16. Beck
Beck
Tessa left in tears, and I feel like a fucking asshole.
I’m taking it out on the barn floor as I finally give it an overdue clean after the long winter and busy calving season.
I’ve been telling myself for weeks that I needed to be honest with her, but every time I tried to figure out how I wanted to let her down, the words sounded wrong. Cruel, even. And every time she looked at me with expectant and hopeful blue eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her.
On paper, Tessa and I would have been good for each other.
But in real life? It felt like sticking a square peg in a round hole.
I always felt like I wasn’t doing enough for her.
She didn’t understand me. I understood her, though.
I know she wanted a love like the ones you see in those cheesy movies, or in books.
Where he gives the woman some long eloquent speech about how much he loves her, how he can’t live without her.
That’s never going to be me. I’m a man of few words, and I’m not going to force something that isn’t working just to spare her feelings. And it’s become increasingly obvious to me over the last few weeks that I’m never going to be able to give Tessa all of me. Not the way she deserves.
I finish sweeping the bulk of the dust off the floor and pull out the hose before I walk around the barn and turn on the tap to full blast. I figure now is as good a time as any to give the barn a deep clean, since I’ll be on call for the rest of the night.
Austin let me know that the last heifer is ready to calve today. He said she was hanging out at the edges of the herd, and seemed uncomfortable and antsy. She’ll be the last one, weeks behind the rest, and then calving season will finally be over. And I will have one more mouth to feed.
The spray of the water is loud as it blasts the dirt off the concrete, so I’m not aware anyone has approached until I hear a loud “Hey!” over the noise.
I startle, turning abruptly to see who is approaching the barn, and I forget that I still have the hose turned on. As I whirl around, the spray follows, and gets all over Lyla.
“Ahh!” she shrieks, holding her hands in front of her to shield herself. “Turn it off!”
I quickly release the handle of the sprayer, trying to stifle a laugh as she scowls at me.
She’s soaked from head to toe. Her jean shorts are drenched, her hair is matted and stuck to her face, mascara runs down her cheeks.
But as my gaze drags over her sopping form, my eyes land on the way her white t-shirt clings to her body, the fabric nearly transparent.
I smirk, a juxtaposition to the way she’s glowering at me.
“Bet you’re glad you decided to wear a bra today,” I tease, but I can’t help the way my jeans tighten at the sight of the black lace.
“Fuck off, Beck,” she snaps, but she doesn’t attempt to cover herself. Instead, she bends down and picks up the basket she’d been carrying when she came down here, and the assortment of vegetable scraps that are now strewn about the floor.
Her wet t-shirt and fucking perfect tits make my cock twitch, but it’s her sharp admonishment, her withering glare, that sends a jolt of electricity through my core. It zips through me, from my chest all the way down to my toes where they curl in my leather boots.
She stands, having refilled her basket with the vegetable scraps, and her eyes meet mine. Dark and stormy, with flecks of gold from the sun. Like lightning in the dead of night.
Like honey and chocolate.
It hits me all at once, why I could never give all of myself to anyone else. Part of my heart has always been reserved for Lyla. For this beautiful, intense, wildfire of a woman.
Austin’s words from yesterday come crashing back, snuffing out any flicker of hope I ever have of being with Lyla, and I wonder if I’m destined to be alone for the rest of my life.
I trust you.
His words rang somewhere deep within me, filling a place inside me that makes me feel valuable above anything else: being trustworthy, being reliable.
I’ve been standing here staring at Lyla in her transparent t-shirt for longer than is comfortable when she says, “You want to take a picture?”
“No, I…” I stammer. I am not a man that stammers. But Lyla really messes with my head.
“Ok, great.” Her tone is tight, something reserved behind her words. “I was bringing these for Kenny Rogers. Some scraps from your dad’s garden.”
“You don’t need to do that. I give him plenty of hay and pellets. And goats will eat just about anything,” I say, but Lyla is hardly listening.
She’s breezed past me, calling Kenny Rogers’ name like he’s a fucking dog and she’s bringing him cookies.
“They’d chew through concrete if they had the teeth for it. He doesn’t need… treats. And I doubt he knows his name,” I call after her.
Lyla scoffs. “He knows his name.”
She holds out a carrot top like the smell of it will summon him. I have no clue where Kenny Rogers gets off to, or what he does during the day. All I know is that he shows up at dusk, and sleeps curled up next to the barn door. The earth is even dug out a bit in the shape of his body where he lays.
