"You haven't been here in months and now it's twice in one week. You're off your schedule, Skinner," she grins, wiping down the counter.
"Do you know the girl I sat with the other day?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. Why?" Her eyes go sharp, and for the first time since I showed up, she's giving me her full attention.
"I was just wondering when she usually gets here on Saturdays," I explain, rolling my shoulders back. Maggie is a tough old bird, but she's not going to scare me from asking a simple question. "We're supposed to have breakfast together."
She frowns, looking over at the seat where she sat.
"Let me tell you something about that girl. She -"
I interrupt. "So you actually know her?"
"Yes, sir, I do. Her father's family and mine are from the same part of Texas." She pauses, giving me a look, probably wondering if she should be telling me any of this at all. "Her family has come up here for holidays for the past twenty-or-so years. She's a sweet little thing. Just lost her mother. And from talking to her daddy, she’s had a rough time with some other things. She’s got a lot on her plate."
I sit back, trying to decipher what Maggie means. I can tell she's being vague.
"What does that mean?"
"That's not my story to tell. Just don't do anything stupid. I'm supposed to keep an eye on her." She looks me right in the eyes, making sure I feel the gravity of her words. Maggie doesn’t mess around. "Your table's open - go get a seat and I'll bring some coffee."
I do as I'm told, worried about rocking the boat with Maggie. Who knew Callie had been around Idaho Springs for years? How had I never seen her before? I might be considered a recluse by most, but I thought I at least knew who was visiting my town.
As I sit I realize I don't even know when Callie will be here. Fuck. I'm about to go back to the counter and charm Maggie for an answer when my coffee slides in front of me.
"She's usually here by nine," Maggie whispers and pats my hand. Good, just 30 minutes away. Now I wait.
Brock
She's five minutes ahead of schedule and makes an entrance when she walks through the door. At least, for me she does. There's hardly young people here anyway, much less gorgeous young women, so Callie stands out.
She strides in, wearing tight, black jeans, brown riding boots, and an oversized sweater. Fuck, she's cute. This is my first chance to see all her hair down. It's got to be almost down to her ass. I have an instant need to weave my fingers into that thick hair - and maybe pull it.
"Good mornin'," she beams, sliding herself and her purse into her side of the booth before I can fully stand for her. "How long have you been here?"
"Not long, just got a coffee," I pick it up, smiling at her.
"Well, good. I need one immediately." Just like the mom she is, Maggie is over in seconds with a steaming cup of coffee and a tiny vessel of cream.
"Maggie! You already know me so well. Thank you," she says, the ‘you’ drug out with her Texas drawl.
She's turned toward Maggie as they chat, so I get a chance to study her. She must have makeup on today - I can't see any of the freckles on her nose. Her lips are shiny and look plumper than ever. This can't be the second time I get hard in the diner.
We order while Maggie is at the table. I get my usual omelette and Callie surprises me by just getting toast and two orders of bacon.
She shrugs when I look over at her. "I know what I like."
Breakfast rolls past us. She jokes, I flirt, and while the food didn’t last long, we keep talking until noon.
Callie connects the dots for me with Maggie. This diner has been her family’s go-to stop as they drive to their cabin every year. A few years into their vacation ritual, Maggie and Callie’s dad realized they have roots in the same area of Texas. Ever since, Maggie has been like an aunt to Callie, making sure she’s taken care of on her trips to Idaho Springs.
We skirt past most of my family stories. I don’t need her to know the history we have around here - and the sketchy things my dad has done to earn his place in the Senate. I can’t taint her view of me this early in this relationship. Fuck, I’m already using the word relationship. Slow your roll, Skinner.
I get the feeling this breakfast is winding down and I really don’t want this to end. I made a point of prepping the horses just for this, so I have several hours to be with Callie.
I know it's going well, but I'm still nervous to ask her. I've asked my fair share of women out on dates, but the stakes feel higher with this one.
"Do you want to come see the horses?" Her eyes jump to mine, then immediately down to our empty plates. Am I that scary?
"I know it's not the most exciting date, but they're pretty fun once you get the hang of them,” I explain.
She's rolling her napkin between her fingers.
"Hmmm. Well, I guess I could. I’d have to get Cookie and..." she trails off. Shit. I don't want her to feel pressured. There's nothing that turns my stomach faster than anyone pushing something on a woman. Especially this one. I certainly don't want to be the cause of that. She sighs, and her tense shoulders sink back to a normal level.
"Yes," she says resolutely. "Let's go."
Callie
After figuring out that he's in the same general area as my cabin, we decide that I need to get Cookie before going deeper into the mountains. Brock offers to drive with me so I can find the back roads to his place, but I avoid that. I press him to give me his address so I can just use my maps on my phone. I tell him I can meet him there, instead of risking him knowing where my home is. Not yet.
Cookie is so excited I'm home, she pees a little in her crate. I can't be mad at her. She's too damn cute. She's basically a cream-colored rolly-polly with ears. Who couldn't adore her?
