To be on the brink of something so momentous and consequential demands diligence. Impatience is my enemy. Insatiable desire is my weakness.
As I watch Conor nuzzle Ketchup’s nose, every molecule in my body screams at me to go to her, to touch her, to kiss, lick, bite, and devour her, and to shove myself so deeply inside her she won’t be able to push me away.
I can’t believe she’s here.
She’s home, and it’s finally safe for her to be here.
We haven’t gone to the house yet, but she moves around the stable like she never left. Checking Ketchup for scrapes and bumps and mucking out the stall, Conor throws herself into old tasks with a smile that lights up her whole face.
She hasn’t smiled like that in years. I know, because I’ve been watching her. Clocking her every movement and following her around campus like a creeper. When I couldn’t be there, I hired a private investigator to tail her.
I did what I did to protect her, all while trying to forget her.
She touches her brow to the soft part of Ketchup’s muzzle. “Does anyone ride her?”
“I do.” I push off the wall and prowl toward her. “Get her saddled. We’re taking her out.”
“Tonight?” A wide grin, and she spins around, kissing Ketchup’s snout. “Do you want to go for a ride? Yes, you do, don’t you?” She pivots toward the next stall and smiles at my stallion, her voice laced with affection. “How about you, Barnabe? You wanna go for a run?”
“He’s not going.” I grab a saddle pad from the tack room behind her.
She glances at Ketchup and narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not riding double.”
“You’re not riding alone. You haven’t been in the saddle in six years.” I hold out the pad. “It’s dark. The terrain’s changed. One misstep and you’ll be ass-end-over-tea-kettle. We’re riding double or not at all.”
“Fine.” She sniffs and snatches the pad. “But I have to sit—”
“Behind me. I know.”
As she saddles, cinches, and bridles the mare with practiced movements, her gaze turns inward. So many unanswered questions in that logical head of hers. Soon, they’ll start chipping away at her mask of indifference.
When Ketchup is ready, I swing into the saddle and hold out my hand. She grips it, and I sling her up behind me.
Riding double isn’t ideal for a guy my size. But Ketchup is strong and sturdy, and Conor weighs little more than a feather. We’ve done this countless times.
She wiggles back to the edge of the saddle, her hands hovering out at the sides like an uncomfortable newbie. But her unease has nothing to do with the horse. She doesn’t want to touch me.
“Grip my waist.” I urge Ketchup into a fast trot, forcing her to grab on.
Her handhold twitches with reluctance, each finger a deliberate, barely-there point of contact. Fuck if I don’t want to strip her down to her skin and remind her just how intimate the bond between us used to be.
We exit the stable and cross the field at a lazy pace. The full moon illuminates the landscape, embracing us in a pale glow.
The house sits off to the side, a couple of windows shining with light. Jarret and I live alone in that huge fucking estate, and I hate it. I miss the family dinners, the arguing and laughter, and the strum of guitars. Mostly, I miss Conor and Lorne.
“Where is everyone?” she asks.
I glance back and follow her line of sight to the bunkhouse in the distance. When she lived here, the long building served as a permanent home for the ranch hands. Now, it stands like a tombstone in the dark.
“Jarret and I fired everyone.” I breathe in, carefully choosing my words. “We replaced the employees with people we trust, and no one’s permitted to live on site.”
Because we don’t trust anyone enough to allow them to live here.
“What? Why would you do that?” She gasps. “What about Andy Longley?”
I know what she’s thinking. How could we fire the father of the man Lorne murdered? Truth is we did Andy Longley a favor. What we should’ve done was dump him tits up in the ravine like all the others.
“Remember what I said about the answers I give?”
Her fingers press against my waistband. “For each answer, there will be more questions.”
“Yes and following a single line of questioning will pull you in too deep, too fast. We’ll keep it at the surface for now.”
“Because you want leverage.” Irritation clips her voice.
“Ask a new question.”
“Why did you lie about Ketchup?”
I tilt my head back until the moon emerges from behind the rim of my hat, rhythmically rocking in sync with Ketchup’s gait. “I cut all ties that connected you to the ranch. Removed every reason for you to come back until it was safe.”
“Safe? Safe for whom? And what the hell does anyone need to be safe from?” At my silence, she blows out a breath. “More questions, I know. But you can’t just trickle bits and pieces. You’re not telling me anything.”
“I’ll tell you.” I guide Ketchup toward the small grove of trees at the edge of the east pasture. “But you have to do something for me.” At the tree line, I pull us to a stop. “Hop off.”
She dismounts, and I follow her down.
“What are we doing?” She looks around, probing the darkness.
“You know what that is?” I gesture at the trail leading into the grove. “It’s the road to adventure.”
“Oh, no.” She crosses her arms. “You know I can’t go in there.”
The ground cover crawls with poison ivy. The plant doesn’t affect me, but one touch of a leaf against Conor’s skin and she swells up with an itchy painful rash. She’s so sensitive to the sap she’s been hospitalized on several occasions.
“If you do what I say, I promise you won’t come in contact with it.” I clasp my hands behind my back. “Remove your boots and jeans.”
