Chapter Nine

WEDNESDAY MORNING, Russ woke to the screeching of his alarm clock and nearly sent the thing flying across the room. With a groan, he flopped onto his back and stared up at the shadowed ceiling. Although he still set it every night, he always woke way before the damned contraption had a chance to go off—always. Except over the last several days, he’d been lucky to get even a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep before it was time to start the day all over again, and he knew exactly who to blame.

Jordan bloody Thorndike needed to “find himself” or his goddamned “inner peace”—or whatever the hell had brought him to the ranch—and move on, because Russ couldn’t take another few days of being eyed like a stallion at auction. The doe eyes one minute, the sleepy eyes the next, the standing just a little too close, the accidental brushes against Russ’s body, all of it was going to drive him out of his ever-lovin’ mind.

“Goddamn you, Todd. Why couldn’t you have just stayed away, lived your life, and let me live mine?”

His ex’s most recent visit to the ranch had to be the reason for Jordan’s sudden change in attitude from phony Pollyanna to cautious Casanova on the hunt. Nothing else had changed from the previous week. Russ sure as hell hadn’t been any nicer to the brat. Somehow Jordan had figured out Russ and Todd had history, and he’d spent every day since Saturday examining Russ like a peach he thought might just be ripe enough to be plucked.

It got under Russ’s skin something fierce, made him feel itchy all over. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since.

With a growl, he rolled out of bed and glared in the general direction of Jordan’s room. He was done pussyfooting around. He’d put a stop to it—whatever “it” was—sooner rather than later. Phyl wouldn’t be happy, but this was Russ’s home, not Jordan’s, no matter how rich his parents were. If the kid didn’t like being put in his place, he could damn well haul his pretty ass somewhere else to contact his inner child, because Russ had work to do.

Determined, he stomped to the bathroom, hosed off in the shower, and tugged on his work clothes for the day. He skipped breakfast, only grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a piece of buttered toast before heading for the horse barn as the first pink of a new dawn breached the horizon. He barely shared two words with Phyl, beyond the pleasantries, afraid she’d poke holes in the belly full of fire he’d worked up before he could unleash it all on the brat.

As he’d expected, Phyl stuck him with Jordan from dawn ’til dusk yet again. It didn’t help matters any that the brat was actually pretty damned amazing with the horses. Under different circumstances, Russ might’ve considered training Jordan himself, just like Sean had done for him. But the brat wouldn’t be around long enough to make that worth the effort, and Russ wouldn’t be able to take that kind of one-on-one time and not do something he’d regret at some point.

“What’s next, Boss?”

Russ scowled. Casting a reluctant glance over his shoulder, he found Jordan looking far too damned pretty for spending the last few hours ankle-deep in muck on a hot July day. Even sweaty and rumpled, he looked good enough to eat.

Russ had reached the end of his rope.

“You’ve been here more’n a week,” he growled. “You oughtta know what needs doin’ by now. You got eyes, look at the board. I ain’t your nursemaid, and I ain’t your daddy. Figure it out or get the hell out of my barn.”

Jordan blinked at him for a couple of heartbeats, his blue eyes wide with surprise and maybe even a little hurt. Just as quickly, though, those pretty eyes narrowed and that smooth jaw tightened. Russ squared off with the brat, eager for a dustup to release the tension he’d been building for days. He wouldn’t do any real damage to the pretty boy, but if Jordan threw a punch, he’d get a punch back.

Except that wasn’t what happened. Instead of throwing a punch or stomping away in a huff, like the spoiled brat he was, Jordan’s angry frown evaporated into thin air. His eyelids drooped, and his perfectly formed lips curved into a smile that spelled “trouble” in flashing neon letters, sending Russ’s heart pounding.

Caught off guard, Russ stood there frozen as Jordan slunk a few steps closer, leaned in close, and murmured, “Oh, I know you’re not my daddy. If you were, all the things I want you to do to me would be illegal and so very, very wrong… unless we’re talking about a different kind of daddy.”

With that, the cocky little shit spun on his heel and sauntered away, his tight ass wiggling in the pair of Russ’s faded and far-too-thin old jeans that Phyl had given him.

“Well, shit,” Russ swore to the empty barn when he was able to get his tongue back.

It seemed the brat had decided Russ was ripe enough to be plucked after all. Now what the hell was Russ going to do about it?

A horse down the line of stalls whickered, shaking him out of his stupor and reminding him he had work to do. After reaching down and adjusting himself with a grimace, Russ threw one last scowl in the direction Jordan had gone and went to find his farrier kit.

FOR THE rest of the day, Jordan avoided close contact with him, but that didn’t stop the brat from throwing saucy winks and licking his lips every time he caught Russ’s eye in the yard or passed him on the way to some of the other animal pens. Jon and Ernie weren’t far off, and Phyl popped in from time to time, so Russ wasn’t able to get some of his own back until just before quitting time.

