Chapter Thirteen Willow
Chapter Thirteen
Willow
With my voice work all wrapped up for the day, I save the audio files for the Mafia romance I’m currently working on and then shut everything down securely and move to my desk so I can check email and social media.
I always save the admin work for the last part of the day, when my voice is growing tired and I can catch up on other things.
I work with several production companies, and they’re often checking in with me for availability in my schedule or to see if I can shift projects around. I also get requests to do live recordings to help promote books for authors, in addition to live streams on social media.
Being a successful narrator doesn’t stop with the recording. It’s a business that I have to promote and work hard at so I stay relevant in an ever-changing market.
I freaking love my job.
After I check my schedule and work in an Instagram Live video, along with a Christmas novella that sounds like fun, I close up shop for the day but keep my phone with me, just in case.
It’s become my new routine to head out for a nice long walk late in the afternoon, to get some exercise and fresh summer air before I cook dinner.
Some nights, Ryker’s already in the kitchen cooking by the time I get back, beating me to it, but I want to be there for that too.
Seeing a sexy Ryker cooking is something to behold.
It’s been almost two weeks since Aiden and I moved out to the ranch, and I think it’s safe to say that we’re both beyond happy with the situation. My boy is all smiles when he comes in for dinner at night, usually filthy and dead on his feet as well, but I haven’t seen him this happy in years.
Since Ryker and I started having the best sex in the history of the universe, I haven’t slept in my own bed. Before I can even suggest it, the man whisks me off to his bedroom, where he worships my body and makes me feel . . . alive.
You like that, don’t you, Trouble? You love feeling my cock filling you so full, making you scream my name.
I shiver at the memory and set off on the path that meanders into the woods.
I know the Triple Creek Ranch like the back of my hand. I’ve spent most of my life in these woods, but I always bring bear spray with me, just to be safe. I don’t need to surprise a mama bear and end up on the evening news.
My phone pings with a text, and I grin when I see that it’s one of my favorite producers, Katie.
Katie: Hey friend! I am looking at your calendar, and I need to squeeze in a cowboy romance next month. Any wiggle room for me?
I smirk and bring up my calendar as I continue to wander down the path.
Me: I have these four days, the thirteenth through the sixteenth, and the rest is full. How long is the book? Is this enough time?
The dots bounce on the screen as she replies.
Katie: That’s actually perfect! I’ll take it. It’s on the shorter side, and shouldn’t be an issue.
Me: Then it’s yours.
While it’s true that I am usually booked out about a year in advance, there are always cancellations, or authors who run late to deliver, so the schedule has to have a little wiggle room for moments like this.
With that taken care of, I tuck my phone in my back pocket and look around. The trees are thick in this part of the woods, with a lot of brush, making it virtually impossible to veer off the path. And just through these trees is my favorite clearing.
It’s full of wildflowers, so much yellow and red, with a smattering of bluebells, and it’s impossible not to hear the buzzing of bees as they float from flower to flower.
It’s a great spot, and it’s exactly one mile from the house, so I usually come out here, then head back to the house after resting for a few minutes.
But this time, as I turn back, I notice black clouds forming in the distance, and my stomach clenches.
Summer storms in Montana are legendary. They come out of nowhere, and they’re brutal.
So much lightning and loud thunder, and they never fail to terrify me.
One summer, the lightning hit a tree not far from the house and started a fire that we all worked days to put out before it spread to the house and the rest of the property.
I hate the storms. A Montana thunderstorm is one of the few things out here that truly scares me. I’d rather come across that mama bear I mentioned earlier than deal with being outside in a storm.
In the summer, it’s rare not to have an afternoon thunderstorm, complete with rain. Usually they don’t last long. But some days, cell after cell will blow through, and it’s an all-day-and-night event.
Those are the days I hate the most.
Picking up my pace, I jog through the woods, making noise so I don’t startle any wildlife, but I’m not fast enough to get to the house before the sky opens up and starts to dump huge droplets of rain.
Lightning flashes overhead, making me scream, and then three seconds later, thunder cracks around me.
Shit.
“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,” I continue to chant as I run to the house, and when I bound up the steps, the door flings open, and Ryker is waiting on the other side.
“I didn’t know you were going out in this,” he says as he wraps his arms around me, not caring at all that I’m sopping wet, and tugs me against him. “You’re wet, baby.”