“You’re out of your damn mind.” She fixes me with an incredulous stare, her eyes glowing in moonlight.
“You want answers. I want your boots and jeans.”
A battle of wills heaves between us. I don’t look away. She doesn’t move.
I’ll win this, because she’s curious by nature. She doesn’t just desire the knowledge I’m keeping from her. She’s dying to find out what I intend to do in that grove.
So I wait her out, and it doesn’t take long.
“For the record, you’re a cock-sucking pig. But you know what?” She yanks off a boot, mumbling to herself. “I lost all my give-a-fucks.” The other boot follows. “They’re all gone, wherever give-a-fucks go.”
If she didn’t give a fuck, she wouldn’t be tearing at her zipper like she has a burr in her pants.
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, anyway.” She shoves down the jeans and kicks them away. “Probably set your filthy eyes on every pair of panties in town.”
She’s wrong about that, but I haven’t exactly lived a life of celibacy, either.
She straightens, fists her hands on her hips, and hurls a livid glare in my direction.
The thin tank top meets the top of her thighs, the cotton as white as the crotch of panties peeking beneath the hem. As much as I want to absorb every glorious inch of her, I rein in my eagerness and turn my back.
“Climb on.” I squat low and tap my shoulder.
“You want to…” Her voice rises an octave. “Give me a piggyback ride?”
“That, or I’ll carry you like a baby. Your choice.”
“For the love of Pete.”
She paces behind me, back and forth, back and forth, and stops.
Her hand touches me first, a soft pressure on my shoulder, and my pulse races. Then her other hand, her legs, her chest. The dainty length of her wraps around my back, and I pin my lips to contain my ragged breaths.
My legs straighten. My hands grip her thighs. My boots step onto the path. But my thoughts are elsewhere, careening off the tracks and into a vivid dream where I’m burying my face in her pussy, pinching her nipples, tying down her arms, and fucking her until the cows come home.
By the time I reach my destination, I’m so fucking hard it hurts to walk.
“We’re here.” I back up to a stump surrounded by poison ivy. “Put your feet down.”
“You promised!” She clenches her thighs around my waist, her arms clinging to my shoulders.
“Keep your feet at the center of the stump and hold onto the branch above you. Do you see it?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I already told you, and I’ll tell you more if you obey.”
She shifts around on my back, stalling, hesitating. Then she lowers her legs. When she’s finally in position on the stump, I step back and take her in.
Starry sprinkles of moonlight filter through the canopy, delineating the alluring shape of her.
Fingers curled around the branch overhead, she balances on the stub of wood. Tank top, underwear, and bare legs, she glows white against the shadowy backdrop. With her unruly red hair, tattooed arms, and defiant glare, she looks like a bloodthirsty angel.
Everything inside me tenses with anticipation.
“Wipe that look off your face, Jake Holsten.” She shifts her weight. “I’m not having sex with you.”
Not yet. “You’re standing on a stump, enclosed by poison ivy because it’s the only way I can think to restrain you.”
“I changed my mind.” Her throat bobs, and her legs grow restless. “I’m not comfortable with this. Take me back to Ketchup.”
“Hear me out.” I step around her, stamping down errant saplings of poison ivy. “Tonight, we’re reestablishing the roles we once had and setting a foundation for trust. My approach to your therapy doesn’t exactly conform to the social constructs of sex and mental health. But every step I take will be carried out with complete honesty, control, and care.”
And love.
I love her so goddamn much, but she’s not ready for that truth. That’s why we’re here.
Earlier today, I placed the stump on uneven ground. Little movements cause it to wobble. Not enough to topple over, but it fucks with her balance and forces her to hold onto the overhead branch. That keeps her hands out of my way.
“I can’t restrain you by conventional means.” I pause in front of her and meet her eyes. “No rope. Nothing touching your wrists. That in itself is problematic. And before you give me hell for wanting to truss you up, think back to the night of your birthday. Before the bad stuff happened. What did I do to your wrists?”
“You tied them.” A choked whisper.
“Did it make you uncomfortable? Did you hate it? Did you tell me to stop?”
Her jaw flexes. “You know I didn’t.”
“We’re going to get you back to that, Conor. Back to that place where you can trust again. Whether it’s with me or with someone else. Understand?”
She blinks and looks away.
Undeterred, I position my stance at an angle beside her. “Tell me your triggers.”
“Poison ivy, ex-boyfriends, and…” She wobbles the base beneath her. “Stumps. Balancing on a stump is definitely a trigger.”
I rear back a hand and swat her on the butt.
She swallows a gasp and feigns nonchalance.
“We’ve already established the wrist trigger.” I sharpen my voice. “What else?”
“I hate this game.”
“It’s not a game.” I smack her ass again, adding enough force to tip her balance.
She grapples at the branch, stopping herself from stumbling. I would never let her fall, but she doesn’t trust me.
“Stop fucking hitting me.” She glowers at me.
I let my hand fly, igniting a sting in my palm as it connects with her gorgeous backside. “Your triggers.”
“You’re a stubborn jackass.”
“And patient. I can do this all night.” My hand burns to spank her repeatedly, every day, until my marks are permanently branded on her flesh.
