May
Of everything I expected, I think that watching my boss’ child was near the end of the list. But then again, I’m not afraid of kids. It’s hard to screw up; make sure they eat and drink. Make sure they’re entertained. Get them to bed at a reasonable hour.
How hard can it really be?
I walk to the window of the room I’m going to be staying in. The half circle of guys are slouched in the saddle like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. I scan the group, looking for Clint. He’s shockingly good looking. And the way he looks at me, like he’s able to look past my skin, down deeper than bone to my deepest, darkest buried secret.
It’s indescribable.
As I watch, Clint walks over to a saddle horse that’s standing beside the man who’d asked him if he needed his horse saddled while Clint and I talked.
He takes the reins of the grey animal with the spotted backside and he plants a foot in a stirrup before hauling himself up. He throws a leg over the horse, who sidesteps as if in an attempt to escape. Clint’s hands on the reins steady the animal and I admire the way he leans forward a bit and pats the horse’s neck.
From here, I can see his lips move and I know he’s talking to the horse. Closing my eyes, I imagine how his voice might lower, that he’s saying something akin to it’s okay. Relax.
Sudden tears sting behind my eyelids and I blink. My eyes meet the dark gaze of Clint, who’s watching me even as I stand here, watching him. Everything in me screams to hide, but I stand, arrested by his stare as if he’d grabbed my arm again and held me at his mercy.
Even now the spot above my elbow tingles, as if he’s still holding onto me, refusing to let me go and walk out of his life.
I stare at him as the guys begin to ride off. He hangs back, flanked by the same man who’d saddled up his horse for him and bought him ten, whatever that means. The man looks in my direction, then at his boss, then at the ground like he’s intruding.
But all I can see is Clint. His eyes are narrowed a bit, as if he’s trying to figure me out. The whole time we’d talked I’d been terrified he knew or puzzling at the way he made my belly flip flop and my heart dance. Still - past all the thrill of him reacting to me like I’m a woman - with every passing second, I felt more secure that he didn’t remember.
But now, with the sensation he’s peering into the depths of my soul, I’m not so certain. Lifting my chin, I study him, thinking about how kind he’d been. He was everything I could have hoped for and more.
Suddenly, he faces the direction the guys had gone and in a fluid motion with his hips, he urged his horse on. As they galloped down the dirt road that I have to guess leads deeper into their land, I’m left picking up the shards of composure I still possess. I need to keep my distance. Clint is trouble with a capital T, I’m certain of it.
Sinking onto the bed, I stare at my lap. The painful memories of the last few weeks rise up and I feel the tears threatening. They’re always just there, behind my eyes, ready to pounce on every unguarded moment of thought.
A shower. That’ll help. I can wash away the grime of traveling and steam out the toxic thoughts. I’m on my feet quickly and I head toward my car. In the back, I grab my duffle and bring it into the room I have now. It feels weird, the thought that I might be able to unpack the bag. I might be able to stay more than a night.
Grabbing some questionably clean clothes, I begin to hope that there’s a washing machine close by. With the change of clothes in hand, I head across the hall and lock myself in the bathroom. The room is white, reasonably clean, and airy. A huge window open to rolling pastures and a few horses are the only peepers in sight.
I close the curtains anyway and stare at the faucet. It’s pretty standard, thankfully. I’m used to homes where only the person in residence knows how to make theirs work. Hell, the last hotel was stupid; the hot was labeled cold and the cold labeled hot.
I turn on the water and instantly feel better. I missed this bit of normalcy. It’s such a simple thing we take for granted. I undress with shaking fingers and climb under the hot spray. With the water rinses away the fears and a new hope begins to bubble up in me.
Maybe it will be different this time.
***
When I get out of the shower, I dress and start wandering the house. It’s a beautiful sprawling ranch house. I pass on peeking into bedrooms, but assume that there must be a separate place for most of the help to sleep, since there aren’t enough bedrooms to house them all, unless there are tons of bunks tucked away somewhere.
The dining room is warm partially due to the sunlight streaming in and partially due to the buttery accent wall that leaves me some hope that there’s a woman around. Then again, if there is, why does Clint need me to watch his daughter?
The kitchen is standard, though more modern than I expected. Clearly there are a lot of meals made here. The range is a six-burner gas-powered beast that belongs in a high end restaurant. The whole place is well kept, clean, and - as I open a cabinet - well stocked.
I could get used to this, I think. It’s beautiful, it feels like home, and right now, while it’s quiet, I’m feeling relaxed.
“Who are you?”
I spin, my heart slamming at the little voice. A girl stands behind me, her warm brown eyes accusing. Suddenly, I know why the mother isn’t around. I know who Clint created this child with. I know everything.