by Shandi Boyes
When she spins to load his plate with the pancakes, bacon, and eggs she prepares every morning, Alex shifts his eyes to me.
“We’ll head into town later today. Nothing opens until 11 AM on Sundays,” I inform him after reading the silent questions streaming from his eyes. “We’ll get a few items crossed off your list before Luca’s memorial this afternoon.”
He's worried I've forgotten why we're in Texas. I haven't. But with a massive hole in my chest in desperate need of filling, unearthing my stalker’s identity isn't my utmost priority right now. That’s what my whole “you’ve seen mine; now I get to see yours” routine was about. Alex saw me at my most vulnerable last night. I wanted to even the playing field.
It isn’t that I don’t appreciate the comfort he offered me; I’m just not exactly sure how to handle it. Excluding my family, I haven’t relied on anyone like I did Alex yesterday. Not even Isaac has seen my vulnerable side.
I’m grateful Alex didn’t remove all his beard when he leans in to whisper in my ear. The wiry hairs on his face tickle my earlobe as his manly scent stimulates my libido. “I don’t think your mom will ever look me in the eye again after the stunt you pulled.”
A groan rumbles in my chest when a coffee cup steals the dedication of his lips. He takes a generous gulp of my lukewarm brew as he peers at my mom over the rim of the mug. Although he isn’t a fan of my unsweetened with a dash of milk concoction, with the coffee pot sitting on the counter just to the left of my mom, he’s willing to sacrifice taste if it keeps awkwardness at bay.
It’s a shame I’m not as diplomatic. “My mom isn’t avoiding eye contact because she’s embarrassed about what she saw.” Alex’s eyes drift to mine. They are brimming with confusion. “She’s too busy reimagining the image to worry about what your face is doing.”
My laughter snags halfway out my throat when a dishcloth smacks me in the face. I was so caught up relishing Alex’s inflamed cheeks and wide eyes, I failed to notice my mom rejoining us at the breakfast bar. She heard everything I said, and she isn’t the least bit humiliated.
“I can’t be mad at her. It’s true,” she mutters under her breath as she slips a plate of food in front of Alex. “I just haven’t decided what to tell Hayden yet. Should I make out it was an accident, or pretend you got a little cocky while the men were away?” Her smile switches to a half-smirk, half-sneer. “I should probably phrase it better. Little and cocky can’t be used together to describe what I saw.”
“Mom!” I grab the dishcloth from my empty plate to toss it over to her side of the counter. “Daddy would have a coronary if he heard you say that. Or worse. . . he’d take you over his knee!”
Alex looks a little unwell when my mom whispers, “Oh god, I hope so.”
Confident she’s locked my libido into a deep, dark cave far, far away from here, my mom exits the kitchen.
Five minutes later, I can still hear her laughing.
I stop glaring at her through a wall when Alex murmurs, “You could never be accused of being adopted.”
I laugh. “No chance in hell. Although, I’m reasonably sure at some stage in my childhood I wished I were.”
Alex sets down the strip of bacon he’s in the process of consuming to interrogate me without words.
“It wasn’t anything bad, just the standard stuff every family goes through. At the time, I didn’t understand why I couldn’t have a two hundred dollar party dress and a tennis bracelet for my thirteenth birthday. It was only when I started paying my own bills did I understand all the issues that came with being an adult.”
“Such as, money doesn’t grow on trees?” Alex asks with a smile.
“Precisely! It was a disappointing blow when I learned that one.”
He laughs before he returns to chewing on a salty strip of meat produced on the very land we’re standing on.
“What about you? How many times did you threaten to run away when you were a teen?”
He dabs away the grease pooled in the corner of his mouth with a napkin before twisting his torso to face me. “None.”
My elbow and his rib become friendly for the third time this morning. “Come on! Every teen believes they deserve better than they’re getting. It’s the way they’re wired.”
Alex’s shoulder touches his ear when he shrugs. “I’m not saying that isn’t true; I just knew my threat would do me no good, so I didn’t bother.”
