Chapter 11 Dolly
DOLLY
Sunlight is streaming in on my face as I wake up. Dread immediately begins to build like a mass in my stomach when I remember where I am. I exhale, glaring up at the ceiling.
Moonlight Ranch.
Sam Seymour’s ranch. The place where all my dreams and nightmares could come to fruition. There’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll remember this as the best or worst time in my life.
I reach my arms overhead, stretching leisurely. I slept all night, shockingly. I sleep like a baby in my own bed, but I have trouble when traveling or staying anywhere else. I don’t even like sleeping over at Holden and Rosie’s house because I toss and turn in their guest bedroom.
I sit up, peering around the room in the soft morning light.
I tap my phone screen to see that it’s not quite seven a.m., which is when I normally get up.
The room is cozy and inviting. I’m surprised Sam has such a girlie room at his ranch.
I know he only inherited it weeks ago, but having lived here his whole life, this seems like a place he would’ve turned into a gun and bow storage room or some equally male-centered space.
“Stop with the bad thoughts. You’re better than this,” I mumble to myself.
Sam has made it clear he does not want me. Unless he’s highly intoxicated and grieving his last blood relative’s death, I’m like a sister to him.
The familiar mortification from the boat incident trickles through my mind, turning the contents of my stomach sour. I force the memory away.
If I can just ignore him, these next two weeks will fly by without a hitch.
I’ll be fine. I won’t bat my eyelashes or picture him naked on top of me.
I won’t fantasize about him inviting me into that big king-size wood-framed bed I imagine he sleeps in, and I certainly won’t read into things, like him pressing his knee into mine or pulling me onto his lap when there’s nowhere else to sit and giving me a mind-shattering orgasm.
And I will go on dates with men. As many as I want.
The fact that Ben hasn’t texted me causes a knot to form in the pit of my stomach. I huff out an exasperated sigh as I grab my phone, perusing through my social media feed for a few minutes to drown out the noise of the waves of loneliness and rejection washing over me.
An ad for a dating app pops up on my feed. It’s a picture of an attractive, smiling couple, holding hands across from each other at a table in a nice restaurant.
Find your missing half with Soulties. Match with like-minded singles today.
I impulsively click on the ad to download the app.
I’ve never tried a dating app because in a small town, I already know everyone.
But meeting Ben opened my eyes to the fact that when men do move to town or even come to visit people, I could be missing out on my chance to meet someone who could make me forget all about my fruitless childhood crush on my asshole babysitter.
I input all my basic information before uploading a photo of myself from last Easter.
I was wearing a long dress with my hair cascading in waves around my shoulders, the sun setting in the background bathing me in an orange and pink hue.
I add in a few more photos of me cooking, reading, and riding a horse to complete my profile.
I expect to be rerouted to the page where I can browse through potential candidates, but instead, a message pops up, telling me that I have to complete a detailed questionnaire and personality test.
“Why is this taking so long?” I grumble.
I roll out of bed, deciding I need coffee before continuing on my quest for love.
My pajamas are soft cotton shorts and a matching tank top in a pale yellow.
I could put a bra on to save Sam from having to see my nipples, but I don’t see why I should be inconvenienced this early in the morning for his comfort.
I’m tapping out answers for the questionnaire as I patter down the stairs toward the kitchen.
I don’t see any sign of Sam, aside from the half-full coffeepot on the worn butcher block countertop.
I find a plain black coffee mug in the cabinet above it and a full collection of flavored coffee creamers in the fridge.
“Sea salt caramel, pumpkin spice, sweet cream, hazelnut, and French vanilla?” I mumble, reaching for the hazelnut.
I add it to my coffee and make my way out to the back porch that wraps around the house. The sun is streaming over the set of four vintage white rocking chairs. I sit in one, surprised at how comfortable it is.
In the distance, I can see a herd of cattle with riders on horseback around them.
The green fields stretch on for hundreds of yards before oak and cedar trees start dotting the landscape, lining the fences and separating the pastures.
The day will heat up soon, but for now, the cool breeze dances across my skin and causes my nipples to perk up and goose bumps to prickle my skin.
My attention dips back to my phone and the growing irritation at how many questions I’m having to answer just to browse through a few single men.
Rosie’s name pops up on my screen as a call comes through, and a wave of relief bolts through me. I swipe to answer it.
“Wow, so you haven’t forgotten me,” I say, sipping the coffee as I put her on speakerphone and set the device on the coffee table.
The rich flavor bursts on my tongue. I pull back in surprise. Sam must really splurge on his coffee beans.
Rosie snorts. “You left my house less than twelve hours ago. And I have your location.” One of her twin toddlers screams in the background.
“You sat there and didn’t speak up about how cosmically horrible this plan was, and I feel betrayed.”
I didn’t even realize it until this moment, but I am upset with Rosie. She’s known about my crush on Sam for forever, and she should have realized that I needed someone else to stand up for me against this ridiculous plan.
“Dolls, you know I wanted to, but the guys had their minds made up before you even got there. Of course you can still pack up and come stay in my guest room, but honestly, I’m worried about this whole thing.
Holden isn’t prone to paranoia, and he’s not leaving me and the girls for a second right now unless Duke or Cash can step in.