“It was blue skies and clear when I went out there.” Thunder cracks, and I shiver, but it’s not from being cold. “I fucking hate storms, Ry.”
“I know.” He was there that summer too. He kisses my head and leads me upstairs. “Let’s get you dry, and we’ll make dinner. This one should blow over pretty fast, but I told Aiden to stay at the bunkhouse for dinner. I don’t want him walking in a lightning storm.”
“Thank you. I don’t either.” I quickly strip out of my wet clothes, and Ryker has a fluffy towel waiting for me to wrap up in and dry off with, and then he passes me one of his team T-shirts, which I pull over my head.
He is obsessed with seeing me in his team gear. It’s kind of cute.
The house rattles with a clap of thunder, and I close my eyes, swallowing hard. I am not prone to panic attacks, but storms give my heart a workout.
“It’s okay.” Ry steps up behind me, loops his arms around my chest, and pulls my back to his front. “I’ve got you.”
“Let’s just get to work on dinner and talk about something else,” I suggest. “It’ll keep my mind off it.”
“I can do that.” He links his fingers with mine, and we walk downstairs together. “How about burgers and fries for dinner?”
“Yum. I’ll cut up the potatoes.”
He kisses me on the sensitive spot just under my ear and then opens the fridge to pull out the ground beef.
“How was work today?” he asks me.
“Productive. That booth is the best, Ry. I’m so spoiled in there.
I don’t know how I’ll go back to my tiny setup back home at the end of the summer.
I got a new gig this afternoon, so now next month is completely booked solid.
Here’s hoping I don’t get sick or anything. Because there is no wiggle room.”
Lightning flashes through the windows, as if it’s enveloping the house, and then thunder crashes, and I jolt, slicing my finger with the sharp knife.
“Fuck.”
“Whoa, come here.” Ry takes my hand in his and leads me to the sink, his face dark as he stares down at the cut. “No more knives for you today.”
“It’s not that bad.” I sound so grouchy, it’s almost laughable. “I can still help with dinner.”
“Nope.” He hooks my chin and makes me look at him. “I’m not asking, Wills. I’m telling you.”
“Bossy in the bedroom is fine, but I don’t need—”
“You’re hurt,” he counters, just as thunder strikes again and I jump. “Hey. No sharp instruments for you when you’re jumpy. I don’t need you severing a finger or something. Let’s get this bandaged up, and I’ll cook dinner.”
“My plan worked.” I’m trying to lighten the mood here. “I got out of dinner duty.”
“Next time, just tell me you don’t feel like cooking.” He sighs and fetches the first aid kit from below the sink and bandages me right up, then places a sweet kiss over my little wound. “There. How about some wine?”
“I won’t turn that down.”
“You sit, I’ll pour.”
“I’m not an invalid, you know.”
He lifts an eyebrow, daring me to talk back again, so I fold my lips together and sit my ass on a stool while he opens a bottle, pours, and then slides the glass over to me.
“Thanks. How was work for you today?”
“It was good. Nothing is injured, and everyone seems to be settled in just fine. Spike’s son, Micah, moved into the bunkhouse yesterday, and so far so good there.”
“I hope the two teenagers get along okay,” I say before taking a sip of the crisp white wine. Thunder claps, but I manage not to jump this time, and I can tell that the storm has moved on, as the sound is growing fainter.
Thank God.
“Aiden was showing Micah the ropes in the barn this morning, and neither of them looked ready to kill the other, so I’ll take that as a win.”
He winks at me, and my heart stills. It’s the same wink he’d give the camera after every single interview.
The wink just for me.
I won’t even admit to how many times I’d find interviews on YouTube, just so I could rewind and watch that wink over and over again.
“Have you noticed that Aiden doesn’t like to be touched?” Ryker asks.
Frowning, I sip my wine. “He’s always been that way. I know he tolerates me hugging him, and once in a while, I’ll press my luck and kiss his head, but no. He doesn’t like to be touched.”
Ry scowls and leans on the counter. “Do you know why?”
“I assume because Sabrina was a shit mom who had men coming through their lives constantly, and who knows what that poor kid was subjected to?”
Ryker swallows hard.
That describes his own childhood.
“Ry—”
“I’m fine,” he says, shaking his head. “I know you’ve told me the story before, but lay it out for me again. What the fuck happened?”
He’s rinsing off the potatoes and shaking the colander so they drain.