I text a girlfriend back in Texas that I’m going to this guy’s house. I need a record of it somewhere to feel safe. I send the address and Brock’s name. It feels silly when she replies: Girl, have fun! but I can’t be too careful.
During the few minutes I'm going to Brock's, my phone explodes with notifications. Six texts and two missed calls from Gabe. Shit. I don't need a reminder of him. Especially today. Things are going well.
Hey
Wut r u doing
hello
We should hang out
Callie
So you can't answer a text now? What the fuck
My reception out here isn't good anyway, but I'm certainly not wasting any time answering him. I open all the messages, knowing he'll see my read receipts. I don't really care - I'm not letting him ruin my mood.
I'm taking a risk - a very conscious risk - for myself today by going to Brock's place. I felt a little better about Brock as I saw him with Maggie - she wouldn’t be that nice to just anyone. He must be decent, at the very least. I got the courage to go do this and I'm not going to deny myself something just because of a few jerks. A few truly horrific jerks.
I pull up at Brock's place and I'm in awe. Cookie might not be impressed, but I can't help it. This place is gorgeous.
I round the bend in the driveway to get the full view. The driveway ends in a small cul de sac in his yard. There's a two-story cabin nestled into the trees to one side. The front is mostly beams of wood, with large windows I can hardly see into. I put Cookie on the ground, letting her off the leash to roam.
The other side of the cul de sac opens to a slope of grass. It rolls downward, towards a valley of more endless greenery. In the middle of the field is a quintessential red barn. Tall, wide, with huge white doors open to stables. This place was beautiful.
I've wandered to the edge of the driveway, getting the full view of this place, when I hear footsteps behind me.
"Looks like you found the place alright. As did Cookie," he says, jerking his head towards her. She's in the grass a few feet away, sniffing everything in sight.
I laugh and ask if she's okay to be off leash. "I wouldn't want her to be in anyone's way."
He shrugs.
"It's just us out here, so I don't mind."
My back stiffens a little when he reminds me of that fact, but I press on, taking a few deep breaths.
"So where are these horses?"
Callie
Brock leads me to a hidden trail behind the house. I've picked up Cookie, not trusting her to stay next to me in this new place.
The walk down to his barn is gorgeous. The late fall weather is brisk, but in the sun I can stay warm. Brock is in front of me, taking one giant step for every two or three of mine. I always felt freakishly tall, with a long stride of my own, but he's basically a fairytale giant. When we reach the flat ground of the valley, he's towering over me.
"I'll show you the calmer horses. I think you'll like them,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me to the barn. His hand is bigger than I remember - warm and calloused. So manly.
I'm barely keeping up with his long strides on one side of me and a wiggly Cookie on the other. We make it to the barn and he lets go of my hand. I'm a tad disappointed, but he makes up for it by putting his hand on my back, guiding me to the stalls.
Shit. His hand has to span the whole width of my back. I wonder how much of my ass would fit into his palm...I snap back to attention when we approach the first horse.
"This is Daisy," he says, dropping his hand away from me. "She's one of the oldest around here. We've had her for a while. She'd probably be a good starter horse if you wanted to try."
I can hardly listen to Brock now that Cookie has realized what we're doing. She's scrambling to reach the horse, determined to tear up my knit sweater in the process.
Daisy is actually quite sweet. She leans down to sniff at Cookie, both their wet noses touching. After a few good sniffs, Cookie's tiny pink tongue reaches out and kisses the horse right on the nose.
I can't stop giggling as I feel Brock's body heat close in behind me. His thick, flanneled chest brushes my shoulder as he nudges Daisy back. My stomach knots in a mix of feelings: he’s huge, and has the potential to do what he pleases with me, but the warm comfort of his body next to me is something much less frightening.
"Give them some space, Daisy," he commands.
"She's fine. They're too cute.” I tell my puppy in that sappy dog voice,”You're ridiculous, Cookie."
He guides me around, introducing me to several other horses. There's got to be close to thirty here. He leans over my shoulder to warn me as we move to the next stall: "There's a tiny foal in the back corner of this one. You'll probably need to stand on the gate to see her.
I step onto the metal railing, up two rows until I'm basically eye-level with Brock. I see a tiny swish of a tail and hold back a squeal as a short, gangly foal turns to look up at me.
"Oh good lord, she's so cute! How old is she?"
He slips in behind me, putting his arm around my waist and leaning around the other side of me to look.
"About three weeks. She put up one hell of a fight getting out,” he says, shaking his head. The edge of his beard brushes my arm. So close.
I would ask more questions about the insane process of birthing a horse, but I can't concentrate. I can feel his hard stomach pressed against my hip and smell his clean, masculine scent over the hay and horses. I've got to get it together.
I take one step back down the gate, my back sliding against his thick arm. I turn towards him, now back to being below his eyeline.