I thought you going to Sam’s would be easier for you and less restrictive.
Plus, I thought you were getting over him. Think of it as exposure therapy.”
I take another sip of the incredibly delicious coffee. “I am getting over him. You know what? Scratch that. I’m already over him. I went on a date, and I downloaded a dating app this morning.”
Speak of the devil, Sam decides to take that moment to start walking toward the house from the barn.
His pale blue T-shirt is dotted with sweat on his wide chest, and his worn-out Wranglers are draped over the top of brown leather cowboy boots.
He removes the straw cowboy hat from his head, wiping the sweat off his brow with his forearm.
His rusty-brown curls are damp and sticking up as he runs his hand through them before placing the hat back on his head.
The movement causes his shirt to ride up, showing just the barest hint of his taut abdomen. I feel like the world moves in slow motion as I watch the bicep of his left arm bulge and contort with the movement of his hands twisting around the rope he’s slowly looping into a circle.
My jaw is somewhere in the vicinity of my knees by the time he gets to the porch and looks up at me with his ocean-blue eyes. I try to recover quickly, leaning back against the rocking chair and looking away from his godlike beauty before I start drooling.
Over my crush or not, that man is fine as fuck.
“… you’re thinking positively, which tells me you’re going to be okay. Sam is—”
I interrupt Rosie as soon as I realize he’s within hearing distance now.
“Sam is here now, yes. He just walked up. Say hi,” I rush out, grabbing the phone and holding it up in the air, my thumb hovering over the red button that will end the call in an emergency.
“Hi, Sam,” Rosie says, a smile in her voice.
“Hey, Rosie,” he replies, looking out over the backyard.
The thin fabric of his shirt drapes over his shoulder muscles beautifully. I squeeze my thighs together and make a mental note to check the app that’s documenting my cycle. I must be ovulating this week.
“I’ve got to strap the twins into their swing set. But you two have a great day. And good luck with the dating app, Dolly. You should add a bikini picture from the lake weekend to your profile!”
With that, she ends our call. I lick my lips, bringing the coffee mug to my mouth as the awkward silence envelops us. Sam’s gaze moves over me, revealing nothing.
“How do you like your coffee?” he finally says.
“Whatever this is, it’s amazing. I didn’t know you were such a java connoisseur.”
He’s fiddling with the rope, looping and unlooping it in different patterns.
Sam has always been an exceptional roper.
He competed in rodeos when he was younger.
When they work cattle at Redford Ranch, if there’s ever a calf that’s trying to escape, Sam is always the one who rides after them and effectively loops their hind legs on the first try.
I try not to let my mind wander down into the gutter as I study his fingers and the way they skillfully tie and untie the knots. My nipples are already poking through my pajama shirt. I’m starting to regret the no-bra decision.
“I meant, do you like it brewed stronger or weaker?”
“Oh, um, the way you made it today is perfect.”
He nods. I look down at my phone screen and answer a few more questions, expecting him to go inside or back out to the barn. After a few minutes, I look up and see that he’s still standing there, fidgeting with the rope.
He must sense my eyes on him because his gaze rises to mine. He clears his throat. “So, I think we should discuss what’s going to happen during your time here.”
I chew my bottom lip, studying him.
His eyes focus on the movement before dipping over me briefly. He looks up at the ceiling of the porch. “I think we should set a few boundaries. Establish some ground rules.”
I quirk an eyebrow. It’s like he’s trying to fulfill all my fantasies.
Childhood crush? Check.
Dirty, sweaty cowboy? Check.
Rules made to break? Check.
Getting tied up? In my dreams.
I wiggle on the rocking chair, trying to ignore the arousal pooling in my lower belly.
Over it, over it, over it. I’m moving on. I’m unaffected.
The self-gaslighting attempt is a continual chant in my head as I peel my eyes away from his hands on the rope.
“Are you going to give me a chore list?” I catch a stray drip of coffee on the rim of my mug with my tongue.
Sam shifts his boots. “I have ranch hands in and out all day. I can’t have you walking out to the fields or the barn, dressed like … that.”
I look down at myself. My nipples are very much still poking through the thin fabric of my pajamas. It has little rainbows and four-leaf clovers on them. The shorts are barely more than underwear, and a sliver of my stomach is out. Overall, it’s much more modest than a swimsuit.
“Anything else?” I ask, cheeks heating when I realize he’s noticing my body.
But he still has a thing for Keely. He invited her to the lake after I shattered on top of him.
He rubs the back of his neck, like the answer is difficult. “I just need you to understand that I’m doing this as a favor to Duke and your brothers. That’s all this is.”
Somehow, a fresh batch of mortification washes over me like a bucket of iced water. Establishing that he doesn’t actually want me here is a low blow. The incident on the boat slices into my memory.
I had an orgasm on his lap. I had an orgasm on his lap. He was clearly … disgusted, offended, mortified—God only knows.
My heart is pounding inside my chest like a drum as I manage a nod. My chest is crimson. “Got it.”
He dips his hat toward me before turning around and heading back out to the barn. My eyes drop back down to my phone, and the determination to get over Sam Seymour surges through me, stronger than ever before.