Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Ranch
“What are you doing in here?” I demanded, trying desperately not to enjoy the sight of Bowman in a pair of flannel sleep pants and a T-shirt that strained over his biceps.
“You locked the bathroom door,” he reminded me. “I came into your room to unlock it. I was going to leave, but then I saw some pictures on your wall and I got curious.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, unsure if I liked him in my space. He invaded it, but also, it felt like he belonged there too.
My head was going to drive me insane.
My body, however, knew instantly that it wanted him. Tousled hair, no doubt minty breath, warm skin.
Fuck. Me.
Bowman walked over to the wall and pointed to a picture of Hadley, me and our parents.
“What’s going on here?”
I stepped closer to the photo and couldn’t stop the laughter as the memory assaulted me.
“Have you heard of the Hiawatha Trail?”
He shook his head.
“It’s a 15-mile bike trail on the Idaho and Montana border. It used to be a railway line, so you ride through old train tunnels and there are these incredible trestles with these awesome views. As you can see from this photo, I loved it. But Hadley didn’t.”
I was smiling in elation at the camera, while Hadley’s face was streaked with tears.
“Why is she crying?” Bowman asked.
“I hate riding horses and Hadley hates riding bikes. Only we didn’t discover that until this adventure.”
“Oh no,” Bowman said with a slight chuckle, his eyes devouring the framed photograph. “How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Let me guess, you were in the front, far ahead and your parents had to call you to stay close.”
“Nah. Mom rode with me. Dad rode with Hadley.”
I reached out and touched my mother’s face.
“You look like her,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Pretty sure that’s why my dad can’t look me straight on.”
He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “I wanted to apologize.”
“For entering my room without invitation?” I joked.
“No. For the stuff I said by the fire.”
“Why?” I asked, finally looking at him.
We were only a few inches apart. If either of us moved ever so slightly, we could brush our lips against one another.
“Because I spoke to you like I know you. Like I had the right to be so honest. It’s how I’d want someone to speak to me, but . . .”
“So, you’re not apologizing for what you said, just how you said it?”
“Something like that.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. It probably needed to be said.”
“Oh, it definitely needed to be said,” he said with a slight smile.
When my eyes slid from his, he reached out and gently grasped my chin and turned my gaze back to his. “But I’m not soft or tender.”
I shivered. “I remember.”
He released my chin, but then his thumb skimmed along the apple of my cheek. “I don’t think you need soft or tender. I think you need someone who can withstand the onslaught.”
The night we spent together flashed through my brain. And I knew he was thinking about it to. Desire reflected in his eyes.
“I’m here. Any time you need to work it out. You get me?”
I took a step back, forcing his hand to drop from my skin. I missed the connection immediately.
“And our bet?”
He peered at me for a long moment. “If you come to me and ask, the bet is a draw. Neither one of us would lose. In fact, I think we’d both win.”
But if I came to him and asked, I would be losing so much more than a bet. It would be proof that I needed him. Needed him in a way that I’d never needed anyone before.
His eyes searched mine for a moment, and then he inclined his head. “Good night, Powell.”
He strode into the bathroom, and then the connecting door to Hadley’s room closed.
I got ready for bed, my thoughts a whirling mess. They weren’t any clearer when I climbed into bed. I stared into the dark, wondering if I was brave enough to cross the divide.
The time change from New York, along with sunlight at 4:30 a.m. peeking in through the curtain I’d forgotten to close, roused me from bed.
Sleep, when it finally came, had been fitful. When we were younger and lived at home, if I had trouble sleeping, I’d crawl into bed with Hadley and make her tell me stories until I fell asleep.
But she wasn’t asleep in the room next to mine.
With a sigh of exhaustion, I flung off the covers and traipsed toward the bathroom. I opened the door and came to a halt.
Bowman was leaning over Hadley’s sink, toothbrush stuck in his mouth.
His blond hair was tousled and his shirt was off.
And I finally had a good look at the ink that spanned his chest and arms.
“Sorry. I didn’t expect you to be up,” I blurted out, rubbing the corner of my eye and stifling a yawn.
“New bed. New place,” he explained.
“Right.”
He gestured to the other sink. “Plenty of room.”
Nodding, I stepped fully into the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush.
