Chapter 7 #2
“Hands on my shoulders,” he instructs, reaching for my waist to steady me. As soon as his fingers brush against the exposed skin between the top of my jeans and the hem of my t-shirt, butterflies soar through my belly.
I make a small noise of protest, suddenly worried about falling.
Tate looks up at me, his grip on my waist tightening ever so slightly. “I’ve got you,” he says, his voice low, maybe even a little strained.
I nod, slowly swinging my leg over and then bracing myself on Tate’s shoulders as I jump down. I end up pressed against him, his hands in my waist, mine on his shoulders, our faces as close as they were last night. My chest rises and falls like I’ve just run a marathon.
Tate clears his throat, taking a small step back. Then he reaches for Andy’s reins, leading him over to Maisy and tying him beside her.
I glance around, unable to get used to the view. I’d thought the Pacific Northwest was beautiful, but Montana? This is … otherworldly.
I hear rustling and turn to see Tate pulling a large bag off the side of the saddle that I just now realize was there. He walks about ten feet away and pulls a blanket from the bag, settling it down on the grass and shooting me a smile.
I follow him, delighted, only just now remembering that he’d promised a lunch date. Not that I’ll be able to chase these butterflies away long enough to eat much.
“A picnic?” I squeal as he begins pulling food out of the bag. He grins up at me, patting the seat on the blanket beside him.
I take a seat and watch as he pulls out a bottle of white wine and some small glasses.
“How did you manage to fit all that in there?” I ask with a giggle.
He shrugs. “Oh, I’ve carried much more for much farther distances.” He pours me a glass of wine and hands it over.
I swirl it a few times before taking a tentative sip. Chardonnay. It’s good. “I’ll bet it was perfect growing up here,” I say wistfully, gazing out at the open field, at the mountains in the distance.
Tate finishes setting up the picnic, each of us with a plate that includes a sandwich and some potato salad. He grins, following my gaze to the mountain. “It was, in a lot of ways.”
I wonder in what ways it wasn’t, but I suppose nobody’s life is perfect.
“Do you enjoy living here?” I ask.
“Of course. I mean …” He gestures around. “I wouldn’t choose any other place. Truly.”
I sense a but somewhere in there. He catches my gaze, holds it for a few seconds, and seemingly reads my thoughts.
He chuckles, staring down at the picnic blanket. “Although sometimes I wonder if I feel that way simply because there was no other choice.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “No other choice?” I echo.
He shrugs. “Yeah. Like … I’ve never left. I mean, for trips, sure. But I’ve never lived anywhere else. All my brothers have. I’m the only one who stayed here permanently. Took over my job running the ranch at twenty years old.”
I consider that for a moment. Tate Thatcher always seemed so confident, put together, self-assured. As if the life he leads has been meticulously planned. “Do you like it? Running the ranch, I mean.”
A shine returns to his eyes. “That’s the thing—I love it.
So I suppose I should simply be grateful for the life I’ve been given instead of wondering about what ifs.
” His gaze meets mine, and something in it shifts.
“And what about you, Lucy Adler? You’re a bit of a mystery, you know. ” He tilts his head.
A burst of adrenaline shoots through me at his words, although I can’t quite pinpoint why. I shrug. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” he says simply.
I laugh. “We don’t have time for everything.”
He raises a singular eyebrow, a move that surprisingly makes him even hotter. “We don’t?”
I bite my lip, averting my gaze and hoping my cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. “Well, I grew up in Spokane. It’s a city in Eastern Washington.”
He nods. “I’m aware of it.”
“It’s not a very pretty part of the country,” I say.
“It’s just a sprawling city. No mountains, no hills, no rolling fields.
But I had family—lots of it.” I smile, remembering my days as a kid, a teenager, even into my early adulthood before …
“We’d always get together and go tubing on the river.
That was probably my favorite thing ever as a kid.
And holidays—we loved holidays. I remember wrangling all the kids and putting on a Christmas show for everyone.
” I laugh at the memory and then realize I’m rambling a bit, suddenly closing my mouth and shooting Tate an apologetic look.
