Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Hollie
Gravel rumbled beneath my Volvo as we crawled down the drive at Meadowbrook Ranch.
My eyes burned from our sixteen hour travel day and anxiety had rubbed my nerves raw.
When I finally parked the car in front of Cabin B, I sagged with relief.
Tag and Bea moved into a cabin after the wedding to give themselves a little bit of privacy, which the girls and I would be ruining by staying in their secondary bedroom during our visit.
I felt terrible barging in on newlyweds, but there weren't any other options since the suites in the big house were fully booked.
My eyes dragged my awareness to Cabin A—Jesse’s cabin—relieved to find the windows dark.
The girls didn’t wake up when I opened the door and stepped out.
My back muscles unraveled and blood returned to my glutes as I stood upright and hobbled a few steps away from the car.
I indulged in a long, delicious stretch, taking note of the stars in the sky.
No sounds penetrated the night, save a thunderous roar of crickets and frogs—so different from our cul-de-sac in the suburbs.
Bea opened the front door of the cabin, whisper-squealing, “Hollie!”
“Bea!” I went toward the porch, holding my arms out for a hug. Meeting halfway, we embraced, and Bea buried her head into my shoulder. Before we could exchange words, her body shook with emotion. Her arms tightened around me. “I’m so happy to see you. You have no—idea what this means to me.”
Her frame was too thin, wisp-like in my arms.
I might not be able to fix a single thing about my own problems, but I could care for her.
Once upon a time, Bea and I were good friends.
In highschool, she’d flop onto my bed and we’d talk late into the night.
Maybe this time at Meadowbrook was a special chance to restore our relationship.
The idea of being honest with her sent tingles of fear through my veins, but I tried not to think about it.
“I’m so glad I was able to come.” My fingers dropped to her flat tummy. “And you’re making me an aunt!”
She clasped my hand there. “I’m finally warming up to the idea.”
“You’ll be counting days before you know it.”
Her smile was easy, but it didn’t shine into her eyes. “Let’s get you in the house.”
“Yes, I’m going to bring in our bags first then I’ll wake up the girls.”
Despite my protests, she insisted on carrying in a suitcase.
I strode along beside her, pretending not to notice how slowly she moved and how she could hardly keep her grip on the handle.
Yesterday, I spent some time researching her condition.
Apparently, most HG moms experienced depression due to hormones wreaking havoc on their bodies.
I hoped I wouldn’t see that reality in her eyes—but I did.
Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to be alone this summer.
The family had fully rallied and had a very solid plan in place.
Mom would help at the ranch for a week in July, arriving the Saturday before I left.
Then Jackie would be able to come the week after that.
Sarah had a full two weeks to give in August.
I followed her to the second bedroom where the sheets on the queen-sized bed were already turned down and two twin air mattresses on the floor were made up with pillows and blankets.
Soft yellow light from a corner lamp illuminated the room.
On the night stand were bottles of water, a basket of snacks, and a master key with my name on it.
“I hope you guys will be comfortable in here, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. ”
“This will be perfect.”
In the light, I was able to see how pale she was. She held a hand over her throat and took a deep swallow.
I frowned. “Are you okay?”
She smiled—a twitch of the lips and nothing more. “I’m—just nauseous. I’ve been sick all evening.”
“You think you’re going to throw up?”
“Probably in a few minutes.”
“Go to bed. I’ll get the girls in.”
“You sure?” She pressed her lips together, taking a shaky breath through her nose.
“Positive. When does breakfast start?”
“Um, cowboy breakfast is at 5:25. We start cooking at—at, um, 4:55. But you—” She shook her head, unable to continue.
“Go, Bea.”
“I’m sorry. Sleep in—okay?” With that, she turned to her own bedroom. I heard a couple doors open and close then the unmistakable sound of a toilet lid banging against the tank. I fought my own nausea as I helped the girls into the house and tucked them into bed.
Maybe I should’ve slept in like Bea suggested, but I wanted to be as helpful to her as possible, and that meant jumping in with two feet.
Bugs and birds chirped in the early morning as I stumbled my way to the big house in the dark.
Using my master key, I opened the kitchen door and felt along the wall for a light switch.
