“My name is Hazel, and I’m supposed to be meeting with Ian for my training. It’s my first day.”
James arched an eyebrow before dropping the hay down to the ground. He brushed the back of his palm against his forehead and cleared his throat. “You’re working here?” he asked, sounding more baffled than I would’ve liked.
“Yes, I am. It’s my first day,” I repeated.
His eyes moved across my body, and he shook his head, making every insecurity I could’ve ever had come to the surface. It was funny how a simple look could light up one’s diffidence so easily.
James must’ve picked up on my discomfort, because he gave me one of his free smiles and leaned against the stack of hay. “You’re going to die out here, dressing in all that black. Black denim jeans and a long-sleeve shirt? Are those combat boots?” He laughed. “Are you sure you’re not supposed to be at the Farmhouse?”
His laughter wasn’t insulting. It was coated more with confusion, but still, I didn’t like it. “I’m not worried about my wardrobe. I just want to get to work.”
“You should be worried about your wardrobe, seeing as how the sun on this ranch doesn’t let up. Heatstroke is a real thing.”
“Do you know where Ian might be?” I asked through gritted teeth. I hadn’t come to the ranch for fashion criticism. I was there to work.
“Knowing Ian, he’s probably off in the office outside of the horse stables. But a little heads-up—” James started, but I cut him off.
I didn’t have time for a heads-up.
I was already almost an hour and thirty minutes late.
“Thanks,” I said, hurrying off in a jog toward the small office attached to the stables. Had Big Paw mentioned I was supposed to meet Ian at the horse-stables office? Had I misunderstood him by showing up at the main office? Oh crap. I only had one strike, and I’d already messed that up.
The moment I got to the office, I swung the door open, already having my apologies sitting on the edge of my tongue. “Hi, Ian, I’m Hazel, and ohmygosh!” I blurted out, looking up to see a girl on her knees in front of a half-dressed Ian. His white T-shirt was still on, but his blue jeans and boxers were wrapped around his ankles as a woman’s lips were wrapped around his—
Oh my lanta, was it supposed to be that big? How was the girl not choking to death on the dynamite stick resting in her mouth? The way the veins bulged out of his penis made me think that thing could’ve exploded any second, and the girl on her knees had no problem with that outcome happening between her lipstick-coated lips.
I turned to look away, stunned at what I’d walked into. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I shouted, shaking my hands around in a fright.
“Get the fuck out!” Ian barked, his smoky, gruff voice dripping with irritation and pleasure all at once. Who knew you could be annoyed and pleased at the same time? Any man getting a blow job interrupted, I supposed.
“Sorry, sorry!” I repeated, hurrying out of the room. I shut the door quickly behind me and took a deep breath. My hands were shaky, and my heart pounded against my rib cage. That was the last thing I’d expected to happen inside the horse-stables office at one in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Leave it to Ian to give me quite the view that afternoon. A view I wished I could bleach from my mind.
I stood there like a complete moron for a few minutes before I checked my watch.
How hadn’t they finished yet?
Now, I wasn’t a blow job expert, but based on the size, the veins, and the determination of said woman on her knees, Ian should’ve been close to completion.
Still, I didn’t hear that happily-ever-after groan fall from his lips, and the day was passing on.
I knocked on the door.
“Piss off,” Ian’s voice hissed.
Still that charming fella I remembered from high school.
“I would if I could, but I can’t. You’re supposed to be training me today.”
“Come back tomorrow,” he ordered.
“I can’t. Big Paw told me I have to train today with you, no ifs, ands, or buts, and I refuse to lose this job opportunity. I need this.”
“Save the sob story for someone who cares,” he growled, making my anger build more and more.
Who did this guy think he was?
Just because he had found a glimpse of musical success on the internet and had every female—and some males—in Eres wanting his attention, it didn’t mean he had the right to talk to people the way he did. I mean, hell, he was a rock star in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. It wasn’t as if he were Kurt Cobain or Jimi Hendrix.
I swung the office door open to find the two still in their same positions, and I placed my hands on my hips. “I’m sorry, you’re supposed to be training me, so therefore this situation should probably be put on hold until later.”
Ian looked at me and cocked the highest eyebrow in history, and for the record, I was working very hard to not take notice of the other cocked body part of his on display.
“How about you get a hint and realize he’s busy with me?” the woman sneered, finally pulling herself away from her mouthful.
Good girl. Come up for a breath of fresh air.
“How about you not talk to me?” I snapped back. “It’s my first day,” I repeated, this time through gritted teeth as I stared at Ian. “And you are my trainer, so I expect to be trained.”
His eyes pierced me. “Do you know who I am?”
Seriously?
Did he just use that cliché line?
Do you know who I am?
Again, not Kurt Cobain, buddy.
“Yes, I know who you are. My trainer. So if we could—”
“I’m not training you,” he said. “So you can get lost.”
“Yeah, get lost,” the woman said.
“I’m sorry, is there a desperate echo in here?” I asked, shooting my stare to the woman, then back to Ian. “I’m not leaving until you train me.”
“Well, please enjoy the view,” he commented, placing his hands behind the woman’s head to bring her closer to his member.
