Dane

I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Not that I’m a great sleeper to begin with. Last night, however, was especially painful. Staring at the ceiling for hours on end put me in a shit mood. And it’s not even due to my father’s heart attack.

He seems to be on the mend, thank God. I called the hospital at 4:30 this morning and heard him arguing with the nurse about his catheter; I pity the poor woman.

No, I didn’t sleep a wink because of a small woman with big blue-green eyes. I know I shouldn’t be mad at her. Hell, I’m the one that embellished the number of women I’ve slept with in the past. The fact that she believes it is what pissed me off enough to keep me up all night.

I don’t sleep around. Damnit, she should know me well enough by now. I’m not sayin’ I’m a saint. At one time, I did. I’ll own it. In my twenties, when I was first drafted. But not now––not for a long time. Not after I hit thirty and realized I needed rest and recovery more than I needed to get off inside a stranger that didn’t care that I needed to be careful with my body, that I couldn’t take even the smallest risk with my knees or my shoulders. Not after the ACL and MCL tear and the fear that I may never play again.

Fact is, I haven’t gotten laid since I met her. I had to choke the chicken once last night and twice this morning already. I’ve jerked off more in the last three months than I did at sixteen. I saw more action then than I do now, that’s for damn sure.

Which is probably another reason I couldn’t sleep last night. For the sake of my mental health, I should probably remedy that right quick. Except––and this is the troublesome part––my dick has developed a preference for the woman sleeping on the other side of the house. The thought of being with anyone else makes him shrivel and hide and that ain’t like him.

Cracking open the door of her bedroom, I find her fast asleep. Figures. She’s not worked up in a lather over me. I’m probably the last man on the planet she’d be attracted to.

Does it bother me that she’s more concerned with what our child will think a decade and a half into the future than she is about me keeping company with other women? Yeah, it sure as shit does. It bothers me that Stella doesn’t care who I’m sleeping with as long as it isn’t her.

I step into the bedroom and she sits up in bed, catching me by surprise. Her hair is piled up and hanging off to the side. Hair a mess, no makeup, and no designer suits––she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.

Eyes barely cracked open, she takes me in. It doesn’t take long for her to zero in on the tray with food I’m holding.

“Hey.” Her voice is scratchy, deeper than usual––the kind of voice that welcomes a lover. My dick starts to swell and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to distract myself. A damn nuisance.

“Hey,” I echo back. All I can do is hope the tray is hiding the wood pushing against my sweatpants. I walk over to her side of the bed and place the tray on the nightstand. She scoots over, making room for me, and I sit on the edge.

“I’m headed to the hospital.”

“You made breakfast?”

“You didn’t eat last night.” She takes inventory of the food. Her stomach growls loudly and we both smile. “Just in time.”

“I didn’t know you could cook. This looks delicious.” The smile slides off her face, her color turning pale. “Except, I’m nauseous.”

We’re pregnant. It hits me sideways, knocking me off balance a little. With all that’s happened with my father, the baby got lost in the chaos.

“Dane?”

“Can I do anything? Get you anything to feel better? Have you thrown up?”

“No,” she tells me with a small smile. Almost immediately it turns into a frown, her hand moving to cover her stomach. “Maybe the toast will help.” She grabs a slice off the tray. “I don’t want to hold you up. I’ll take a cab to the hospital as soon as I shower.” She grimaces, chewing slowly.

My eyes stray down her t-shirt over the swells of her breasts and stop. Holy hell, her nipples are pointing through the lettering. All the blood in my brain rushes to my dick. I’m so distracted by those gorgeous nipples it takes me a while to process what the t-shirt says.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.

That does it. No chance she doesn’t notice my dick pointing at her like a fucking compass. I’m so hard it’s painful. “Nice t-shirt,” I mutter.

Stuffing the last of the toast in her mouth, she crosses her arms in front. “Itz the owly one they had in a larthe thize.”

Two bright pink spots form on her overstuffed cheeks and I almost kiss her right then and there. As soon as the impulse hits me, I start to panic. “I gotta go. Levi will drive you when you’re ready.”

She swallows. “Who’s Levi?” she asks, grabbing another piece of toast off the tray.

“My brother.”