An overhead fluorescent flickered to life revealing the large island situated in the middle of a crisp, white tile floor.
Immediately, I began to poke around. Was there a daily meal plan? I wondered if the cowboys ate the same thing the guests did or if—
Footsteps rounded the porch to the side door.
I spun to look, my heart jumping into my throat.
According to Bea, Jesse had been the one in the kitchen recently, so it was most likely him.
My hands reached for my frizzy curls, tucking any and all wisps behind my ears and pinching my cheeks.
I frantically smoothed my pink t-shirt and lumpy black leggings.
And braced myself.
He pushed into the kitchen, wearing an untucked white t-shirt and faded work jeans, and his hair was longer than when I last saw him, tickling the tops of his eyebrows and inching down the back of his neck.
I loved the color—just brown enough he wasn’t a red head, just red enough to hardly call brown.
His facial hair shared the color, the length falling somewhere between five o’clock shadow and beard.
I thought back to the night of Bea’s wedding. What Jesse and I did together was nothing short of desperately premature, but what woman wouldn’t melt under this man’s attention? Even now, dreading this encounter, my heart fluttered in my chest at the sight of him.
Then he looked up and those green eyes landed on me. His voice held a note of disbelief. “Hollie.”
“Good morning, Jesse.” My voice cracked with first usage.
I waited for a smile, for a beat of awareness between us. But, his gaze cut away. “Uh, I didn’t realize you would be helping this morning.”
“Well, I figured I should learn as soon as possible.”
“Gotcha.”
“Good to see you again.” I paused. “So…will you be training me?”
He drew a tense breath. “Yep. Guess so.” Without looking at me again, he strode over to a cabinet and pulled out two little index card boxes. One was blue, one was yellow. “Yellow is cowboy meal recipes and blue is for the guests.”
Panic grabbed my throat. No, hello? Good morning? Good to see you again? Or how was your drive? My heart rate tripled its tempo. Even though our kisses were wildly inappropriate, I didn’t regret meeting him, knowing him, or our time together. I certainly wasn’t angry at him.
But he seemed angry at me.
Why? What did I do wrong?
Our rapport had been great—near perfect. We had chemistry, and I could even see us being good friends during my time here. Why would he not even look at me?
A hot squeezing sensation wrapped around my throat. I reached for the card boxes, lifting the lid on the yellow one. “Is there a schedule?”
Jesse strode over to the refrigerator, tapping a piece of paper on the side. “Right here.”
I walked over and let my eyes run over the list, hardly recognizing the words as English.
Forcing my head into the game, I found the way the chart worked—day of the week on the left side, with the words cowboy and guests at the top.
Today’s cowboy breakfast was jalapeno corn bread, scrambled eggs, and bacon.
Jesse began prepping a pot of coffee.
Surely he was just tired. Some people were incapable of coherent conversation in the morning.
I walked back to the middle of the kitchen, fretting. Should I wait for instructions or go ahead and rummage around? My thumb nail found a cuticle and dug in. I caught myself and stopped then reached for the yellow box of cards for the cornbread recipe.
Jesse turned to the sink with the coffee carafe. “We make cornbread the night before.” He flipped the faucet on and nodded toward the corner. “It’s in that dish over there.”
My eyes followed his nod, landing on a foil-wrapped metal dish against the wall.
“I would lay the bacon on baking sheets, which are in the cabinet beside the oven, cook those first and then at the end, pop the cornbread in to warm it a little.”
“Okay.” I found the sheet pans and pulled two out. “Any parchment paper?”
He wrapped his hand around the handle on the drawer behind him, yanking it open without a word.
I lined the sheets with paper and the two packages of bacon Jesse had pulled from the fridge while he cracked eggs into a bowl. My hands shook as I tried to read his body language. His shoulders were turned away, a wordless barrier protecting him from even having to look at me.
My cheeks burned—they had to be beet red, just had to be.
Why did I follow him after the wedding? He had admitted to being sad and missing his wife and then I threw myself at him.
He probably thought I took advantage of him.
Of course he wouldn’t be happy to see me.
I lifted a sheet off the table and placed it into the oven—the pan, laden with bacon, slipped from my fingers at the last second, making a loud clattering sound against the metal rack.
