Chapter 4

Chase

I step on the rake, lean on its handle, and examine my day’s work – dozens of windrows laid out to dry in the field.

I wipe my brow with a dirtied sleeve, grateful for the breeze that passes by to cool it.

It’s already sunset, the skies turning from blue to amber, the same color as Lauren’s eyes.

I can still remember gazing into them, wide with curiosity, gleaming with desire, begging me to kiss her.

Many times during that “cooking lesson,” I had to summon all of my self-control and every ounce of morality to keep me from tucking my thumbs into her panties and tugging them down over her round ass cheeks. Had to stop myself from scraping a thumb over those pebbled nipples in her old cotton nightshirt.

Just the thought of Lauren trembling beneath me under this sunset sky on a field of hay is enough to make me hard.

Maybe it’s her hair that’s in constant disarray. Maybe it’s her smoldering eyes. Or maybe it’s that air of innocence about her that reminds me of a wildflower in the middle of the woods, unseen and untouched. It draws me to her like a moth to a flame.

She is unlike any woman I’ve ever known.

Thoughts of her only makes my problem worse so I stop. My arms, back, and legs are already aching. There’s no need to put myself through more pain.

My time here is transient – it could end tomorrow.

I lift the rake and carry it over my shoulder, trudge to the tool shed. I deposit it there, then drag myself toward my “barn,” and place a hand against my aching ribs.

It’s better than it was weeks ago but it still hurts sometimes, especially after a long day’s work.

A bath usually helps, though. I’ll take one before I eat the dinner Lauren’s prepared, then go to bed straight after.

The sky bruises overhead, hues of lavender to gray, and I reach the barn. I say barn, but it’s more of a large shed, really, made of wood that already has most of its paint peeled off and some rusty metal sheets for a roof.

Isaac says it’s where all his farmhands have stayed. And I’ve seen traces of them inside, some names carved into the walls and a pair of old, tattered boots under the cot.

I’m not complaining. A roof over my head, however old or rickety, is better than none at all.

I open the door – there’s no lock – and go in. I turn on the lone lightbulb, then shudder to a halt.

Isaac sits on the chair near the window.

“Jesus,” I mutter. “You want to give me a heart attack, boss?”

“Sorry,” Isaac says, as he strokes his beard. “It was still bright when I came so I didn’t turn the lights on. I was waiting for you and as I sat here, I started thinking about the days when there were plenty of farmhands cramped into this barn. Good friends, too. I must have been so lost in thought I didn’t notice it getting dark.”

I sigh and sit on the edge of the cot. “You can always hire more farmhands, you know. There’s plenty of work for more than one.”

Isaac narrows his eyes at me. “You complaining?”

“No,” I answer. “Just saying. The ranch could do better with proper equipment and–”

“Don’t tell me how to run my ranch, boy.” Isaac taps his fingers on the arm of the chair.

“Sorry.” I take off my boots, drop me them with two weighty thunks. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk.”

“Am I not working hard enough?” I ask. This may not be the easiest job but I need it. I need this place – for now.

“That’s not it,” Isaac tells me. “You’re one of the hardest workers I’ve ever had.”

“Then what is it?” Under normal circumstances, I would tell Isaac to spit it out. But I’m not Chase Donahue, here. I’m Chase Donner. I’ve got to be careful. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Did you?” He throws the question back at me.

I rub the back of my neck, hide a shiver from the cold rush which shuttles down my spine. Has Isaac discovered my true identity and circumstances?

I get off the cot. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do. I think you’ve seen the way my daughter looks at you, and I’ve seen the way you looked back at her in the storm cellar.”

Oh. It’s about Lauren. Figures. Old man’s weirdly protective of her.

That’s his first rule. Don’t touch my daughter. The words are burned into my memory.

I raise my hands. “I swear I’ve done nothing to your daughter. I haven’t laid a finger on her.”

“And you won’t.” He stands in front of me. “That was part of our arrangement, I believe.”

“Sure.” I stand my ground, don’t sweat it. “I swear I won’t touch her.”

It’s what Isaac wants to hear, what he needs to hear in order to let me stay, but even as I say the words, I don’t mean them.

I can’t mean them, not when she’s already intoxicated my body and soul.

“Good.” Isaac pats my shoulder. “Then we have an understanding.”

He heads to the door.

I sit back on the cot.

“Oh, and by the way,” Isaac says, and halts in the doorway. “One of the pipes at the house is leaking. Maybe you can take care of it later?”

I nod. “Sure.” Lauren will be there too. And so will daddy dearest, watching my every move.