“You have a brother?!” she shouts, probably shocked her research missed this news. Her expression makes me smile. I can always count on her to do that.

“From another mother––long story. He lives here, helps manage the ranch, trains the cuttin’ horses.”

“I don’t want to be a burden. If he’s busy––”

“Eat your breakfast,” I say interrupting another debate. “Never met a more stubborn woman. I’ll see you later.”

“Fine,” she mumbles around another mouthful of toast.

I get up to leave, turning away so she can’t see my dick pointing in her direction.

“Dane––”

Her small hand is on my forearm, slender fingers wrapped around the sleeve of my shirt and the first thing that comes to mind is that I like it there. It belongs.

I wasn’t sure what to think when she volunteered to come with me. Stella is strictly city––by her own admission. I was expecting awkward. I was expecting her to be as structured here as she is at home. But I guess that’s been slowly changing, too. And seeing her here in this bed, all sleepy-eyed and relaxed, there’s nothing weird about it. She fits.

“Yeah,” I murmur after clearing my throat. My eyes slide back up to her face. She smiles, her focus bouncing between me and the rest of the food on the tray.

“This is really nice of you. Thank you.”

I dare not speak. All I can muster is a nod because I am one bad decision away from closing the distance between us, sinking my hands into that thick brown hair of hers, and planting one on her. And she doesn’t have a clue because if she did she’d probably be on the next flight to New York.

“I gotta go. See you later.” I need to get out of here before I do something real stupid. This isn’t a romantic getaway. In spite of what I told my father and sister, she isn’t my girlfriend. She’s the mother of my child. Nothing more. I need to remember that before I ruin everything by developing feelings.

But damn, I’m feeling somethin’.

* * *

Stella

Oklahoma is flat. At least, this part of Oklahoma is. Not in a boring, there’s nothing to look at way. It’s flat in a romantic, moody way. It’s minimalist, the horizon stretching without interruption as far as the eye can see, the complete opposite of New York where every square inch is a visual tapestry of odd shapes and loud colors. Not to mention the noise pollution.

The color of the sky here is sharper too, deeper, the white puffs of cumulous clouds drawn distinctly. They look like they’re in high definition. The land is softly rolling and yellow. A few scattered iron horses stand alone in the distance, most of them stationary, some bobbing for black gold. I was expecting more of those.

“How long have you worked for the Wylders?”

Tearing my eyes away from the raw beauty outside my window, I turn to the raw beauty sitting in the driver’s seat of the pickup truck. I mean, seriously? There’s got to be something in the water here.

Levi West is flat-out gorgeous. As in rubber-necking, walk-into-moving-traffic-because-you’re-staring gorgeous. He’s all perfect angles. High cheekbones, full lips. A deep olive tan which offsets his bright bottle-green eyes, brown hair with the tips blond from working in the sun.

Not as pretty as Dane’s, the devil in me says…or maybe just the stupid in me.

I almost choked on the dry toast when I spotted the massive erection he was waving around earlier. My lungs seized, literally stopped working for a full sixty seconds while the rest of me went up in flames. That’s the only reason I was saved from a coughing fit.

All this at the mere sight of it. Which probably had nothing to do with me in the first place, and everything to do with the man’s natural state of being. No doubt he noticed the bead of sweat on my forehead––along with other attention-seeking body parts.

Moment of truth, I’ve never been particularly driven in that regard. Sex is nice and all, but given the choice of a great book and a pint of ice cream, or sex…bah, it’s a tough call. Except, lately that’s all I think about.

All. I. Think. About.

Like I’ve suddenly turned into a teenage boy. Or a sex-starved thirty-three-year-old woman. And those dirty, dirty thoughts I hadn’t known I had in me happen to be about one man in particular.

“Since I was fifteen––about a dozen years.”

Levi’s smooth voice interrupts the aimless wandering of my filthy mind. Incidentally, it was never filthy before. It was squeaky clean, a fact I was proud of. Alas, no more.

“Fifteen?” His answer finally catches up with me. “Aren’t there laws against that? What did your parents say?”

“I don’t know my father, and my mother was in jail…I was living on the streets when I met Dane.”

He says it so casually it takes me a moment to accept that he’s given me an honest answer. And when I do my head whips around to take a better look at the man sitting in the driver’s seat. Posture relaxed, lazy smile in place––a genuine one. There’s no pain in the story he tells.