I cringed at the invasion of the sound, hoping I didn’t disturb any guests.
Jesse instinctively shushed me.
Shhh.
Which reminded me of that night. Again.
When he’d shushed me because I was enjoying our kiss a little too much.
Nausea ripped through my stomach so violently, I quaked.
Jesse had seen me like that—open and hungry and vulnerable.
Why had I ever let him see me like that?
No wonder he wouldn’t even look my direction.
The memory of me, shaky and sweaty, probably disgusted him.
Just like any sexually functioning adult male, he’d take what was offered to him, but that didn’t mean he’d value it forever. Few did.
Garrett didn’t, that was for damn sure.
Maybe, unintentionally, I’d cornered Jesse into physical affection. I’d made myself too available. What man could resist a woman who was practically on her knees, begging for love? To think I believed, for a fleeting moment, that Jesse was safe.
Fool.
I found a frying pan and turned on a burner. A juicy flupp-flupp-flupp filled the kitchen as Jesse beat the eggs with a fork. When he brought them to the stove, I relieved him of the bowl, disallowing my eyes to find his face. “I can take it from here.”
“Thanks. Pam’s in the upper cabinet.” I grabbed it and sprayed the pan as he pulled out two mugs, filled them both with steaming coffee, and dropped one on the counter next to the range.
Before I could protest the black coffee, he dropped a carton of half-n-half beside it and fished a spoon out of the drawer.
My voice sounded lame as I thanked him quietly again.
He showed me where the serving dishes were and explained that the cowboys ate outside at the picnic table. His eyes were turned away and his restless hands made me realize I was picking my nails again.
After he went out to set the table, Tag sauntered in from the porch. His curls were wild, free of his cowboy hat, and his eyes were barely open yet. “Good mornin’, Hollie.” He offered me a kind, albeit shy, smile then made his way around the counter, for what I thought must be a hug.
“Hi.” I stepped toward him, lifting my arm.
Tag faltered for a half second before stopping abruptly. “Oh. Hi.”
What followed was the most awkward, terrible side hug I’d ever given or received in my entire life.
His left arm lifted, wrapping around my shoulders with surprisingly little contact, and his fingers tapped the edge of my shoulder like I was a stick of dynamite he was being forced to touch.
After which, he pedaled away as if I would, in fact, explode.
Then he turned to the electric water kettle directly behind me and switched it on.
He didn’t want a hug.
He wanted hot water.
My face boiled along with the kettle as it roared to life behind me, the hum lifting and growing as Tag fished in a cabinet for a mug and dropped a tea bag inside it.
Come on, Hollie.
I blinked, positive that the excess mortification would put me in an early grave. I forced words out of my tight throat. “Good to see you again.”
“You too.”
Yeah, right.
I tried to smile. “How’s Bea this morning?”
“Not good. She was up all last night.”
“Throwing up?”
“Yeah, she doesn’t get sick at night most of the time, but she couldn’t stop for some reason. I doubt she’ll be up any time soon.”
I glanced at his face, wondering if he was the kind of husband who would sit with her by the toilet or ask her to quiet down. The circles under his eyes and concern in his brows made me bet the former, which was good because I wouldn’t wish the latter on my worst enemy.
He continued, “Thank you for bein’ here, Hollie. You have no idea how much it lifted Bea’s spirits to have family come in.”
“I’m glad I could.”
A touch of scrutiny lined his gaze as his eyes swept over me. His irises were grey with one spot of hazel in his left eye. I’d always found them hauntingly beautiful.
“Bea told me you knew your way ‘round a kitchen, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me or Jesse know.”
“I will. And same for you. I’m here to help.”
He smiled, the movement bringing a sparkle to his tired eyes. “Thank you.”
Once he exited to the porch, I poured the eggs into the pan, forcing myself to take a big deep breath.
At 5:26 a.m. the eggs were finished, the cornbread warmed.
I toted it all to the porch, avoiding anyone’s eyes and barely lifting my head when the cowboys said hello or thanked me.
I just wanted to get it done and get out of the way.
But by the time I’d cleaned the kitchen, Jesse came back in, a storm brewing in his gaze. Without acknowledging me at all, he snapped open the blue card box, and said, “Time to start the guest breakfast.”