“Okay. I’m sure Big Paw will be fine to know what you were busy doing instead of training me,” I threatened.
The woman released a catty chuckle. “As if Ian cares what Big Paw thinks.” She went to lean in, but Ian’s hands lightly moved her back.
“The mood’s dead. We’ll try again later,” he commented.
She looked at him, stunned. “You’re joking, right?”
He shrugged. “Not feeling it right now.”
Those words were also known as I’m scared shitless of my grandfather and don’t want to get on his bad side. Even the town’s rock star had his own set of fears.
“I can make you feel it,” she said, going to lean in, but he stopped her again.
“How about you take a hint and realize that he’s busy with me?” I blurted out, mocking the words the woman had given me, feeling my sass level hitting an all-time high. I wasn’t often a sassy girl—unless someone sassed me first. An eye for an eye and all.
She stood and smoothed out her sundress. As she pushed past me, she gave Ian a seductive smirk. “Call me later, will you?”
“Of course, Rachel.”
Her eyes widened. “My name’s Laura.”
“That’s what I said.” Ian waved in a dismissive way. If he could be any more of a small-town asshole cliché, he’d be Jess from Gilmore Girls. Cocky and arrogant, with a whole lot of sexiness.
I wasn’t attracted to him in any way, shape, or form due to his disgusting personality, but pretending Ian wasn’t sexy was a waste of time. The man oozed sex appeal like black magic. It was as if he had sold his soul to the devil to look that good. Ink-black hair, tattooed body, arms that made it look like he deadlifted cattle during his downtime. And that freaking rock star smirk. You knew the smirk. The one that said, I could probably get you to blow me right here and now if I wanted you to. That same smirk I was sure he’d given to Laura earlier that day. We lived in the country
side, where most people’s wardrobes were plaid shirts and jeans, sundresses, and cowboy boots, but where most people were more or less ordinary looking, Ian looked like a demigod who’d been placed in the wrong damn galaxy.
While he yanked up his boxers and jeans, I turned away, giving him a bit more privacy than I had a few moments before.
When he finished, he cleared his throat. I looked back at him, and he brushed his thumb against his nose. His lips were pressed together, unpleased. He definitely wasn’t giving me his blow job smile. “Who the hell are you?”
Obviously, his new sworn enemy.
“Hazel.”
“Hazel what?”
“Stone. Hazel Stone.”
The minute I said my full name, Ian’s brows knitted tightly together as a sneer fell against his lips.
“Your mother’s Jean Stone?”
I swallowed hard. Anyone who knew my mother normally wasn’t a big fan of hers, because they knew of her connection to Charlie—the big bad wolf of Eres. “Yes, that’s her.”
His hands made and released fists nonstop as the information settled into his head. “Does Big Paw know this?”
“Yes, he was made aware. I don’t see what this has to do with—”
“He knew of this”—he cut me off—“and said I’m supposed to train you?”
“That’s what he said.”
There were moments of silence as Ian’s fists tightened.
“One hour,” Ian growled, appearing much more irritated now than he was when I’d walked in on his blow job. Did my connection to Charlie really have that big of an effect on people?
Who was I kidding? Of course it did.
“What do you mean, one hour?” I asked, not wanting to push the clearly annoyed Ian any further.
“I give you one hour before you run out of this place crying like a baby. You don’t have what it takes to work here, to work under my watch.”
“No offense, but you don’t know what I have. I can handle working on the ranch.” Was that a true fact? Heck if I knew. I didn’t know anything about working on a ranch, but I did know determination, and I had that in spades. I didn’t have room for failure.
“Oh, darling,” he said, “you don’t know what you just signed up for. Welcome to hell.”
He brushed past me, sending chills down my spine. I wanted to punch him square in the jaw for calling me “darling.” If there was anything I hated more than nicknames for females, it was condescending nicknames. Baby. Sweetheart. Dollface. Darling. How about a hefty serving of fuck off? I wanted to call him out for the stupid, belittling nickname, but he didn’t give me a chance to snap back at him. He was already going on and on about the tasks we were going to cover over the next hour before I was apparently supposed to run away and quit like a sobbing child.
Pigpens. Horse stables. Chicken coops.
He kept going on and on about the shitty jobs I’d have to take on, which paired well with his shitty personality. I knew he wasn’t kidding about it being hell, and with the venom spewing from his mouth, I was 100 percent certain Ian Parker was the devil himself.
2
IAN
Hazel Stone was Jean Stone’s daughter, Charlie Riley’s stepdaughter, and a person I had no damn desire to get to know—let alone train. Anything and anyone who was attached to the likes of Charlie Riley was no one I wanted in my life. That included Hazel.
The collar of Hazel’s long-sleeve black shirt sat tightly pressed over her nostrils as we stood in the pigpens. I’d instructed her to start shoveling out one of the pens for cleaning, and she was struggling, just as I’d known she would be. She hadn’t had the pleasure of becoming nose blind to the filthy aromas of pig shit, and the T-shirt covering her nose was proof of that. She should’ve counted herself lucky for that. Old Man Eddie had been working in the pens for so many years that he didn’t understand why people gave him odd looks when he went into town smelling like manure. The poor schmuck couldn’t even smell himself anymore.
