs. “Or make me wait all day for you?”
I take my time to hide the trembling in my fingers as I pin one side of the dress up.
“Patience is a virtue,” I murmur.
“Never claimed to be virtuous.” There’s a husky, teasing rumble to his voice that makes my toes curl against the grass.
He's so warm at my back, and he smells like leather and pine and clean skin and I have to keep my eyes on the clothesline because if I turn my head even slightly my nose would be at his jaw.
“What’s the hurry?” I ask. “You got somewhere to be?”
His lips are close enough to my hair that I feel the warmth of his breath when he answers. “Not particularly.”
The wind drops and the clothesline stops whipping. His chest is at my back and his hand is over mine.
There’s so little space between us.
I want there to be none at all.
I want him to slide his other hand to my waist. I want to lean back and feel his arms tighten around me.
I want it so much, so suddenly, that I have to look straight ahead at the mountains and remind myself who he is and who I am and why none of that is going to happen.
Ultimately, though, he’s the one who takes a step back.
The wind rushes in where he was, sending prickles along my skin.
“Just…” He gestures vaguely at the clothesline, at me, at nothing in particular. “Don't overdo it. That's all.”
And then he walks away, spine rigid, and doesn't look back.
So, yeah, he’s still Walker.
Brooding and grumpy and solitary.
Scolding me for trying to clean the house and grumbling that laundry isn't my job when he finds me hanging clothes on the line to dry in the sunshine.
I ignore him.
I ignore him all the way up until the snake incident a couple of hours later.
It starts when Jonah and I make lemonade to cool off and we’re playing our fossil dig game again, while Walker works on building a small barn about fifty yards away.
He's been at it for the better part of an hour, framing out what will eventually be a little stable for the pony he's planning to get Jonah. The kind of starter responsibility a kid can handle: feeding, grooming, mucking out a stall, all within shouting distance of the house.
He mentioned it over dinner the other day, casual as anything, like surprising his son with his very own pony was just another day in the life.
Lucky kid.
And lucky me, getting to watch Walker bring it all to fruition.
He's in a grey t-shirt gone dark with sweat across his shoulders and down his back, Stetson pulled low against the sun. Every time he lifts a beam into place the shirt rides up, showing the ridges of his stomach, the cut lines disappearing into his waistband.
It’s kind of hypnotic watching him work. Marveling at the casual effort of him carrying boards that would take two of me just to drag across the ground. The raw strength of his body.
He wipes his forearm across his forehead. Takes a long drink of the glass of iced lemonade I gave to him, his throat working with every swallow.
I have to look away before Jonah notices I've completely abandoned our game of make-believe.
But I’m not as smooth as I thought.
“Sadie, you're not paying attention,” Jonah complains, hand propped on his hip in a perfect imitation of his father when he's annoyed.
“Sorry, buddy. I was just…” Inappropriately eye-fucking your dad. “Thinking about what we should have for dinner.”
“Can we have mac and cheese?”
“If your dad says it’s okay,” I tell him. “But promise me you’ll try some of those baby carrots we got too.”
Jonah wrinkles his nose but nods. Then he perks up. “Can I go get my race cars? We can make a track in the dirt.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
He takes off toward the house at a dead run, screen door slamming behind him, and I'm left standing in the yard alone with the sun beating down, the smell of sweetgrass in the air. Bees buzzing over at the wildflowers by the creek.
I glance over at Walker. He's crouched down now, checking the alignment of a post, and even from here I can see the flex of his thighs, the way his jeans pull tight across his ass.
My eyes linger on the way his Wranglers cling to every inch of him. It’s hard not to think about what he looks like underneath.
Something moves in the grass near my feet.
I look down.
There's a snake.
Right there. Less than two feet away. Coiled and thick-bodied and setting off every primal human instinct I possess.
The sound that comes out of me is somewhere between a scream and a yelp, and suddenly I'm climbing onto the nearest hay bale stack like it's a life raft and the ground is lava.
Walker's head snaps up.
In what feels like seconds, suddenly he’s right by my side.
I’ve never seen him move that fast, closing the distance between us in no time flat, eyes scanning me first and then the ground, his whole body gone tense and alert in a way that would be attractive if I weren't currently losing my mind over a reptile.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” His eyes are doing a rapid assessment like he's checking for injuries.
“Snake!” I point with a shaking hand. “Right there!”
He follows my finger, locates the snake, and I watch his shoulders drop slightly. “Sadie. That's a bullsnake.”
“I don't care what kind of snake it is!”
“It's not venomous.”
“It's a snake, and it’s seven feet long!”
“Is this the same girl who snottily informed me that snakes only strike when cornered?”