I'm looking up at him, knowing I should slip out from his arms and keep this casual. But his gaze down at me is warm. No, correction: hot. I feel like I'm cocooned in my own little room against his broad chest. Safe. Warm. Protected. I sense a micromovement of his head towards mine and I lose my nerve. I hop down, clutching Cookie in front of me as a buffer.
I know he's watching me, but I need to look elsewhere. I shuffle the toe of my boot into the hay and ask if I can try to ride one.
Callie
Brock shakes off my rejection quickly, hardly missing a beat. I put my focus on Cookie, hoping he doesn’t address my avoiding the kiss. Thankfully, he starts in on getting the horse ready for me. Cookie and I stroll around, letting her sniff any horse that's willing to deal with her.
I small knot of guilt is in my throat. Guilt for myself, guilt for not kissing Brock. Why shouldn’t I indulge a little? I could actually have some fun with him. It’s not like it would be a chore to be attracted to him - that box is already checked off.
I’m chewing on the inside of my cheek as I over-analyze the situation. He could be genuine. Brock could actually be sweet. But Gabe seemed decent on those first few dates. Sure, he was a little vanilla and frat-boy-esque, but nice enough. Clearly, there was only so much room in his personality for nice. Douchebag was a better descriptor.
I can feel Brock's eyes on me. Turning from one stall to the next, I see a crinkle in his forehead as he looks at me. He must be wondering what kind of prude I am. Fuck. I turn my back to him, hoping to avoid that look again.
On my next turn around a couple minutes later, I see his eyes on my ass. I wore these jeans specifically because they make my butt look perky. I debated even trying to get cute at all this morning, but I knew I would kick myself if I showed up in slob clothes and he looked put together. I could hear my mom in my head, chiding me with her tried-and-true saying: Never leave the house unless you’re presentable enough to meet George Strait. My mother was southern to the core. I decide to put some makeup on and dress in something casual, but not slovenly.
I’m also guilty of wanting him to think I’m attractive - a feeling I wasn’t sure I could muster anymore. Now I'm glad I chose these jeans, even if they do dig into my belly. Gotta work out, Callie. At least before Brock ever sees you without clothes.
I can hardly keep from biting my lip when I see him roll up the sleeves of his flannel and hoist the big leather saddle onto Daisy.
Goodness, that man is a work of art. Those huge, muscular thighs in his jeans are killing me. I keep my back turned as much as possible, hoping my jaw isn't dragging the floor.
"All right, miss. Your horse is ready."
"What should I do with Cookie?" If I had any horse experience, I could probably keep her in my lap. But I know it’ll take my full concentration not to fall off.
“She can go in the tack room. It’s warm and we’ve got plenty of blankets.” He motions for a room towards the back. “She looks like she’s sleepy already.”
I nod, smiling down at her. She’s curled up against my chest, using a boob as a pillow and fighting sleep. At the very least, if Brock or any other man doesn’t work out, I’ll have this cute little furball to keep me sane.
"Sounds good," I say. I take her into the tack room, making a little nest of blankets for her. She’s out by the time I drape another horse blanket over here. She should be good for at least an hour or two. I tell her to be sweet and that I’ll be back soon. Thank goodness for puppy sleep schedules.
When I turn around, Brock has a huge grin on his face.
"What are you laughing at?" I demand.
"Just you talking to that dog,” he smirks.
"I had to tell her I wasn't abandoning her," I say with fake exasperation. "She's my baby."
"Mmm-hmm. Come over here and let Daisy smell you. She'll need to get used to you for a minute."
I do as instructed, slowly coming to stand in front of Daisy's nose. Brock is stroking her neck, making sure she feels calm. I lift my hand for her to smell.
She eyes me, taking her time to play along. After a few tail swishes, she decides I’m worth the effort. She smells me, her nose twitching wildly over my hands. She edges closer and closer with a lazier sniff as she gets to my shirt and legs.
"She smells Cookie," Brock explains. He continues stroking her neck and shoulder. He takes my hand and gently pulls me to her side. Placing one hand on her shoulder and leaving another in front of her nose to smell, the tail twitches start to slow. I feel Brock behind me, but at a distance. I hope I didn’t hurt his feelings when I leaned out of
that kiss.
"I think she's probably good to go. She's old and sweet enough to get along with anyone. Let's get you on her."
I step to the side of Daisy, suddenly flooded with middle-school insecurities. What if I'm too big to even get on this horse? I know I'm not exactly obese, but being tall with wide hips and a big chest makes me dread a scale. I don't need Brock knowing I'm too hefty to get on a freaking horse.
"Put your foot in that holster and just jump," he says, almost as if he can hear my inner turmoil. Now he’s right behind me, his body heat radiating into my back. His fingers are lingering around my waist. Does this man actually think he can pick me up?
I grip the saddle and give a half-hearted hop and somehow sail up and over Daisy’s back, actually landing in the right spot. What just happened?
Safe on the Mountain Page 3