7. Jude
Jude
I’ve always liked pretty things.
Horses. Sunsets. Waterfalls.
Men.
Especially ones with delicate cheekbones and large, expressive blue eyes. Perfect pink lips. A lean, tight body. I shift my weight against the doorframe, watching as Taylor takes a healthy drink of water from a bottle.
And I remember my promise to Roman.
Taylor wipes his jacket sleeve across his mouth and sets the bottle down. He walks to the stack of hay, and I frown when he moves past the small ones. I’d specifically told him to carry the smaller squares. Instead, he disobeys me.
“What is he doing?” I mutter.
Nothing smart, apparently. He bends his knees and wraps both arms around a large square. His face immediately tightens with effort. The bale barely shifts. A strained groan escapes his mouth.
“Oh, for fuck’s—“
I push away from the door and cross the barn floor within seconds. Before he can attempt another lift, I grab the bale and pull it effortlessly from his hands. Taylor stumbles back, glaring at me. “What the hell?”
“Are you trying to throw your back out?” I ask, dropping the hay onto the dirt floor.
A light flush spreads across his cheeks. “I had it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He tries to grab the square. I ease him back. He pouts. “I’m not going to stand here and watch you strain yourself.”
“Why do you even care?” he asks.
“Because I don’t want you to get hurt,” I reply. “Tearing your muscles is no joke, trust me.”
Taylor’s expression softens a bit, then he snorts. “I don’t understand why you’re being nice to me.”
My brows lift. “You call this being nice?”
“Not just now; you’ve been like this since I got here. People are only friendly with me when they want something.”
He cocks his head, eyes narrowing. “What do you want from me, Jude?”
I chuckle softly, glad he can’t read my mind. What I want from him is too ungodly for those innocent ears of his. And I can tell that he is innocent. Those deep, blue eyes stare back at me, completely unaware that I’m a man who wants to fuck his brains out.
“What I want is for you to get back home in one piece,” I reply. “I’m sure your mother would appreciate that very much.”
A flicker of emotion darts across his face. Disappointment. At least, I think that’s what it is. He clears his throat and takes a step back. “Fine. I’ll stick to what I can handle.”
“Good boy.”
Taylor dips his head. A crimson flush covers his entire face, then spreads to his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his jacket.
Adorable. And now I’m wondering how far that blush goes.
A sharp beep from my wrist stops those thoughts from venturing further into darkness. I glance down at my watch. Lunchtime.
I look back at Taylor. “Come on. Let’s get you fed.”
Inside the warm kitchen, I make quick work of assembling two pulled pork sandwiches.
Taylor claims a stool at the breakfast bar, watching me.
For a while, neither of us says much. It’s not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.
This is the longest we’ve been alone since he got here.
Usually, Roman is around, or we’re busy working.
“Tell me about San Francisco,” I say.
“It’s loud.”
“So helpful.”
Taylor laughs. The sound catches me off guard. It’s warmer than I expected. It warms my insides. I like how it feels.
“Fine. It’s crowded,” he supplies. “Expensive. Traffic is always a bitch.”
“Sounds awful.”
“It kind of is.”
I slide a plate toward him. “You have a girlfriend, right?” I already know the answer. I heard them arguing on the phone last night.
“Celeste.” The response comes quickly, as if he’s reciting a fact instead of talking about someone he misses. I wait for the fond smile, for a spark in his eyes. Nothing.
Interesting.
“How long have you been together?” I ask.
Taylor glances toward the ceiling, creases appearing on his forehead. “Four months?”
I smirk. “You’re asking me?”
He shoots me a dry look. “Four months.”
“Do you love her?”
His hand stills around the plate. Only for a second, but I notice. “Yeah.”
An uneasy sensation settles on my chest. “Roman told me you graduated from college a few months ago. What do you plan on doing next?”
“I’m heading to law school next year. Stanford.”
That earns him a whistle. “Damn.”
“Yeah.”
Again, I see no sign of emotion. No pride, no excitement. I’m not getting the vibe that law school is a milestone he’s looking forward to. I could be wrong. Leaning against the counter, I fix him with a probing stare. “Are you sure you want to be a lawyer?”
“Of course.”
