Chapter 14 Silent Chicken
SILENT CHICKEN
RIPLEY
Not many people wake up earlier than farmers.
On weekdays, I need to get everything ready in the fields before my employees come to work.
Today I will use my early bird-ness to my advantage.
Before the sun is even poking above the horizon on Friday morning, I’m up and out of bed, twisting my hair into a long ponytail, then pulling on shorts and a sports tank.
I smile evilly, then pat Hudson on the flank where he’s stretched out on the floor. “You ready to see how brilliant your mom is?”
He lifts his snout in curiosity.
“I say brilliant…” I hold up my palms like scales. “You say nefarious. What’s the difference?”
I grab socks and quietly pad downstairs.
Hudson isn’t so quiet as he follows me, but Banks is in the cottage, so no way can he hear him.
The floorboards creak as I make my way to the front door.
In the foyer, I grab dog bags from the shelves, then tug on my sneakers and tie them quickly.
Hudson’s leash is on a hook, so I slip that on my boy, then inch by quiet inch, I open the door.
I’m holding my breath the entire time.
When I survey the property for signs of the tattooed hottie and find none, I let out a huge sigh of relief.
I look to the east. The pale light of dawn is starting to fade away as the morning’s first light brightens the edge of the world.
At least I can get a walk in without that tempting man by my side.
I’ll use the time to enjoy the sounds of the day beginning—a bird, the rustle of grass, the chewing of the horse at a pasture down the road.
I hustle along the path toward the gate twenty feet away. My escape hatch.
Ten feet away.
Five feet.
Freedom is nigh! I’ll get thirty minutes, maybe an hour of alone time where I’m not amped up from being near that man.
I hazard a glance at the cottage.
Yes!
The lights aren’t even on. Ha. Someone likes to sleep in. And…it’s not my bodyguard. Because I jump, startled, since Banks is suddenly right beside me, wearing shorts, sneakers, and a workout tank, looking like he’s been up for an hour at least, waiting to ambush me.
Banks smiles, all crooked and cheerful. “You forgot to send me the agenda,” he says, but then shrugs happily.
“But no worries. I took a guess you’d be up early with my new best friend.
” He scratches Hudson’s ears, then rises to his full height—six foot three, I’m guessing.
He’s all towering and strapping and yes, those tattoos do climb across his pecs since I just got a peek through his muscle tank.
My mouth waters. Stupid mouth. “And I guess I was right,” he adds annoyingly, and annoying me.
“Yes, you were right, Banks. I do walk my dog in the morning,” I say, as I turn down the quiet road. “But I don’t like to talk at this hour.”
“No worries. I’ve got music to listen to,” he says, brandishing his earbuds from his pocket. My chest burns with irritation. I should have brought mine.
I wave to the gate. “How did you do that? Just appear out of nowhere?”
“It’s my special skill. Especially since I had a feeling you were going to break rule number one and rule number two.”
“There’s plenty of time for me to try again,” I say.
“I have no doubt.” He bends to pet my dog on the chin this time.
The traitor wags his tail and asks for more scratches. “Aww, such a good boy,” Banks says as Hudson bounces in response. “Guess I am good with my hands.”
I snap my gaze to him. “I wouldn’t know.”
Then I look ahead and try not to check out his arms, his legs, and his whole stupidly handsome body as we walk my dog in a silent game of chicken.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re back, and I’m seriously going to have to work harder to lose him.
But there’s more to my plan than my thwarted dog walk. It’s still early, but I know Grandma can cover for me for a couple hours.
When we near the porch, he says, “So, what’s on the agenda?”
I smile. “You want to be my shadow? Guess what? We’re doing yoga.”
I lift my chin. How’s that for brilliant?
Plenty of guys do yoga. But I’m guessing a bodyguard isn’t the yoga type.
Banks’s muscles will probably atrophy if he doesn’t find a weight bench soon to recharge his muscle cells.