She closes her eyes, breathes in slowly and releases it. “The scent of whiskey.”
She has her dad to thank for that.
“And?” I go still, my stomach twisting through the wait.
“Nothing heavy against my back.” She swallows, her lashes blocking my view of her eyes. “No sex face down or from behind. No anal.”
The only way she knows about those positions is if she’s tried them, and I can’t let myself think about that.
I touch her lower back, wait for her flinch, and gently caress her over the cotton tank top. “Anything else?”
She glances at me and shakes her head. “Those are the ones I know.”
“Thank you.” I run my hand over her back and give her direct eye contact. “Four years ago, I drove you away from here because your life was in danger.”
The muscles along her spine go taut.
I keep my fingers against her, rubbing the tension in her backbone. “Two men were hired to kill you and Lorne in the ravine.”
“I thought they saw me in town and followed me home?”
“Levi Tibbs lied. Someone paid him to go to the ravine that night and take you out. When the attempt failed, others were contracted to finish the job, if you returned to the ranch.”
“Who hired them? How do you…?” A tremble ripples through her, and her fingers start to slip from the branch. “How do you know this? Did Dalton know? Is that why we moved?”
“Put your hands on my shoulders.” I step in front of her and grip her hips. When she lowers her arms, I say, “I have proof. I know who did the hiring. I know why they did it, and I’ve dealt with all of them but one.”
“You dealt with them? Did you turn them over to the police? Why wasn’t I notified?” Her eyes widen. “What do you mean but one? There’s someone out there who wants to kill me? Why would anyone want me dead?”
“You’re safe here. He won’t come anywhere near the ranch. That’s all you need to know right now.”
“That’s bullshit, Jake. This is too important for your mind games. We’re talking about my life. If you don’t tell me, I’ll find the answers on my own.”
“Jarret is with me on this, and Sheriff Fletcher has his own agenda. You’ll stay the fuck away from him.”
“I can’t believe this. What you’re telling me… It’s insane. Are you even listening to yourself?”
“We need to talk about Miles York.”
She sucks in a breath. “How do you know that name?”
“I know more than his name. I know the professor has a long history of fucking his students. I know he’s living with you while sticking his dick in another co-ed on a regular basis.”
Her lips part, and her eyes glass over. I don’t think it’s shock. She’s too sharp to be oblivious to the infidelity. For whatever reason, she’s chosen to ignore what’s right in front of her.
“Do you have evidence?” she asks, without a waver in her voice.
“I hired a PI to keep tabs on anyone who might be following you.” I remove my phone from my pocket and pull up the photo gallery. “For reasons I won’t explain tonight, you were safe as long as you weren’t here. But I couldn’t take that risk.”
She reaches for the phone.
I pull it back, holding it away. “I need you to understand I wasn’t keeping tabs on you. You were free to date or fuck whomever you wanted. This was about your safety, and since I didn’t know Miles York, I didn’t trust him. So I had him tailed.”
“Give me the phone, Jake.”
I hand it over and watch her blank expression as she swipes through the photos. They leave nothing to the imagination and show numerous settings—in a car, in an alley behind a restaurant, and through the bedroom window while the professor fucked Kendra Forde in Conor’s bed.
When she reaches the end, she gives the phone back. Rather than gripping my shoulders for balance, she returns her hands to the branch and averts her eyes.
“You knew.” I study her emotionless expression. “At the very least, you suspected. I think you stayed in the relationship because Levi Tibbs’ release was approaching, and you knew you would come home and have to face me. It’s easier to guard your heart and push me away when you have the boyfriend excuse.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“You forget I know you, Conor. I’m not wrong about this.”
“I’m ready to go back.”
Go back to the house? Or go back to school? I don’t ask, because we’re not finished.
I swap my phone out with hers in my pocket and scroll through her contact list.
“What are you doing?” She reaches for it, teetering on the stump and quickly returning her grip to the branch.
Pausing on Miles, I press Call and put it on speaker. He picks up on the second ring.
“Conor?”
I hold up the phone to her face and hike an eyebrow.
She tucks her lips between her teeth and returns an arched brow of her own.
“Conor?” Miles says. “Are you there?” A pause. “Hello?”
End it, I mouth.
Fuck you, she mouths back.
I hang up the call and power off the phone. “You want to stay with this guy?”
“Take me back.” She delivers a look forged in fire. “In two seconds, I’m going to step off this stump and walk through poison ivy.”
She’ll do it. Or at least try.
I give her my back. Then I give her a ride to the horse.
She resorts to silent treatment, carrying it all the way to the stable, through the tasks of putting away Ketchup, and during the walk to the house.
I let her have her silence, because there’s reflection in it. Soul-searching introspection. Progress. I gave her a lot to contemplate, and like I told her, I don’t need to fix her. I just need to be there while she works through the grieving process.
Tomorrow, there will be more to grieve when the sun shines a spotlight on the south pasture. The well pads, access roads, and total annihilation left behind from oil and gas drilling rigs—it’ll crush her.
I dread the look in her eyes, the one that will ask, Why didn’t you stop this from happening?
I did stop it, but not before it left deep, devastating scars on her mother’s land.