2. Alexander
CHAPTER 2
ALEXANDER
"Jolene! Dolly! Get back here!"
The sharp, high-pitched voice cuts through the stillness of the wheat field, pulling my attention from the tractor. I glance up just in time to see two tiny furballs darting straight toward Thrusty’s pen. They’re so small they look like gerbils, but I suppose they’re supposed to be dogs.
And they’re headed directly for trouble.
Thrusty the goat earned his name for a reason—he’s a predator of the most inappropriate kind.
Behind the furballs, a woman is sprinting, her skin-tight jeans leaving nothing to the imagination. Even from here, her curves demand my attention. With as long as it’s been since I’ve had sex, it’s nearly impossible to tear my eyes away from her tits as they bounce beneath her white shirt. But her second shriek breaks the spell.
I snap my head around just in time to see the gerbils squeeze under the fence into Thrusty’s pen. Damn it.
With a muttered curse, I leap off the tractor. So much for getting anything done this morning.
As I jog toward the chaos, I remember I’m wearing a tie—a damned tie. Our new marketing director, Priya, insisted this would make me look approachable and professional for the VIP guests staying at the ranch’s new suites. She didn’t account for the realities of ranch life, like chasing horny goats in the mud.
The furballs are already in full panic mode, dipping and dodging Thrusty’s harmless advances. But the woman is the bigger concern. She’s halfway tangled in the fence, one boot caught in the wire, her hair spilling down her back in a wild cascade. Her perfectly round ass is directly at my eye level as I approach. I blow out a deep breath. This is going to be more of a challenge than I thought.
" Hold on, I’ve got you, " I call out.
“They jumped out of the car! They never do that!” she cries, her voice catching somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
I can’t tell which it is and it makes me freeze for a split second. Please don’t let it be tears. I can’t handle the sound of a woman crying. She lets out another guttural sound.
“Don’t cry,” I bark, sharper than I mean to. “Do not cry. You’re fine. I’ll get them.”
“Ah! He’s humping them!” She points toward the pen, flailing and pulling at the wire. Every move she makes tightens the fence’s grip on her leg.
I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, Thrusty’s at it again, but not with her dogs. “He’s humping the bed we threw in there for him.”
“Are you sure?” There’s a calming familiarity to her voice, but I brush it away.
“Yes.”
The furballs choose that moment to trot out of the pen, looking thoroughly unbothered. I swing the gate open and bark, “Y’all get! Back in the car.”
The little traitors march obediently toward the Jeep. I take in the sight of their manicured haircuts. These dogs ain’t made for farm life and neither is their Mama from the looks of it. I turn my attention to the mouthwatering curves of the ass suspended in front of me and try to keep it in my pants.
I may be pent-up, but I’m not a creep. I’m going to help her down like the gentleman I am. Then I’m making a note to myself to hit the bar scene somewhere outside of Sagebrush. I need sex, not another responsibility. This ranch keeps me plenty busy.
Maybe I’ll head down to Findlay Farms for the weekend.
“No, don’t worry about me. They can’t reach on their own.” She uses her one free hand to wave me away.
Her words stop me in my tracks.
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“No! They’ll get lost out here.” She continues to struggle to free herself and the wind does nothing to help. Her hair whips across her face. “Please, put them in the car. I can wait.”
I let out a huff. Against my better judgment and the laws of nature, I march back towards the dogs. I scoop them up one by one and deposit them into the Jeep, slamming the door behind them.
When I turn back, the woman is still as stuck as ever. Her pant leg is torn and her boot is caught worse than I thought. I pull her boot off her foot and wriggle her jeans out of the wire. “You can climb down.”
But she doesn’t move. The woman stays clutching the top of the post for dear life.
“Okay, come here.” I make the decision for her and step up behind her. Wrapping my arms around her waist I tug both of us backward. She gives in to me, but her pant leg snags when the fence finally lets go.