Every now and again, Hazel made gagging sounds as if she were about to upchuck her lunch.
What in the goddamn hell had Big Paw been thinking when he’d hired Hazel to work at the ranch? Old age must’ve been getting to his good-decision-making skills, because nothing about hiring that girl made any sense whatsoever.
She looked as if she’d walked out of a vampire coffin five minutes before she’d entered the ranch, with all the black eyeliner she had plastered on her face. The dark wardrobe wasn’t making her seem any less vampy. If darkness was a person, it would be Hazel Stone. Her clothes were baggy and oversize, and she didn’t know how to smile. I couldn’t fault her for the smiling thing. I didn’t have a big smiling face, either, but what bothered me the most was how she had interrupted my time with Erica—er—Rachel? Hell, whatever the name of the chick was who’d had her lips wrapped around my throbbing cock. Now, I was suffering from a case of blue balls like no other. It wasn’t as if I’d been planning on getting off from a blow job. That never really happened for me, but it was the foreplay before I would’ve laid the woman across my desk and fucked her until the cows came home—which happened around six in the afternoon.
Now, instead, I was walking around the ranch with Wednesday fucking Addams following me, telling her about what it took to be a ranch hand at Eres Ranch. News flash: She wasn’t what it took. She was so far off from what it took to be a ranch hand that I felt like a damn fool for wasting my afternoon showing her around.
“Don’t think anyone’s going to give you an easier time around here because you’re a girl,” I ordered her as she shoveled soiled hay into the wheelbarrow.
“I’m not a girl,” she barked, struggling to lift her pitchfork but not giving up.
I glanced back at her and eyed her up and down.
Sure, she wore baggy clothes, but beneath them I could see a set of globes somewhat highlighted behind her shirt.
Before I could comment, she shot her stare my way. “I’m a woman.”
I huffed. “Barely. What are you, eighteen?”
“Yes. Which is exactly the age of becoming a woman. I’m not a girl.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I was certain I’d lose my eyesight. “Woman, girl, chick, whatever. Just finish your job. You’re going to have to move faster than that if you want to work here. You’re wasting time taking so long on that one pen. There’s seven more you got to get to cleaning.”
She gasped. “Seven? There’s no—”
“No what?” I cut in. “No way you can do seven pens?” I lifted a brow, and she noticed. A sinister smirk fell against my lips. It had only been forty-five minutes, and it seemed like little Hazel was already close to waving the white flag.
She rolled her shoulders back and stood straighter. “I can do seven pens. I will do seven pens. Even if it takes all night.”
Judging by the speed she was going, it would take all night. Fine by me—I had rehearsal later that night at the barn house, so I’d be on the property late anyway. If Hazel didn’t want to throw in the towel yet, then she could spend the rest of her evening in the pens if she wanted to.
It took her three hours to finish two pens.
Three damn hours.
It was way longer than it should’ve taken her, but I had to give it to her—she didn’t punk out. She hardly even stopped for water breaks, except for when I forced her to do so. “It’s ninety-six degrees out. Take a damn break. Otherwise I’ll be dragging you out by your ankles and rushing you to the emergency room,” I ordered.
Reluctantly, she’d take her breaks but then be back at it, working her ass off.
Around seven, I gathered my stuff from the office and headed to check in on Hazel one more time. “How many more?” I asked.
“Three.” She sounded exasperated. “Just three more.”
I nodded once. “I’m off to the barn house for band practice. Stop in there once you’re finished, and get me to come check your work.”
She didn’t reply, but I knew
she’d heard me. At least she better have, because I wasn’t in the business of repeating myself, and if I didn’t check her work by the end of the night, she’d be SOL on the job front.
I didn’t even know why she was working for the ranch. I didn’t understand why she’d put herself in the position that she was in. She could’ve simply gone to her piece-of-shit stepfather and joined the family business of drug dealing.
After a silent reply from her, I headed toward the barn house to meet up with the other guys. For the past five years, I’d been in the band the Wreckage, which consisted of me and my three best friends. We’d grown close many summers ago when we were all sixteen—except Eric, who was only thirteen—and forced to work on the ranch. I was forced by Big Paw, because he didn’t want me out causing trouble during the summer, and the rest of the guys were forced by their parents to help their families with income.
If you lived in Eres and were sixteen, then there was probably a good chance you had a small job to help bring money into your family’s home. A parent’s salary wasn’t enough to put food on the table most of the time.
The guys and I spent that summer shooting shit and forming a band to help pass time. In a small town, you did whatever you could to make time go faster. The summer days dragged, and the nights were boring. Music changed that for us. It didn’t take long for us to actually give a damn about what we were creating, and over the years, we’d somehow found a touch of success. Not enough to quit our day jobs, but enough to dream of a life outside of Eres.
Plus, we all had enough talent to make our band stand out.
First, there was James, the people person. If there was a soul in need of love, James was right there to give it to them. He played the bass guitar and had such a warm personality that he could make a sworn enemy swoon at his feet. Not only was he a badass on the bass, but he was the smiling face on our social media accounts who brought in the fans.
The Wreckage of Us Page 2