When I peer at him, utterly confused, he adds on, “My father works in a similar industry as me. If I skipped so much as half a lesson at school, he knew it, and I paid for the consequences of my actions that very afternoon.”
I screw up my nose. “That must have been tough? Just like unrealistic expectations, every teen deserves to skip a period or three. It’s a rite of passage.”
Alex shrugs again. “In some ways it sucked, but in others, it was beneficial. It made me the disciplined man I am now.”
My nose screws up even more. “You say that like it's a good thing.”
“Are you saying it isn’t?” He asks his question without the angst I expected. He’s enjoying our conversation as much as I am. “Discipline has its place in every environment.”
I wait for him to dump his napkin onto his half-consumed breakfast before halfheartedly shrugging. “I guess, but a less disciplined man would have kissed me by now.”
What the hell? That was not what I was planning to say. I’m glad I couldn’t hold back when my honesty causes a blistering smile to stretch across Alex’s handsome face.
“Is that so?” The crinkle in his lip as he struggles to rein in his ego exposes a set of dimples I hadn’t noticed before.
“Uh-huh,” I reply, unconsciously bringing myself closer to him. “A less disciplined man wouldn’t have eaten a heart-clogging breakfast to start his day the right way.” I lift my eyes to his, the desire unmissable. “He would have eaten me.”
Any chance of harnessing my rampant horniness is lost when Alex groans, “You’re more dangerous to my heart than anything I’ve ever eaten.”
He hooks his finger in the loops of my jeans to tug me closer. His yank is rough enough to bring our mouths within an inch of each other, but not strong enough to answer every silent plea pumping from my eyes.
“You play dirty, Rae.”
Our breaths intermingle when I jest, “Only because that’s the way you like it—”
I take a fumbling step backward when a deep, barreling voice grumbles, “Do I need to call the vet? The amount of testosterone pumping in this room reveals someone needs neutering.”
When Alex’s hands dart out to catch me midfall, my dad’s eyes narrow even more dramatically. His eyelids are so close together, I can’t see a smidge of his green irises that are identical to mine in every way.
“Daddy, what are you doing back here so soon? You’re usually milking the cows for another hour.” With my dad’s dislike of Alex well known, I had planned for us to be out and about before he returned.
My dad heads for the fridge, the sneer on his face as muddy as the boots he failed to remove. “You don’t come home often. Figured I’d spend some time with you while you’re here.”
“Ah. . . that’s real nice of you—”
“More like utterly ridiculous. She’s a grown woman, Hayden. She doesn’t want her dad tagging along on her date,” my mom interrupts, entering the kitchen too quickly for someone who wasn’t spying.
“Date? I thought they were friends?” my dad retorts as his even more slitted gaze drifts between Alex, mom, and me.
When the room falls into silence, my dad’s grip on the orange juice carton tightens. “Rae—”
“Mom’s right. I’m a grown woman who doesn’t need her dad rushing in to save her.” Ignoring his disgusted gasp, I seize Alex’s wrist and pluck him from his seat. “I’m going to give Alex a tour of the farm. . .” When my dad steps closer to us, as if he’s ready to join in on our escapades today, I quickly add on, “Alone.”
I watch his anger ri
se from his stomach to his cheeks before he growls, “You’ve got no means of getting around. The tracks are bogged with mud from the recent rain.”
He looks two seconds from taking my mom over his knee as she was hoping when she throws a set of keys in my direction. “I filled the Jeep last week. She’s good for at least two hundred miles.”
“Sally Wilcott-Myers—”
“Oh, don’t you dare Sally Wilcott me. You were moody for a week when I said I wanted to hyphenate our names. Now you’re using it against me. Please.”
My mom shoves my dad out of the kitchen, her strength inspiring.
The smile making my cheeks ache fades when I hear my dad’s faint whisper, “What if she gets hurt?”
The worry in his voice isn’t the only thing dampening my joy; it's my mom’s reply. “He won’t hurt her any more than she’s already been hurt, Hayden. Look at her. I haven’t seen her smile like that in nearly a decade.”