The answer comes way too fast. I raise an eyebrow. Taylor sighs. “Okay, maybe not, of course.”
A momentary pause ensues. I patiently wait for him to go on.
“I mean...” He rubs the back of his neck. “Law school has always been the plan.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
His gaze drops to the sandwich. For a moment, he seems more youthful, less polished, less... certain. He then looks back at me, throwing me off with an unexpected smile. “I’d rather talk about you now.”
I groan. “No.”
“Come on.”
“I hate talking about myself.”
“So do I,” he says. “And you literally made me sit through an interview just now.”
Sighing, I slide onto the stool beside him. I guess it’s only fair to share something about myself. “I moved here from Colorado three years ago,” I begin.
“What brought you here?”
“A fresh start,” I reply. It’s not a lie, just not the entire truth.
He takes a bite of his sandwich, nodding. “Does your family still live there?” he asks around a mouthful of food.
“My mother passed away.” The words leave my mouth easily enough, but the emptiness that follows never does.
For a few seconds, I see her smile, hear her laughter, and feel the warmth of her hand.
Then the memory crashes into everything that came after.
The screams. The blood. Sirens. A jail cell.
I shove it all back down where it belongs.
Taylor’s expression softens. “I’m sorry.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
“What about your dad?”
A humorless laugh escapes. “Never met him.”
He makes a face. “Consider yourself lucky.”
I’m sure his father’s conviction affected him negatively, but I don’t want to ask him about it, particularly because I’m eager to move away from the personal stuff. I switch the topic to something safer: the resort.
And it’s now that I see the first spark of life in Taylor’s eyes.
Ten minutes later, I find out he’d stayed up half the night searching online for information about Silver Sage.
Not only that, he starts making suggestions on how Roman could attract more guests.
The longer he speaks, the brighter that spark glows.
Yeah, I guessed right. Law school might be a mistake.
“Roman needs to boost his digital presence,” he continues as I rise from the seat and walk over to the kitchen sink.
“His website is outdated. He hasn’t posted a thing on social media in over two years.
I’ve seen no partnerships with travel influencers, no guest testimonials, no seasonal promotions—nothing. ”
“Yeah… Roman is old-fashioned. He still believes in organic traffic. It suited the business well years ago, but after—“
I stop myself short of mentioning what Taylor’s father did to ruin Roman’s business. I’m not sure how much Taylor knows. Plus, the last thing I want to do is upset him. I have this strange urge to put a permanent smile on his face, maybe because of how warm it made me feel.
“Well, he needs to get with the program—as my mother would say,” Taylor mutters. “Otherwise, his competition will keep dominating.”
“Are you sure about that lawyer gig?” I ask again. “It sounds like marketing might be your thing.”
“I dabbled in marketing for a while, but uh...”
“But?”
A short beat passes before he responds. “Well, I did more than dabble, actually. I worked for a non-profit company for two years. But then Mom didn’t approve of it, so I had to resign.”
The resentment in his voice is as clear as the view outside the window. I glance over my shoulder. I see it on his face. “Don’t ask,” he warns me.
In response, I gesture for his empty plate. He brings it to me but doesn’t return to his seat. He leans against the sink, staring at the snow-covered forest through the window. The spark in his eyes has completely disappeared.
And now I’m even more curious about the company he’d worked for. Why didn’t his mother approve?
After rinsing his plate, I reach across him to slide it into the dish drainer. My arm bumps against his chest. Taylor jerks, looking down at where I’d touched him.
“Did that hurt?” I tease.
He scoffs. “Don’t let that scene in the barn fool you. I’m not some fragile flower.”
My eyes sweep over his face, cataloguing those perfect features. No, not fragile, just too damn pretty. Beautiful, even. Not for the first time, I’m tempted to run my fingers through his thick hair to confirm if it’s as silky as it looks.
Which leads to thoughts of my fingers wrapped around a healthy handful.
Which further develops to even filthier thoughts.
Tearing my gaze away from him, I return to the dishes. I’m insanely attracted to Taylor, and if he were someone else, I’d have him on all fours in my bed by the end of the night. But I made a promise to Roman. I won’t seduce his step-nephew into having hot, dirty sex with another man.
I can fantasize about it, though.