“Why are you awake so early?” he asked.
“Time change. And the sun.”
I stuck the toothbrush underneath the running water, and then doused the bristles with toothpaste.
“Declan texted me last night and asked me to feed the chickens,” Bowman said. “He wants Hadley to sleep in.”
“Pregnancy. The get-out-of-ranch-chores card,” I quipped.
He smiled, his steely gaze raking down over me. I was wearing a tight black tank and a pair of faded plaid boxers that hung low on my hips.
“Gideon’s?” he asked, jaw clenching. “Or one of the Parisians?”
I grinned around my toothbrush. “I know jealousy is supposed to be a red flag, but I gotta tell you, I’m totally here for it.”
He growled, and then rinsed his toothbrush. He eyed me again and his brows raised.
Bowman’s finger touched the ink peeking out the top of my boxers. Before I could say anything, he lowered the elastic waist and saw the tattoo in all its glory.
“Jean Luc,” he read, his eyes darting up to mine.
I batted his hand away. “You saw my ink the other night.”
“I did, but I was kind of busy with other things,” he drawled. “I didn’t have time to ask about it. You have another tattoo, right?”
I mumbled confirmation around the toothbrush in my mouth.
“Show me.”
I spit in the sink. “No.”
“Guess I’ll have to discover it on my own.” He glowered.
“What?”
“How many men’s names do you have on your body?”
“Just the one.”
“So not Gideon’s?”
“Not Gideon’s,” I assured him.
He let out a slow, long breath as if he was trying to stop himself from ripping out the sink counter with his bare hands.
“Jean Luc I can deal with. Gideon I cannot.”
“Why?” I frowned, rinsing my toothbrush. “Jean Luc’s name doesn’t bother you?”
“I don’t know Jean Luc. I’ve met Gideon. The idea of his name inked permanently on your skin . . . it pisses me off to no end.”
“I didn’t know you cared so much, Caspian.” I fluttered my eyelashes at him, and then let out another laugh when his jaw clenched.
But my laughter faded when Bowman stalked toward me. He had me backed against the sink counter before I knew what was happening. He caged me in with his strong arms.
“Careful, Powell.” His voice was a whisper against my skin as he pressed his thigh against my cleft. “Don’t toy with me.”
“Who’s toying?” I purred, my fingers clasping the counter as I thrust my breasts forward.
My nipples grazed his chest.
One of his hands left the counter to come up and touch a tender spot on my flesh. “I plan on giving you many more hickeys. In places easily covered. Just say the word.”
“Word,” I taunted.
With another growl, he pushed away and put space between us.
“I’m making coffee,” he grumbled and turned.
I watched him walk away, giddy with the thrill of the chase.
Oh, what would I do when he caught me?
Bowman wasn’t in the kitchen by the time I made my way downstairs. I poured myself a cup of coffee, splashed cream into it, and then headed to the chicken coop.
He was just closing the gate when I approached.
Without a word, he took my coffee and sipped it.
“That’s mine,” I said with a laugh.
“Was. Now it’s mine.” He shrugged.
“I’m running on a few hours of sleep and extreme emotion. You sure you want to do that?” I placed my hands on my hips and stared at him. “It’s like waving a flag at an angry bull.”
“Me without coffee and I will be an angry bull rider,” he quipped.
“You forgot to collect the eggs,” I said, picking up the basket that hung on the gate and handed it to him.
“I thought you were coming out here to do that.”
I shook my head and turned toward the stump that was about twenty feet away. I walked to it and picked up the hatchet and gripped it in my hand.
“I have something else to do this morning.”
His hands immediately went to the fly of his jeans.
I laughed.
“It’s about to get messy,” I said, raising the hatchet.
“I can handle messy.”
We both knew he wasn’t talking about chickens.
“You’re really going to do this?” he asked.
“Hadley wants chicken for dinner.” I shrugged. “And she’s never been able to do this kind of thing. But I’m home now, so I can do it for her.”
I looked at the other coop—the coop where the hens that were no longer laying were corralled. They were enjoying bugs and feed.
“You might see me differently after you watch me do this,” I warned him.
When he didn’t reply, I looked at him.
His gaze was intense as he murmured, “Too late.”