“First of all, I wasn’t being snotty. And secondly, it is literally in a corner! Look at it!”
The snake uncoils itself. Lifts its head and its long, sinuous body up in a terrifying way as it hisses.
I squeak.
The corner of his mouth twitches. He's trying not to smile.
Honestly, the gall. The man is laughing at me while I'm stranded on a hay bale halfway to a nervous breakdown.
“It's not funny!” I protest.
“I know.” But he's definitely smiling now. “You're just... really high up there.”
“I'm not coming down until it's gone.”
“Sadie.”
“Gone, Walker. As in, no longer visible. Preferably in another zip code.”
He looks at the gigantic snake, which is now slithering around us, totally unbothered by the drama it's causing. Then he looks back at me.
I'm still standing on the hay bale, arms wrapped around myself, and I can feel my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.
“I have a snake phobia, okay?” I admit. “They scare me.”
“All right,” he says, voice gentling. “Come here.”
“I'm fine where I am.”
“You gonna stay up there all day?”
“If I have to.”
He shakes his head, and then he reaches for me. Hands firm on my waist, lifting me down like I weigh nothing at all.
My legs wrap around his waist before I've made a conscious decision about it, arms looping around his neck.
The position presses us together everywhere.
My chest against his, my thighs gripping his hips, our faces so close I can see the exact moment his pupils dilate and go dark. His hands are on my bare thighs. They feel so good there, rough and warm, gripping me confidently.
“Don't you dare put me down,” I say.
“Snake's not interested in us, sweetheart.”
And yet every muscle in his body is still held taut, unmoving. He's holding me like he has no intention of letting go.
One thumb traces a path along the curve where my thigh meets my ass. And I feel it right in my core.
His breathing is shallow too. Like mine. Like we've both been running instead of standing completely still.
“Can't even let your feet touch the ground,” he murmurs, eyes gone dark and heated as they trace over my face. “Such a spoiled little princess.”
“I am not!” The huffy, indignant way I defend myself doesn't exactly help my cause. Especially not when I'm clinging to him helplessly, making no effort whatsoever to climb down.
A wicked gleam enters his eyes, and before I can analyze what it means, he's shifting his grip.
“Wait, what are you…” I start.
In one smooth, effortless motion, he flips me over his shoulder like a sack of feed. The world tilts and suddenly I'm upside down, staring at his back, my stomach pressed against the hard muscle of his shoulder.
“Walker!”
“You said not to put you down.” I can hear the grin in his voice as he starts walking toward the house, one arm banded across the back of my thighs, holding me in place. His hand rests on my skin, fingers spread wide, thumb just at the hemline of my shorts. “I'm just being helpful.”
“This is not…” I'm laughing despite myself, swatting at his back, which does absolutely nothing. The man is solid muscle. “This is not dignified!”
“My dignity’s perfectly intact.” He adjusts his grip, hand sliding higher for just a second. Underneath the denim. Right along the curve of my ass.
My inner muscles clench on nothingness. I’m suddenly acutely aware of the way my clit is rubbing against my zipper. Against him.
The screen door bangs and Jonah comes running out, race cars forgotten, eyes wide with delight. “Dad! What are you doing?”
“Found myself a damsel in distress,” Walker says solemnly, like he's not currently carrying a grown woman over his shoulder. “Had to rescue her from a deadly serpent.”
“It was a bullsnake!” I protest, still dangling upside down, blood rushing to my head, between my legs, everywhere all at once.
“Details.” He bounces me slightly, and I squeal. “Very dangerous. Very scary.”
“You're the one I need rescuing from now!” I say, wriggling in his grip.
And then Walker swats me on the ass.
Not painfully hard. But firm enough that the sound cracks through the air. Firm enough that my flesh tingles everywhere his palm landed and I feel it reverberate all through my body.
Especially between my thighs.
“Quiet, princess,” he growls, and there's something dark and promising underneath the playfulness. “You're my war prize for defeating the serpent.”
Heat floods through me that has nothing to do with the Montana summer sun.
Jonah cackles with glee, bouncing around us like an overexcited puppy. “I'll save you, Sadie! I'm the strongest knight in the whole entire world!”
Walker finally sets me down on the porch, letting me slide down the hard plane of his body. When my feet hit the ground my knees feel like jelly. I barely have time to catch my balance before he turns to his son with an exaggerated scowl.
“That means I must defeat you,” he growls at Jonah, “before I can devour my princess.”
The hot, hungry way he's looking at me when he says devour, I'm thinking he's not joking.
Jonah shrieks with delighted terror and takes off running.
“Better run, darlin’,” Walker says, turning that predatory grin on me. “The beast is hungry.”
I flee.