It twists and turns her body until she’s facing me. The force of the release sends her careening into my chest and we tumble backward onto the ground. When we stop, she’s on top of me, straddling my lap. Her long hair spills over her face and around us like a curtain. Her mouthwatering tits press together under her thin white T-shirt.
It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to bury my face right there in her cleavage. Even though I keep it under control, I know she can feel the massive bulge growing in my pants that refuses to listen to reason.
She lets out an awkward laugh as she tries to get to her feet and I can’t help but join in. But the unsteady, red, dirt beneath us doesn’t do her any favors. She manages to toss her head back, flipping her hair out of her face. When she does, her hips rock into me. Heat shoots down my spine and I put a hand to the curve of her waist to steady her. My dick twitches and strains in response. She either doesn’t notice it or doesn’t acknowledge it. Either way, I’m gratefully heading for a cold shower after this.
Then our eyes meet, and my heart stops.
“Cassidy Bellcourt?”
Her eyes widen with recognition as she scans my face. I wonder what I must look like to her after all these years. It’s been ten, maybe fifteen since I’ve seen her. After a frozen beat, she scrambles off me with a new motivation.
“Alexander… hi.” She stands, shakily on the single boot she’s got left. Her socked foot presses into her calf for balance as she attempts to brush the mud off her jeans.“You’ve grown up.”
I push myself off the ground, taking in the sight of my childhood babysitter. Cassidy Bellcourt—or Cassidy Knowles, as she was called back then before she married Randolph Bellcourt and became the first lady of Sagebrush Creek.
Cassidy is only five, maybe six years older than me if I remember correctly. As the oldest of my siblings, I never thought I needed her to watch me back then. I do the math in my head… That puts her around forty years old. But that seems impossible. She looks exactly the same as I remember her… absolutely stunning.
“It’s just Alex now,” I say, brushing the dirt off my slacks.
“Right. Of course.” She gives a small, sheepish smile, her full lips tugging upward. “In that case, I should tell you that it’s Cassidy Knowles… again. I, uh, changed my name back after the divorce was finalized.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. But I like the sound of that.” I run a hand across the tight muscles on the back of my neck.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear it on that damned podcast. If I ever find out who's behind it I’m going to take that stupid voice changer and…” She chatters on and I revel in being this close to her again.
Her voice stirs old memories. I was a child with no mother. In a house full of boys with an alcoholic father, Cassidy was an anomaly. As a kid, I remember her smelling like fresh flowers. She baked cookies with us in the kitchen and read us books before bed.
As a teenager, though, things changed. She came to babysit the younger half of the Kingridge boys, but I used the time to watch her. Even without the age gap she was out of my league back then. But that didn’t stop me from memorizing every curve of her body and fantasizing about what it’d be like to kiss her full lips.
Her balance wavers and I scoop her into my arms.
She lets out a shriek of laughter. “What are you doing? Put me down.”
“Stop it.” I chuckle as I fireman-carry her four steps to the bale of hay just outside of Thrusty’s pen. “Here, let me grab your sacrificial boot over there.”
“Well, thank you for rescuing me.” She rolls her eyes and it’s playful. I don’t miss the way her face flushes pink and I wonder if it’s my touch that’s pulling a reaction from her or embarrassment.
“What are you—” I start to ask as I hand her the boot, but I stop dead when I see it.
Blood seeps through the denim of her jeans, running down her thigh. My stomach clenches at the thought of her being hurt.
“You’re bleeding,” I snap, moving closer. “Come here.”
Cassidy glances down at her leg, shrugging. “It’s just a scratch. Not a big deal.”
“The hell it isn’t.” My mind flashes back to one of the only memories I have of my mother before she disappeared from my life and I spring into action. Before Cassidy can protest, I press my hand to her thigh, right above the cut, and apply pressure.
She blinks at me in surprise and her thigh slips ever so slightly away from my grasp.
“Stay still,” I growl.
She stares at me, wide-eyed, her lips slightly parted, and for the first time in years, I feel like a teenage boy again.