Up until now, I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my pain from the world. Clearly, my acting skills aren’t as top shelf as I thought.
My eyes stray from my feet when a pair of white sneakers pop into my peripheral vision. Only someone as slick as Alex could pull off Van shoes in a country environment. Just as he did last night, he offers me comfort without strings attached. He cups my jaw, his fingers so long they weave through my hair and caress my whitening cheeks at the same time. Within a few strokes, the color returns stronger than ever, the heady lust bristling between Alex and me ramping up my libido.
“Are you ready to head out?” Alex asks, watching the worry vanish from my eyes. “I’m dying to find out if a roll in the hay is as appealing as it sounds.”
I laugh at the humor in his voice. He’s confident enough in his own skin, he can pull off any act. This morning, he was an eat-you-alive alpha. Now he’s the jokester who’ll spear your heart as effectively as he’ll have you in stitches.
I was apprehensive about coming to Texas. I shouldn’t have been. There's an immense amount of healing occurring, but for once, I don’t feel as if my heart is being shredded in the process.
Alex and Luca are nothing alike—but in some ways, they are identical. Both whittled their way into my heart in an extremely short amount of time. They are both confident, alpha-oriented individuals. There's just one difference. Luca destroyed me. Alex hasn’t been given the chance yet.
That thought should fill me with fear. It doesn’t—not in the slightest. I’m not the same girl I was eight years ago. I’m fierce, and I am strong. But more than anything, Alex can love me like Luca couldn’t. I just have to decide if that’s what I want.
Realizing I’ll never summon an appropriate response with Alex’s hands on me and my parents’ spying eyes watching my every move, I take a step back from Alex. “You should reconsider your shoes. They won’t look so gleaming once I’m done with you.”
Hearing the challenge in my voice, Alex’s brow quirks. “We’ll see. I’m quite nifty at sidestepping dirty situations.”
His flirty tone brings back the sexual tension my dad’s overbearing presence snuffed. It also reveals that he noticed the crinkle between my brow I haven’t been able to smooth since Friday night. If the friction between us continues growing at the rate it has been the past two days, I’m sure it won’t be long.
After gathering my coat off the kitchen counter, I pivot on my heels and head for the door. “When your shoes go to shoe heaven, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
My heart does a funny flippy thing when Alex murmurs, “I’m not worried about my shoes. Me, on the other hand. . .”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I’m not doing it. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice. . .”
My quote falls short when Regan clutches her stomach to laugh hysterically at the terror in my tone. She has done the same thing multiple times this morning. The most notable was when she convinced me a bull was a dairy cow and the area she wanted me to tug on was its udder. Thank god the bull didn’t take kindly to my cold hands, or I would have marked bestiality off a list I never wanted to make.
“They’re chickens, Alex. What harm can they do?” Regan asks, still laughing from her post outside the hen house.
I shoo away a big black beast eyeing me with its beady eyes before replying, “I’m stealing their babies. Poultry or not, they will be pissed.”
“They’re not their babies; they’re eggs. The same eggs you were munching on this morning.”
I shush her so loudly, half a dozen chickens pecking seed outside their nesting boxes stop what they are doing to peer at me. “If they smell their offspring on me, they’ll pounce.”
Regan laughs even louder, assuming I am joking. I’m not. I’d rather be inappropriate with a bull than have my eyes gouged out by an angry mother hen.
When I fail to move for nearly a minute, Regan shouts, “Come on, Alex; stop being a pussy. Get the damn eggs!”
Barely holding back what I intend to do to her for her constant ridicule, I gather the last four eggs in the far corner of the nesting box.
I think I’m scot-free.
I’m terribly mistaken.
There's a chicken I didn’t notice upon entering.
Except, he’s not a chicken.
He’s a rooster.
Coming between a mommy chicken and her babies is bad enough, but this makes matters ten times worse. A rooster is an alpha in the animal world. And from one alpha to another, I know he isn’t impressed I’ve made his women sad.
