Chapter Five

Grace

If Ben’s trying to charm me into his bed, or out of my ranch, he’s doing a pretty good job. He tacks up the two horses and tells me stories about bull riding. He’s only been thrown once and it’s a big bruiser by the name of Jesse James.

“Next week I’m going to Stockdale for my last ride,” he says as we head out on the horses.

“Next week?” I’m taken aback. He told me about this before, but suddenly it feels new and unwelcome.

“That’s right. No one’s ever gone eight seconds on JJ.”

His words hit me hard. Ben just got here yesterday, but it seems like he’s been here a lot longer. Maybe because so much has happened. We ride in silence for a few moments. Worry threads around my heart. I’ve seen bull riding before. Rodeos are places where men try to show off how tough they are, and bull riding is the event that takes the prize for being the most testosterone-fueled.

Ben is big and he’s strong, but I can’t stand the idea of him getting on a bull.

“Don’t go.” The words are out without any thought.

He frowns. “Don’t go where?”

“Don’t go to Stockdale. I don’t want you to ride that bull. Let someone else do it.”

“And get that claim to fame?”

“Whatever.”

“No way, Gracie. I’d do anything to help you out. I hope you know I mean that, but I’ve got a score to settle with JJ. He not only dumped me, he stomped on me pretty good.”

He got injured too? None of what he says makes me feel any better about the prospect of him facing this bull again.

Ben rolls up the sleeve of his left arm. His forearm is thick with bands of muscle and makes my breath falter a little. The man is powerfully built. My thoughts flip from worry about the bull to appreciation of Ben’s hard body. I imagine running my hands over his arms and across his biceps. But then he shows me the scars. Some are jagged from his injury. Another is perfectly straight, from surgery I assume. My stomach clenches.

“That bull’s marked me,” Ben says. “I’m going to ride him eight seconds and make him mine.”

I look away. I can hear the steely determination in his voice. There’s no arguing with him. I can tell.

We ride by the men working on the fence. I’m sure this crew is costing more than $700, but Ben waves off my questions.

“We’ll trade my horse’s board for fence building,” he says, after we ride past the men. “And my meals.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. After the breakfast I had to make this morning, I’m a little worried about your appetite.”

“You should be,” he says, his tone sultry.

His playful flirting continues as we ride along a ridge. Below, the San Felipe Rio flows. It looks peaceful now, the quiet stream glittering in the sun. But the river can be a beast too. When it’s flooded in the past, my family has lost cattle. That’s part of the reason I want the fences built, to keep my horses away from the stream.

When we get to the top of the ridge, we stop a moment to admire the view.

Ben talks quietly. “Last year, I came across some letters my great-grandmother wrote. She said she lost a baby and they buried it at the top of this ridge.”

His words take me by surprise. I knew he had a tie to this ranch, but never imagined anything like that.

“I would figure they would have picked a spot under a tree.”

He tilts his head toward an oak tree. It’s ancient, as big around as my kitchen table. Silently, we both dismount and lead our horses to the base of the tree. I don’t see anything, other than brush and a few fallen branches. No one ever comes up here. I’ve only come this far a few times.

“We can leave the horses,” he says. “Drop the reins. They won’t take a step.”

“You sure? It’s a long walk back to the barn.”

“I’m sure. They’ll be fine.”

I let my reins fall from my hand and half-expect the gelding to bolt, but he just sighs, in a bored sort of way. I can’t imagine my yearlings ever being this good. I might need Ben to teach me how to get a horse to stay put.

Ben crouches down and brushes the dirt with his gloved hand, revealing a stone marker.

Daniel Calhoun

Born – April 2, 1890

Died – May 15, 1891

He takes off a glove and runs his fingers over the etched letters. Neither of us say anything for a long moment. The breeze blows across the valley and the oak branches sway.

Ben rises and looks around, scanning the horizon. “My great-grandmother always wanted to build right here.”

“Are you picking out a spot to build a house?” I blurt the words out. I can’t help myself. The way he looks at the place, sometimes… it’s like he’s picturing what he wants to do with the land.

“Wouldn’t that solve your problem?”

“Which one?”

“Your sister. You and me get married and she won’t be able to sell the place.”

The wind gusts and I have to grab my hat to keep it on my head.

“This place is freaking me out a little, and I can’t even begin to tell you what your crazy idea is doing to me.”

He draws nearer, a playful smile curving his lips. He tugs my hand from my hat and pulls me closer.

His touch sends a sizzle of awareness through my body. I should put some space between us, because his scent overwhelms me. He smells masculine and sexy, and I don’t want to get away. If anything, I want to get closer and drink in the intoxicating smell.

“You said you wouldn’t bother me,” I say softly.

The breeze washes over us, probably taking my words.

He lifts his ungloved hand and cups my face. “Am I bothering you, Gracie?”

He lowers so his mouth almost touches mine. He waits. “Am I?”

I shake my head. “You said you wouldn’t touch me, Ben. You swore.”