Jon and Ernie weren’t staying for supper that night. Ernie had his daughter’s violin recital and Jon’s in-laws were coming up that weekend, so his wife wanted him home to get the house in shape. That left Russ and Jordan alone outside to finish up for the night while Phyl cooked supper. Russ had shaken off his earlier discombobulation and had worked up another full head of steam by then. He strode into the barn with purpose. The brat’s little comeback earlier had surprised him, and if he were honest with himself, it had gotten his dick’s attention to the point where it took over for a few seconds. But that continued over-the-top flirting all afternoon had just pissed him off. He didn’t like games.

“Hey,” he called to Jordan’s back as he came down the aisle.

Jordan was washing out some buckets, but he set them down at Russ’s approach and turned to face him. A flirty smile played across the brat’s lips as he leaned against the barn wall invitingly. He made a pretty picture. There was no denying that. But Russ was done with the bullshit.

“You and me, we need to have ourselves a little chat,” he said, stopping a good eight feet away and folding his arms across his chest.

“Sure. What about?” Jordan asked, with a look that said butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“I think I need to set you straight on a couple of things, and I want you to listen real close, because I ain’t gonna repeat myself.”

“Okay.” The brat stepped away from the wall, wet his lips, and sauntered a little closer. “I’m all ears.”

“Good, then listen up. Phyl might be scared to step on your little pedicured toes, ’cause of how much your parents contribute to our little operation, but I’m not. She might feel pressured to be nice to you, but I don’t give a good goddamn how much money your folks have. You want to stay here? Then you pull your weight like everyone else and don’t make trouble. Otherwise I’ll personally kick you out on your ass without sheddin’ a tear. Ya got me?”

Jordan’s mask slipped, showing a hint of something pained before his expression closed. Russ had worked long enough at the rescue to recognize a wounded creature when he saw one, even with only the tiniest glimpse. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. Jordan was a full-grown man, raised with more privilege than some people could even dream of, not a defenseless animal, and he needed to be reminded that he couldn’t have anything or anyone he wanted with the snap of his fingers.

“Now I’m not sure what you think you know about me, boy,” he continued relentlessly, “but just so we’re clear, I ain’t buyin’ whatever it is you’re sellin’. Got it? So you can keep your sashayin’ little ass out of my way. And you can stuff your winks and your smiles where the sun don’t shine while you’re at it, because I got no use for a spoiled little rich kid slumming it down here with the rest of us just so you can feel better about yourself, no matter how pretty you think you are…. Been there. Done that. Bought the T-shirt. Never goin’ back…. Now you stay out of my way, or you hop back in that expensive little toy that probably cost more than Ernie or Jon’s house and find somewhere else to ease your conscience or seek out your inner child… or whatever the hell it is you’re doin’.”

Russ took a perverse pleasure in spinning on his heel and striding out of the barn, mimicking Jordan’s dramatic exit from earlier, even if a slight twinge of guilt cast a pall over his satisfaction as Jordan’s stunned expression burned itself into his memory.

“It had to be done,” he murmured to himself as he climbed the stairs to his room to get washed up for supper. “He’s probably just never had anyone actually say no to him before.”

As he put on a fresh shirt and readied to go down for supper, he heard the screen door bang and the thud of boots move up the stairs and down the hall. He waited, but he didn’t hear a door slam. He stepped out and cast a glance in the direction of Jordan’s room. The door was slightly ajar, but only a weak light shone through the small opening. Russ rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck to ease some of the tightness there as he descended the stairs and went to see if Phyl needed any help.

Jordan said almost nothing at the supper table, and he never once met Russ’s gaze. He talked to Phyl a bit. His magazine-cover smile was firmly back in place as he pushed his food around his plate and barely ate more than a bird—as usual—but Phyl must have seen through it anyway.

“Are you feelin’ all right, darlin’?” she asked.

“I guess I’m just a little tired,” Jordan replied, his phony smile dimming a bit. “I think I’ll go to bed early tonight, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, hon. You go on. We’ll take care of things down here.”

“Thanks.”

Jordan took his plate and glass to the sink before heading out of the kitchen. Phyl watched him go, a concerned frown knitting her brows, but a second before Jordan disappeared, she stood up and called after him. “Hey, hon, wait up a second. I need to talk to you about something, and it probably shouldn’t wait.”

From the hall, Russ heard her say, “Let’s go outside and sit for a spell,” before the screen door creaked open and banged shut.

Russ was actually relieved. He wouldn’t have to play dumb with Phyl. He could do the dishes in peace and head on up to bed for what he hoped would be a full night’s sleep at last, without being plagued by Jordan’s puppy-dog eyes or Phyl’s all-too-perceptive gaze boring into him. He’d get it from her eventually, if Jordan tattled, but she was unlikely to charge after him tonight with Jordan just down the hall, so he could go to bed free and easy if he was quick about cleaning up.