Chapter Five #2
They look like a proper little family, all smiles and full of love.
I move on to another photo, one that shows Colt as a tiny golden-haired boy on what might be the world’s tiniest pony. My heart lurches. Ain’t he the cutest thing? The smile on his face is huge, all gap-toothed confidence.
More photos, more moments—picnics, horse shows, sun-drenched summers—frozen in time.
Fewer smiles. More distance. The woman disappears from the photos entirely. Then Wade does too. The later photos are just Colt, growing up in snapshots.
I'm about to turn away, trying to shake the sinking feeling the photos have gifted me, when something by the fireplace catches my eye.
A small cluster of framed photos, all of Wade.
He is younger, in his early twenties. In one picture, he’s mid-air on the back of a bucking bull, dust flying, one arm raised in that perfect rodeo arch.
His face is locked in an intense focus, but there’s a wild energy to it.
Like he lived for that moment. In another, he’s grinning, holding up a giant belt buckle like it’s the Holy Grail.
A row of similar buckles lines the mantel above.
Bryan wasn't wrong. Wade must've been really good. And actually happy.
Happiness looks good on him.
I lean in, tilting my head to read the engraving on one of the buckles. “Champion Bull Rider. Fifth of August 199…”
“What are you doing in here?”
A gasp catches in my throat as I spin around. Wade fills the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit as unimpressed as he sounds.
“I—uh—couldn’t sleep,” I stammer, way too flustered for my own good. “I was just… wandering.”
His eyes flick to the mantel, then back to me. His jaw tightens more than I’d thought humanly possible. “This room was closed for a reason.”
“Suppose curiosity killed the cat. Or in this case, the city girl.” I apprehensively laugh, hoping a little joke may lighten the intensity of the moment.
It doesn’t. Wade keeps still expression unchanging.
But his eyes drop to my chest, where my pyjama top hangs a little too low, and my clearly visible, hard nipples peak through the traitorously thin fabric.
I suddenly feel way too exposed. I wrap my arms around my body, collecting whatever dignity I have left in this moment.
“Okay. No time for jokes, got it. I’m just… uh, gonna go now.”
I sidestep out the doorway, brushing ever so slightly against his broad frame. Close enough to catch his scent—sharp and almost fruity, with a smoky warmth underneath that makes me want to linger a few seconds longer than I should.
But I most definitely shouldn’t do that. No, I have to get to the safety of my room, so I keep moving.
I slip back into my room, shutting the door gently behind me and leaning against it for a second as I exhale.
What the hell was that?
Apparently, my body did not get the same memo as my brain. We do not like that man. Not one fucking bit. Yet standing that close to him in the dark has done absolutely nothing to convince me otherwise.
I throw myself back onto the bed, a traitorous warmth coiling low in my belly, my thighs clenching completely of their own accord. I must be ovulating. The only logical explanation for this reaction to such a small, stupid moment. As undeniably hot as this man is, this should not be happening.
The rudeness should cancel it out. The scowling should cancel it out. The fact that he is my boss and made it abundantly clear he didn't want me here should absolutely cancel it out.
It doesn't.
Which is irritating beyond words.
I pick up my Kindle in a desperate attempt to distract myself.
Forty minutes later, I have read the same page approximately nine times and retained absolutely nothing.
My mind won't stop circling back to how my body reacted to him being near me, in the early hours by ourselves.
The brief brush of contact in the doorway that my skin is remembering far too vividly.
It's fucking irritating
But there's nothing to be done about it right now, and people will be flooding the house soon enough. I put the Kindle down, get dressed, and prepare to face whatever awkward encounters come my way in the only way I know how: sass and fake confidence.
I pick out some denim dungarees with a white short-sleeved top, something that I think is ranch acceptable, even though I have no bloody clue. I pull my hair up in a half-up, half-down ponytail.
By the time I’m tying the laces of my Dr Martens, there’s a light knock on my door.
I open it to find a cheery Colt; he has way too much energy for someone whose mornings start before the sun is up.
“Ready for your first day?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, smiling as I shut the door behind me and follow him down the stairs.
In the kitchen, Mrs Mae is already wearing her apron, scrambled eggs in one hand, and a plate of freshly cut bread in the other. The smell of both hits me before I’ve already walked through the door.
“Morning, sweet pea.” She beams at me. “Sleep alright?”
“Mostly, a little bit of jet lag, but nothing caffeine can’t fix.”
Two ranch hands, Steven and Wyatt, are already seated at the table. Their easy greetings settle the first full day’s nerves. I slide into the seat next to them, and Colt sets a mug of coffee in front of me before dropping himself into the chair across the table.
“So,” he says. “Ever been on a horse before?”
I give him a deadpan look over the rim of my mug. “Does riding the carousel at Hyde Park count?”
He laughs. “Not quite”
“Figured.”
“Alright, we’re starting from scratch then. But lucky for you, Miss, I am an excellent teacher, and we’ll have you all saddle up—”
“No more dicking around”
Wade’s voice cuts through the room, making both of us jump slightly. He seems to have a habit of doing that.
Boots thud against the floor as he approaches. His gaze lands on me and lingers, a slow, unreadable sweep I can't quite make sense of. Work assessment or flat-out disapproval, I genuinely can't tell. Either way, he needs to stop. Then his eyes are back on my face, annoyance firmly reinstated.
This fucking man.
“Time to get to work. Maeve, you're Colt's responsibility. This whole scheme thing was his idea, not mine. Questions go to him first. If he can't help, then, and only then, do you come to me.”
I can only bring myself to nod.
He turns to Colt. “Barn clean-up and horses today. Ease the city girl in.”
“Sure.” Colt’s tone is cold. We both stand, and Colt takes our mugs to the sink. I go to follow.
“Let’s see how long you last, angel,” Wade breathes against my ear, his voice unhurried and low.
By the time I turn around, he's already walking away, his scent lingering in the space he just left.
I exhale slowly through my nose, realising I’d been holding my breath. If he thinks I’m going to be scared easily, he’s got another thing coming.