Lyla calls him again, and to my astonishment, I hear the rhythmic clip clop of his small hooves before he rounds the corner and comes into the barn.
“You know, for someone whose livelihood depends on you raising animals, it doesn’t seem as though you like animals all that much,” Lyla says.
“I like animals plenty,” I explain. It's not that I don’t care about my animals, I do. It’s that emotions about them don’t serve me. I have a job to do, responsibilities to take care of. If I let my emotions get in the way nothing would get done.
“You don’t like Kenny Rogers,” she says, patting him between the horns as she feeds him a chunk of half wilted lettuce.
Kenny Rogers freaks me out. His eyes look off in two different directions, you never know what he’s thinking. He’s currently gnawing on the lettuce Lyla just gave him, but his left eye is fixed on me. Unnerving.
“I wouldn’t call myself Kenny Rogers’ biggest fan, no,” I admit. “Kenny Rogers the goat. I like Kenny Rogers the musician just fine.”
“An important distinction.”
I nod.
Lyla dumps the rest of the vegetables in the bowl where I usually put dried pellets for the damn goat.
She loops the handle of the basket over her forearm and saunters over to me, standing mere inches away.
Her breasts are on full display under her clingy top, and her normally pouty lips are stretched wide in a smile.
“I have a theory, Beck Hollis. The way you talk about this place, the way you care for your family… You may not show it all the time, but I think there’s a softie in there somewhere.” She pokes her index finger into my pec, my heart thundering wildly beneath it. “I’m gonna prove it to you.”
She pushes past me, her shoulder brushing against mine and sending a shiver rippling beneath my skin.
But she stops before she reaches the barn door and whirls around.
The sun from outside lights her from behind, shadowing her features, but I can see enough to know they’ve softened from the teasing expression she wore earlier.
“I saw that Tessa was here,” she says. Her tone has softened too. “Everything ok?”
I squint up at Lyla from beneath my eyebrows, considering my answer. I didn’t know if I was making the right decision when I broke things off, but now, looking at Lyla, asking me if I’m ok? I can say with certainty I’ll never regret it.
“Yeah,” I say, scuffing the sole of my boot along the concrete.
Lyla nods, curtly. “Well good, I hope you’re both happy.” There’s an edge to her words, a tone I’ve heard before, because I used it with the cowboys the day I caught them talking about Lyla in the barn.
“Jealous?” I ask, out of sheer curiosity that I think might kill me, because her cheeks flush, stained a deep shade of pink.
“No.”
I like teasing Lyla, but her answer and the look on her face makes me think not telling her the truth would be equal to toying with her. And I don’t play games.
“I ended it,” I say. “For good.”
She nods again, but something lights up behind her eyes. It sparkles in the same way hope shimmers behind my rib cage.
“Sorry,” she says,
“It’s okay,” I answer. “Wasn’t in the stars.”
Lyla twists her mouth to the side as she nods.
“I have some ideas for the ranch,” she offers, changing the subject. I’m grateful to no longer be talking about Tessa. “I made some notes today that I’d like to go over with you. Maybe after dinner you could come down to the house?”
I shake my head, although everything in me wants to say yes, to have one more minute alone with Lyla. One more minute with her all to myself, and a chance to redo the night on the porch swing. I’d kiss her this time.
“Can’t,” I answer, and her face falls. “One of the heifers will be calving tonight. Told Sutton I’d meet her out in the pasture to wait. Can you let Dad know I’ll be home late tonight?”
“Isn’t it Sutton’s job to stay out there with them?” Lyla asks. “Isn’t calving season exhausting?”
I shake my head. “It is. But I have a responsibility to those animals, and I never let one of them deliver without being there. At least, not if I can help it.”
She nods, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. “Got it, Bossman.”
A few of the ranch hands approach the barn on horseback, bringing their animals to a stop in front of us and hopping down to lead them into the barn. Dylan looks over at Lyla as he passes by, leading his horse into the barn.
His eyes drag down her still wet form longer than I’m comfortable with. I grind my molars at the way he smiles at her, like he’s a predator and she’s fresh meat. It makes me want to punch his eyes out of his sockets.
“Eyes on the ground when Lyla Morgan is around,” I bark. I emphasize her last name, reminding Dylan who she is, and that we’ve had this conversation before.
I step out of his way as he moves to walk past me toward his horses stall.