Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Ranch
“So, what did you do?” Bowman asked as we drove out of town toward my family’s ranch.
“Do?” I peered at him as I kept hold of the pastry boxes on my lap.
“Gracie, Lucy . . . they seemed to know you’re a hair trigger. Clearly, you’ve got a track record. Or a rap sheet.”
I glared at him.
“Come on, tell me a story,” he begged. “I’ll tell you one of mine if you tell me one of yours.”
He glanced at me but didn’t take his hands off the wheel.
For a moment, I was mesmerized by the size of them. They were huge, and I instantly remembered the way they had coasted over my skin and spread my thighs . . .
“Salem?”
“Yeah.” I dragged my eyes up to his.
He arched a brow. “I’ll trade you story for story.”
“You have youthful transgressions?” I asked.
“Several. Come on, tit for tat.”
“I’m not showing you my tat.”
“I’ve seen your tat.” He grinned. “And I’ve seen your ink, too.”
“A youthful transgression.” I wanted to get far away from the conversation about my ink.
“Yep. You gotta go first, though.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“Humor me.”
“Fine.” I sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to let it go.
“There was a really mean girl named Amber in high school who made Hadley cry. So, one day I put hair removal cream in her face cleanser bottle. After soccer practice while she was showering and washing her face, she got a nice little surprise—her eyebrows mysteriously fell out. Oh, and her hairline got pushed back about a half an inch since she got some up on her forehead.”
“Vicious. What did she say to Hadley that made her cry?”
“I don’t remember,” I lied.
He looked at me but said nothing.
“Now you. Tell me one of your youthful transgressions.”
“There was a stray cat in our neighborhood,” he began. “It only had three legs. But it was a scrappy little fucker. These two idiots—just big, dumb, mean motherfuckers—managed to trap it.”
Dread coiled through my stomach.
“You can tell when a kid is off, you know? They were fourteen. And they definitely knew better. Anyway, they trapped the cat and were tying firecrackers to its tail.”
“No …” I whispered.
“Yeah. But I stopped them in time before they could set them off.” His fingers clenched the wheel and his knuckles began to turn white.
When Bowman fell silent, his eyes still on the road, I prodded, “That’s not the end of the story, is it?”
Bowman looked at me and cracked a grin. “No, that’s not the end of the story. I got expelled for what I did next, but it was worth it. My foster mother was not happy.”
“You grew up in the system?” I asked in surprise.
“Another story for another day,” he said, clamping his mouth shut.
Hmm. Guess he has things he didn’t want to talk about either.
I was now curious about him. More than just the man that he was, but the boy he’d been. And how he’d become a bull rider.
I did not like having curiosity where he was concerned, so I shoved it aside and slapped armor around my heart.
“Hate to break it to you, Caspian, but that isn’t a youthful transgression.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “No. Whatever got you expelled was vigilante justice.”
A smile flitted across his sultry mouth. “Same goes for you. What you did was for your sister.”
“I guess so,” I agreed.
“Ah, so we have something in common.” He looked at me. “We protect the innocent.”
I felt my armor crack. Just a bit.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I guess we do.”
My phone rang, startling me out of the moment. I dug around for it in my bag and saw Hadley’s name flashing across the screen.
I debated silencing it, but if it was about Dad, then I didn’t want to miss the news.
“Hey. Is everything okay with Dad?” I asked as soon as I picked up.
Hadley paused, and then she said, “Dad’s okay. I mean, okay as can be.”
I closed my eyes. “So, this isn’t about Dad?”
“No. You didn’t text me back.”
“Can I call you back in a few minutes?” I asked, glancing at Bowman, who was clearly pretending not to be listening. “We’re almost home.”
“You’re not home yet?”
“We got food at The Diner,” I replied. “And then Gracie stopped me and added pastries. And then Lucy. . .”
“Oh, I see.”
There was a lot going on that was clearly not being said between us, but it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have over the phone.
“When are you going to be back at the Ridge?” I asked.
“I don’t know. We get to see him for a few minutes at a time, but only every few hours. Muddy’s trying to browbeat a nurse into putting a cot in Dad’s room so she can stay the night.”
“If browbeating doesn’t work, we can always make a sizable donation.”
Hadley paused. “I should’ve thought of that.”
“Money opens doors.”
That was one thing the Powell family had a lot of. Plus, the Powell family was a staple in the community. Everyone knew who we were.
It was one of the reasons I’d left.
“I feel bad for the nurse that tries to stand between Muddy and her son,” I said dryly. “The woman doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“If all she’s going to do is sit and crochet or sleep, I don’t understand why they won’t let her,” Hadley remarked.
“Protocol, I guess.”
“Hmm. Yeah.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’ll talk to you later.”
I hung up with my sister, and then stared out the window.
“What’s the word?” Bowman asked.
I glanced at him and smiled. “You want me to recount an entire conversation I know you already heard?”
He grinned. “Nah. Just trying to be polite.”
“Hmm. I don’t know if I like you polite.”
“But you like me, huh?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Oh yeah, you definitely like me.”
“Only when you’re naked,” I quipped, trying to lighten the intensity of the conversation I’d just had with my sister. “And when your mouth is otherwise occupied instead of talking. Talking ruins everything.”
“We talked. That night.”
Despite my saucy barbs, my cheeks flamed with heat. “That wasn’t talking. That was . . . something else.”
“Something you desperately want to do again.”
“Turn,” I commanded, pointing to a fork in the road. “Go up that way.”
“I’m right, right?” he demanded. “You liked when I whispered dirty depraved things in your ear. Things I wanted to do.”
I couldn’t stop the memories or the shivers that pattered up my spine and settled at the base of my neck. If he was trying to get me to concede the bet—he would have try harder. A lot harder.
“Not going to happen, Caspian,” I said, my tone raspy.
“We’ll see, Powell. We shall see.”