My chest hurts, though. Jesus, does my chest hurt. I need to know more, tact be damned.

“How’d you guys meet?”

He side-eyes me briefly, a broad white smile lighting up his face. Have mercy on the female population.

“He caught me trying to boost his pickup outside a Dallas night club.”

This story keeps getting more interesting by the letter. I swivel in my seat to face him, eager for every scrap he’s willing to give me.

“Did he have you arrested?”

“No, ma’am,” is his quick reply, his drawl as thick and slow as maple syrup. “He brought me here, gave me a place to live and offered me a job.”

“He kidnapped you?!” I must’ve misunderstood.

“He didn’t give me much choice.” Levi chuckles softly. Going by his expression, he’s caught up in the memory. “It was either go with him, or he’d call the cops.”

Dane is easily three inches taller than Levi, and although Levi has plenty of muscle now, he doesn’t even begin to compare to Dane. At fifteen without proper nutrition, Levi must’ve been all bones.

“Weren’t you scared?”

His smile falters. The pause carries weight. When his eyes meet mine again there’s wisdom in them, evidence of things he’s experienced. Unpleasant things. I could swear the vivid green dims a little.

“I was always scared back then so it didn’t make much difference.”

I imagine the worst. I don’t press for more details because I can’t handle the details. My throat clogs, my eyes well up. Swallowing repeatedly doesn’t help. I turn away and brush the corners with the knuckle of my index finger but it does little good; there’s more where that came from.

“Bill taught me everything he knew about horses and made me go to school.”

Out the passenger side window, the stark horizon stares back at me. A tear manages to break free, streaking down my cheek. It’s the hormones, I tell myself. It must be.

“They sound like good people.” My voice falling apart, it’s barely audible by the end.

“The best.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later he parks the pickup truck in the hospital lot. Levi walks next to me, curbing his long stride while I teeter precariously on my heels since I’m still stuck in the clothes I wore here.

Once we reach the ICU, he leaves me to talk to a nurse who informs him that Mr. Wylder has been moved to a regular room two floors below. Great news. His condition has improved. The heart attack doesn’t seem to have caused any major damage.

Steps away from Mr. Wylder’s new room, Dane’s voice spills out into the hallway, as much as he tries to temper the volume and I can tell he’s trying.

“No, Dad. Yes, she’s here but…I don’t want you gettin’ any ideas. No, we’re…yes, we’re together but…don’t even bring that up in front of her. No…’cause I said so––”

Levi’s expression turns curious, his brows hitching up.

“Gimme a minute and I’ll let them know you’re here.” With that, he enters the room, leaving me standing alone. A beat later Dane steps out. His gaze openly moves from my feet to my face.

“Hi,” he says with a jaunty smile.

“Hi?” I reply. It sounds like a question because it is. “Is everything alright?” I don’t know what he was talking to his father about, but I suspect it has to do with this ruse he’s concocted.

Stepping into the hallway, he takes my wrist and leads me away. Or rather yanks me away without pausing to explain. In three of his long-legged strides we’re halfway down the hall, out of earshot, with me shuffling after him as fast as I can on those life-threatening heels.

“The heart attack was mild. It didn’t damage his heart. They’re going to keep him here another two nights though––as a precaution. He’s already doing better than expected.”

“Thank God,” I respond, my hand automatically falling over my heart, and breathe a sigh of relief. I know how close they are and how worried Dane was without having to be told.

“But…”

“But what?” Judging by his demeanor, whatever it is, it’s clearly serious.

“We can’t stress him out.” After which, he gives me a sharp look.

“We?” I return. “How could I possibly stress him out?”

“He’s got it in his head that we’re together.”

“That’s because you put it there.”

Hands resting on his lean hips, he blows out a deep breath. “Stella––” It’s a murmur, a question, and an argument all rolled into one. It’s the anxious need I hear in his voice, however, that convinces me he’s not fooling around. In no way, shape, or form do I want to be the one to stress out this man who will be the only grandfather my child will ever know.

“What do you need from me?”

“Act like we’re together.” At my stony countenance, he continues. “It’s just for a few days.”