“I did. I swore I wouldn’t touch you.” He brushes his lips across mine. “In your house. Remember?”

I draw a sharp breath and hear him laugh softly. He brushes his lips along my cheek and whispers in my ear. “I’ll pay you $65,000, if you let me kiss you, Grace Hopkins. Right here. Right now.”

I swallow hard.

“Then we can ride home, and we can pretend this never happened.”

“Yes,” I manage.

He kisses me, almost before I’ve managed to say the word. His kiss is hard and hungry. He teases my lips with his tongue, demanding my submission. I comply immediately. He cups my head and holds me like he owns me. I’ve never been kissed like this before. His kiss sweeps over me like a force of nature. I’m helpless in his arms. Coming here was a mistake, but I can’t get enough.

If this man knew the dirty dreams I have about him, he’d probably wait outside my bedroom door for an invitation. Last night I woke, drenched in sweat. The dreams leave me practically mindless with need.

So kissing this man is a bad idea. Very bad. But what a kiss. He angles his head, teases me with his tongue and growls softly when I resist. When he finally breaks the kiss, I feel like a ragdoll, like I might fall over if he didn’t hold me.

He smiles. “I’ve got another truck coming this afternoon. You can push it off a cliff if you let me out of my promise.”

I give him an answering smile. “That sounds dangerous, Ben.”

He nods. “Maybe. And it might be a while before they could bring me a third truck. I don’t want to be seen in San Felipe in your little car. I’ve got an image to think about.”

We get back on the horses and head to the barn. I endure a fair bit of teasing about my car. I’ve always loved my little car, but he seems to think it’s ridiculous. When we get back to the barn, he takes the horses. I go to the house and make a dozen sandwiches for us and the men working on the fence.

Since his truck hasn’t been delivered yet, we drive out to the pasture in my car. To give him the full experience, I put the top down for him. Tyler and his brothers grin when we drive up. We eat lunch while they ask about the Mini’s horsepower and towing capacity.

Over the course of the afternoon, the men finish the fence line and head out. They offer to drive down anytime I need work done. Later, the truck is delivered. Ben signs for it while he’s talking to a contractor about a bid for the house. I have no idea what he’s got in mind, but he assures me it won’t cost anything to get a bid on fixing up the little house.

We eat dinner on the porch. I’ve made meatloaf and a few sides and Ben goes back for seconds and thirds. He can eat more than anyone I know.

I half-expect him to say something about the kiss on the ridge, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even flirt, really. The conversation is easy and low-key. I surprise him with dessert, an old-fashioned chocolate ice-box pie.

“You’re ruining me for any other woman, Gracie.” He helps himself to a second slice.

“You’re the only person who calls me Gracie.”

He grins. “It fits you. And I’m not kidding about this dinner. You can forget about dating. I won’t let you cook for any other man. I’m keeping you for my own.”

The candles in the hurricane lamp flicker, casting shadows across his face. His eyes glint with humor and promise. Like he’s teasing me, but also like he means what he’s saying.

My sister texts me, promising to come soon with her new husband.

“Great,” I mutter. “I don’t suppose the contractor can have the house fixed by tomorrow, can he?”

“Tell her you’re getting married. That I asked.”

I start to type a quick message, but he stops me, setting his hand on mine.

“Ben,” I say. “My sister is already spending the money she hopes to get from this ranch. I don’t want to antagonize her.”

He tugs the phone from my hand and holds it out. “Tell her.”

“But you haven’t. It’s not true.”

“Marry me.”

My face heats.

His smile fades. “Say yes.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Yes.”

“Yes.”

He holds my gaze and I can’t look away. I’m not sure what’s going on, but this man can probably make me do whatever he wants.

He leans forward, resting on his elbows. “Tell her, Gracie. Don’t let her jerk your chain like that. Let her know that two can play her game.”

And so, I do exactly what he says. I’ve never stood up to my sister and she’s probably going to go ape-shit, but something about giving her a dose of her own medicine feels unbelievably good.

I send the message and wait for my phone to blow up. Nothing happens. Ben helps me with the dishes, scrubbing the pans like a boss. I’m impressed and touched at the same time. He even dries.

“You might be the perfect man,” I tease.

“Far from it. I come from a long line of pretty terrible men, in fact.” He says the words quietly without his usual smile.

Later, we head upstairs. He goes to his bedroom and I go to mine, but we both stop in the doorways.

“I had fun today,” I tell him.

“Me too.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“I wasn’t kidding about marriage. I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

My breath stills in my chest. My heart flips. I should stop this conversation right now, because this man could probably sweet talk the devil into a confessional. “For a long time?” I ask, suddenly feeling shy. “How long?”

For a moment he doesn’t say anything, and when he talks, his voice is deeper and even more gravelly. It’s sexy and raw, open and honest. “From the very first time I saw you. Seventy-six days ago, and twenty-two hours.”

I feel a blush creeping across my face.

He smiles. “Sleep well, Gracie.”