With my hands raised in the air, I step away from the big white beast. My cowardly retreat makes the situation more volatile. He’s seen the eggs I’m holding. He knows I have his babies’ lives in my hands.
“I’m just gonna place them right there.” I point to a fresh bundle of hay next to my mud-covered shoes that are so dirty, I can’t remember what their original color was.
When I set the eggs down, the rooster feathers himself, ignoring the invisible white flag I’m waving. When he leaps down from his perch, I spin on my heels and run. I dart past the chickens glaring at me as if I am an idiot. I run and run as if I’m being chased down by a grizzly, not stopping until I’m safe on the other side of the chicken coop.
Regan finds my cowardice hilariously entertaining. She's laughing so hard, tears stream down her face as her body shudders in humor. She can laugh, she didn’t have a flappy maniac pecking her heels as she raced across poop-covered dirt that's extremely slippery. I barely make it out of the hen house with my life intact.
“They can have their fucking eggs. I’ll buy you some when we go to town,” I say, winded.
My lungs stop sucking in air like I’ve run a marathon when Regan pats my back. Her gesture is one I use on rookie agents many times after their first raid. “Let me show you how the pros do it.”
With a grin that makes me wonder if I’ve died and gone to heaven, she rolls up the sleeves of her long-sleeve shirt and heads for the realm of hell I just escaped. I straighten my spine when she slides into the stinky space without so much of a bead of sweat on her nape.
When the life-gnawing beast fluffs his feathers in the same manner he did with me, she splays her hands across her cocked hip and glares at him.
I don’t feel so stupid about my telepathic conversation with a rooster when she snarls, “Really, Pat? You’re going there? I thought we were friends?”
Believing her angry sneer has Pat subdued, she heads for the wooden hatch in the far back corner of the pen.
“Watch out!” I shout in warning when Pat chases after her.
Regan jackknifes quickly but not quickly enough to catch Pat in the act. He pecks at some seed in front of him, acting like he isn’t on a murderous rampage. He’s good. Even I’m suspicious of his motive, and I interrogate criminals for a living.
After a vicious snarl stern enough to scare a tiger into becoming vegan, Regan returns to her mission. She makes it into the hen house without a single incident, proving Pat’s issues are mal
e-oriented.
When I say that to Regan, she laughs. “So what are you saying? Only women can gather eggs?”
“Yup,” I reply without pause. “It makes perfect sense in both the animal kingdom and real life. Two alphas should never cross paths, much less be in the same realm—unless one is planning to take out the other.”
My tongue thickens when Regan glares at me. If given a choice, I’d rather have her see me as a coward than be subjected to the look she’s giving me now. She seems as if she wants to gut me just like her father does.
“What did I say?” My sentence comes out in a hurry from shadowing her thunderous steps to her mother’s Jeep.
I barely make it into the passenger seat before she floors the gas, sending droplets of mud spraying over both of us. Every puddle she dangerously careened for earlier today was done with laughter and jubilation, but this feels dirty—and not in a good way.
“Rae. . .” I grip the roll bar when she takes the hairpin corner at the bottom of the meadow at a speed too fast to be deemed safe. “Slow the fuck down. You’re going to get us killed.”
She lowers her speed—somewhat. It's enough to quell my anxiety, but not enough to loosen the tension clutching my throat. I don’t know what I said that’s got her so worked up, but I do know one thing: we need seatbelts—both of us.
After tugging on my belt, I lean across Regan’s thrusting chest to secure her clip into a latch that’s so sparkly I doubt it’s ever been used. The clench of Regan’s jaw reveals she's frustrated by my distrust, but her annoyance isn’t enough to overshadow whatever the fuck I did wrong this time.
We drive for several minutes before Regan finally reveals the reason behind her anger. “I’m an alpha. You know that, right?”
I’d laugh if I wasn’t in fear of my life. I’m not scared of her excessive speed. It's the glare she's giving me causing my heart palpitations.