“Fine. But I hate lying. Put that on the record.” I stab his chest to underscore my point and he automatically curls his fingers around mine. They’re strong and calloused and for a moment my mind knows nothing else outside of that feeling, that connection between us. In a daze my gaze climbs back up and finds him wearing a subtle smile.

“Will do,” he replies. His voice is quiet, the rasp more pronounced. Something weird is happening between us. Self-preservation tells me to push it away, to force it to the back of my mind where I don’t have to look at it.

“I detest it. So don’t ever do it. To me, or to our kid,” I murmur, trapped by the sultry gaze looking down at me. Sultry? Wtf?

Taking my finger, he slowly draws a cross over his heart. “Cross my heart, hope to die.” His smile grows into an all-out grin. Thankfully, it knocks some sense back into me.

“Dane,” I grind out, yanking my finger out of his gentle grip.

“I hear you. No lying, ever. I promise. Can we go in? He’s been chewin’ my ear off all morning about meetin’ you.”

We walk up to the doorway and I’m suddenly nervous. This is his father after all, a man that will be a permanent part of my child’s life––and mine for that matter––and I want to make a good impression…and I’m wearing a wrinkled black cocktail dress and “fuck me” heels before noon. God’s honest truth, that’s what they are, and to pretend otherwise would be a lie.

Sensing my hesitation, Dane takes my hand and pulls me into the room.

Mr. Wylder is sitting up in bed, finger-combing his silver hair. The gesture tugs at my heart. Mr. Wylder is a big man, dwarfing the bed in comparison. And handsome. He has a silver goatee that I wouldn’t find appealing on anyone other than him. For whatever reason it suits him.

He spots me and smiles. The smile is broad and bright and reminds me so much of his son’s smile that I stare a little too long.

“Stella?” I hear Dane say. This snaps me out of my musings. Forcing on a smile of my own, I make my way over to Mr. Wylder’s bed with an outstretched hand.

“So nice to meet you, Mr. W––” The rest of my greeting is cut short as Mr. Wylder takes my hand and hauls me in for a hug. I’m engulfed in a solid wall of muscle, warmth, and a faint whiff of disinfectant.

“Call me Bill. It’s good to meet you, Stella. How do you feel?” His voice is deep and gravely and oddly comforting. Releasing me, he looks me over. I pull away and smooth my hands down my dress, suddenly feeling as shy and awkward as the girl I was at twelve. Something about this man gets to me. It’s his warmth, I determine. He exudes warmth.

“I…I feel fine.” And then I remember why we’re here. “But how do you feel?”

“Aww, I feel great,” he answers with a big smile.

Yeah, right. I know the type––stoic in the face of anything and everything. He could have a limb hanging off and he’d ask for some twine and glue.

“Even better now that you three are here.”

“You don’t know how sorry I am,” Levi says from somewhere behind me.

I glance backward and find him perched on the arm of a chair with his arms crossed over his chest, the bulge of his biceps stressing his plaid shirt.

It’s obvious Levi feels terrible for not being here for Mr. Wylder. Knowing their history, it makes sense. These two are close. Maybe even as close as father and son.

“You’ve got a life to live, son. Stop apologizin’ for it.” Although Mr. Wylder’s tone is stern, the chiding is delivered with a gentle touch.

Something tells me nothing anyone could say would alleviate the guilt Levi’s feeling.

“Georgia is gettin’ an afternoon flight out of San Diego,” Dane says.

“You call your sister and tell her that if she doesn’t stay home my blood pressure is going to go through the goddamn roof. Besides, you two don’t have to hurry back to New York, do you?” Mr. Wylder’s dark-blue eyes skip between me and Dane. When neither one of us makes a peep, he continues, “It wouldn’t kill you to stick around for a while.”

“Yeah, we can stay,” Dane answers, the words unsure and drawn out.

Dane’s blank stare carefully glides to me and I return a smile that stays up by sheer force of will. I feel a large, warm hand take mine and look down to find him lacing his fingers between mine. His sun-burnished, mine pale. We’re polar opposites in every way.

“We’d love to stay,” I add. Let the charade begin.

Bill claps his hands together and rubs, a gesture I’ve seen his son perform many times.

“Glad that’s settled. Now get me the hell outta here.”