But he’s simply grinning at me, sipping his wine.
“Your family sounds fun,” he says. “Do you want a big family of your own?” It seems as if the words slip out without him fully realizing the implication, because uncertainty washes across his features immediately after.
“I mean, sorry—you don’t have to answer that if you—”
“Not it’s fine,” I interrupt him quickly. “Yes, I do want a big family. Lots of kids. I loved growing up in a house full of activity, noise, people. It just made me feel … alive,” I settle on. And then a bit more hesitantly, “What about you?”
Tate purses his lips, knitting his brows together.
“You know, I never really thought about what I’d want when it came to kids.
Like, ever.” He laughs. “And then Fern came along, and she was the biggest surprise of my life. And now I can’t imagine life without her.
But it also means I haven’t imagined life beyond her, if that makes sense.
So I guess my answer is … I don’t know. Whatever comes my way, I guess.
” He shoots me a smile I can only describe as shy, and those pesky butterflies return to my belly again.
We spend the next hour eating our lunch and telling stories from our pasts, laughing and giggling like we’ve known each other far longer than just a few weeks. I find myself scooting closer to him on the blanket—close enough to touch, even though we aren’t.
“Oh, I got these too,” Tate says, twisting back to the satchel to pull out a small carton of chocolate-covered strawberries.
My jaw drops open. “I love chocolate-covered strawberries,” I practically moan.
He grins, opening the plastic and grabbing hold of one. I reach for the carton, but he pulls it away, instead holding the strawberry aloft.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to feed me?” I say with a laugh.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Why not? It’s romantic.”
“Romantic,” I repeat, but I’m leaning toward him anyway.
“Yeah,” he doubles down, moving the strawberry closer to me. Our eyes are fixed on each other as he guides the strawberry into my mouth. I bite it slowly, savoring the crunch of the chocolate and then the flesh of the strawberry.
Something in Tate’s eyes darkens, and he works his jaw as he watches me chew and swallow.
“It’s good,” I say, but it comes out as a whisper, hoarse almost.
Tate reaches out to run his thumb along the side of my mouth, wiping away a stray crumb of chocolate. Then, with his eyes still glued to mine, he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it off. My mouth opens involuntarily, my heart rate suddenly soaring.
We sit there for a few heartbeats, simply staring at each other, the pressure in the air building with each passing second. “Don’t you want to try one?” I finally ask.
He shakes his head. “No,” he says, leaning toward me.
I close my eyes before his lips land on mine, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck and then tangling in my hair. Just like our kiss from last night, it’s sweet, tender, slow. He gently coaxes my lips to part, and then our tongues are tangling together, the kiss growing deeper and deeper.
I cling to the front of his shirt, needing something to ground me before I float away into the gorgeous Montana sky. Still cradling my neck, he pushes me back until I’m lying on the picnic blanket, his body pressed against mine.
“You taste like chocolate,” he breathes against my lips, and I giggle.
But that giggle is quickly devoured. Kissing me deeply, Tate runs his free hand down my neck, my shoulder, to my hand, intertwining our fingers together before pinning it down beside my head.
Heat pools in my core, and I melt like butter.
His hand squeezes mine as he kisses me deeper, and I moan.
He’s nestled between my legs now, so I wrap them up and around his torso, as if pulling him closer to me.
And god, being pinned down by a cowboy in the middle of a gorgeous spring field, his mouth on mine, just might be the best experience of my life.
He moves to press gentle kisses along my neck, and my eyes flutter open, staring at the blue sky above, sighing softly.
Tate leans up slightly, moving his hands to the skin of my stomach where my t-shirt has ridden up. He gazes over my body, squeezing the flesh of my sides softly. He bites his lip. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You make me want to start on that big family idea of yours right now.”
A surprised laugh bubbles out of me, and he grins, swooping down to press a kiss to my cheek.
Quickly changing the mood from sensual to sweet, he peppers my face in kisses before wrapping me in his arms and lying down.
And we spend the rest of the afternoon just like that—lying side by side under the Montana sky.