A man like him survives on protein powder and weight plates, not sun salutations and shavasanas.
“Sounds great. I’ll drive,” he says.
“Actually, we can walk,” I say, cheery and upbeat—all part of the plan.
“That works too,” he says. “Meet you in…?”
“Fifteen minutes,” I supply, then bound up the steps before a smidge of guilt hits me again. He’s really going to hate me soon. Might as well just clear the air for the sake of doing the right thing. I spin around. “Banks?”
He turns around. “Yes?”
My chest twinges. Or maybe that’s my pride acting up. Either way, I meet his gaze straight on, and I woman up. “SorryIsaidyou’renotmytype. Thatwasn’tnice.”
There. Done.
But he stares at me, brow furrowed, confused. “Excuse me?”
Did I really say it that quickly? I draw a breath, square my shoulders, then try again. Slower this time. Or really, normal speed. “Sorry I said you’re not my type. That wasn’t nice.”
“Ah,” he says, nodding. “I thought that’s what you said, but I wanted to be sure.”
My jaw drops. “You knew and made me repeat it?”
“It’s good to be certain, right?”
“And you want me to trust you?”
“I need to trust my ears, Ripley,” he says with a smile. “But don’t think twice about it. We’re all good.”
“Good.”
I turn to open the door when he adds, “Besides, I knew you didn’t mean it.”
This man. I seethe. I have no regrets for what I’m about to do.
Five minutes later, I’m out the door again, grabbing my bike from where I left it by the fence and hopping on.
Let him run after me. I don’t care. Let him take his freaking car. That’s fine too.
I fly down the hill on two wheels, lift my left hand to show I’m turning right, then turn, when the sound of tires against asphalt grows louder. I peek behind me and groan. “Are you kidding me?”
Banks is wearing a black helmet and riding a mint-green beach cruiser, and in seconds he’s pedaling by my side. “I figured it’d just be easier if I got one too,” he says, calm and too amused for my taste. “Don’t you think?”
“Where did you get a bike?” I ask, annoyed and impressed at the same time. But then it hits me. When I had dinner last night and he went to run errands, he must have gone into town, or to a nearby town, to pick one up. “Forget it. I don’t even want to know.”
“Too bad mint was the only color,” he says, glancing briefly down at the pretty frame. “I’d have preferred we have matching bikes. But the shop didn’t have a purple one.”
“Such a shame,” I mutter as I slow at the upcoming stop sign.
“But hold on. One more thing,” he says.
At the sign, I set my feet down on the road. He reaches into the basket on his handlebars and retrieves another helmet. “You really should wear one of these things.”
He leans across the space between us and sets the most adorable pink helmet on my head. “I usually wear one,” I grumble.
“I’m sure you do, sweetheart. But, like I said, it’s my job to keep you safe.”
His midnight eyes stay on me as he adjusts the pink helmet, then tucks some loose strands of hair behind my ear, his finger whisking over the shell.
His touch lasts a little longer than I’d expect.
His fingers slide along my jawline, then he snaps the buckle under my chin. He takes a beat, then fiddles with it some more, moving it just so.
Then just so again. His breath hitches. Quietly, but I hear it. A quick, sharp intake.
When he lifts his face, he meets my eyes, and I see that same dark desire from the night we met. Raw. Primal. A flash of heat too.
“There. How’s that?” His voice is lower than before, raspier.
Holy shit.
He meant everything he said then. He was into me. And now, all this proximity is as hard for him as it is for me.
Guess I am his type.
“It’s good,” I say, answering him at last, even though it’s not good. It’s bad, how dangerously attracted I am to my bodyguard. Especially since he keeps up with me the whole way to the Downward Dog All Day yoga studio.
After we lock up the bikes on a rack and go inside, a pink-haired woman behind the check-in counter says to me, “Ripley, you’re finally taking a class.”
I wince and paste on a smile.
Yeah, maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea to play chicken here. Since I’ve never done yoga before.