Chapter 9 #2
I'd thought I was an inconvenience. A necessary evil.
The human medical provider they needed because their ranch hands kept getting hurt and the nearest hospital was two hours away.
I'd seen the way he looked at me in the pharmacy that first day, like I was just another piece of shit human who'd throw his people under the bus to make my own life easier.
But then I'd seen him scowl when Dutton flirted with me.
Watched him assign the young ranch hands shit jobs when they made me laugh.
Noticed the way his jaw tightened when Carter called me "Doc" with that easy familiarity.
I'd told myself it was just protectiveness over his employees. Annoyance that I was a distraction.
I hadn't let myself believe it was jealousy. Hadn't let myself hope it meant something more.
Because hoping was dangerous. Hoping led to disappointment. And I'd had enough disappointment with Arlo to last a lifetime.
Arlo, who'd said he loved me but controlled every aspect of my life. Who'd isolated me from my friends, questioned every decision, made me feel like I couldn't trust my own judgment. Who'd never hit me but had made me feel small and worthless and trapped.
I'd sworn I wouldn't let myself be vulnerable like that again. Wouldn't let myself need someone so much it hurt.
But now, lying here in the dark with my hand over Ripplan's heart, listening to the storm rage outside and feeling his fever burn through his skin, I couldn't lie to myself anymore.
I cared about him.
Somewhere between that first riding lesson and watching him work with the cattle, between his rare smiles and the way he'd thrown himself in front of a rattlesnake to protect me, somewhere in there, I'd let my guard down.
The attraction I'd been feeling was due to more than him being a perfect physical specimen.
It was the way he was gentle with the horses.
The way he looked at the mountains like they were sacred.
The way he'd called me brave when I'd told him about Arlo.
The way he'd said I was worth it, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
And I hadn't even realized it until right now, when I might lose him.
I pressed my palm more firmly against his chest, feeling each beat. Too fast. Still too fast. But steady. Strong.
Don't leave me, I thought. Please don't leave me. Not now. Not when I'm just figuring this out.
I'd come to Colorado looking for what my friends had found, that fierce, devoted, all-consuming love.
That bond that made everything else fade into background noise.
I hadn't expected to want it with him. With the grumpy, scowling Orc foreman who'd looked at me like I was trouble from the moment we met.
Outside, thunder rumbled. Rain drummed against the canvas. And I lay there in the dark, my hand over Ripplan's heart, terrified and helpless and so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.
I must have dozed off, because I woke to gentle fingers on my face.
For a moment, I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just felt the careful touch tracing my cheekbone, my jaw, the curve of my lower lip. The touch was reverent. Tender. Like I was something precious.
Then I opened my eyes.
Ripplan was watching me. His eyes were glassy, fever-bright, but focused entirely on my face. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking across my skin with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Ripplan..." My voice came out rough. "You're burning up. You need to rest."
"Don't want to rest." His hand slid into my hair, fingers tangling in the strands. His touch was gentle despite the tremor in his hand. "Want to look at you. Want to touch you."
"You're delirious."
"Maybe." He pulled me closer, his breath hot against my lips. "Don't care."
"You need to—"
He kissed me.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't careful. It was desperate and hungry and raw, like I was the medicine that could cure him.
Like I was air and he was drowning. His mouth moved against mine with a need that stole my breath, his tongue sliding past my lips to taste me deeply.I should have stopped him.
Should have pulled away, reminded him he was sick, that this wasn't appropriate, that I was supposed to be taking care of him.
But I couldn't.
Because I'd wanted this. Wanted him. And the way he was kissing me, like I was everything, like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, made something inside me crack wide open.
His hand tightened in my hair, holding me to him. His other hand found my waist, pulling me closer despite the pain it must have caused his injured leg. He kissed me like he was memorizing the taste of me, the feel of me, like this might be the last chance he'd ever get.
And maybe it was.
The thought sent a spike of fear through me, but also something else. Something fierce and possessive and utterly irrational.
"Ripplan," I gasped when he finally pulled back. "You need to rest. You're—"
"I need this." His forehead pressed against mine, his breathing ragged. His skin was so hot it was almost painful to touch. "I need you. If this is going to kill me, I want to die with your taste on my tongue."
"Don't say that. You're not going to die."
"Then let me have this." His hand slid down my side, fingers finding the hem of my shirt. "Please, Tammy. Let me have you."
I should have said no. Should have been professional, responsible, the medical provider he needed me to be.
But the way he was looking at me, like I was precious, like I was everything, shattered every bit of my resolve.
And beneath that, beneath the fear and the professionalism and the voice in my head screaming that this was wrong, I wanted him. Wanted this. Wanted to feel alive and connected and real after hours of helpless terror.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay."
He moved faster than I expected for someone who'd been half-conscious minutes ago. His hands found the button of my jeans, popping it open with practiced ease despite the tremor in his fingers. The zipper followed. Then he was sliding the denim down my hips, taking my underwear with it.
"Ripplan, your leg—"