But the blush creeping down her chest is clearly not embarrassment. And when her eyes stray to my lips, I see her heart begin to pound the delicate skin covering the hollow at the base of her throat.
She seems trapped, caught like a fly in a spider’s web as we study each other.
“Daddy!” Olivia says, walking back in.
“Vi,” I say, not taking my eyes off Nikki. “Is Sandy not waiting?” Her nanny is forever pushing limits. As it is, I’m certain the woman is sitting in the car on the curb right now, waiting for Olivia to come back rather than staying with her.
How many times do I have to tell the woman that I don’t care if she thinks my nine year old needs freedoms, and that I want her escorted everywhere? You don’t get where I am without making a few enemies. And though I’ve got a bodyguard who’s starting tomorrow, I would still like the nanny to be by Olivia’s side.
Not that she couldn’t take care of herself. I had her take her first self-defense class at three. And now, when we spar, she’s quick and ready when I try to surprise her. Still, as tough as she is, she’s still a small child. Even if she fought her heart out, it would be possible for someone large to grab her and toss her in the back of a car and drive off.
I know she’d fight like hell to get free, and we’ve got a plan in place if that happens, but I still don’t want that plan to become a reality.
She doesn’t need that trauma on top of everything else life has dealt her.
Olivia’s face falls, and I know I caught her. I fix the full force of my fatherly anger on her and she has the grace to look somewhat contrite. “Yes. I’ll go. I love you daddy,” she says, pulling me into another hug.
“I love you too,” I say softly for her ears only.
I’m not my father. She’ll always know how much I love her. She’ll know I value her, that she’s everything to me, that life wouldn’t be worth living without her.
“Now go,” I tell her and she walks off like a proper lady, her chin held high.
“She’s so cute,” Nikki says, and I realize this is the most conversation we’ve had since she started two years ago. She’d been eighteen then. I’d noticed her, but only vaguely. As much as I notice anyone in the office.
Sure, she’s got a nice body, but I don’t mix business and pleasure. That’s a recipe for disaster. And it’s not like I don’t have plenty of women on hold, waiting for me to call or text them.
“Is Sandy her mom?” Nikki asks, and I fix the full force of my glare on her.
She winces and backs toward the door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Knight.”
“Get out.”
She nods and escapes my office, closing the sliding glass door with a thump. I stare after her, thinking about those red lips. I can think of a punishment for her.
Fuck. I need to blow off some steam.
First the stupid tenants in the new house I bought are refusing to get the fuck out, and now I’m seriously thinking about fucking a woman I work with. I must be losing it.
Planting my elbows on my desk, I put my face in my hands and let out a sigh. Nothing comes easy.
Is Sandy her mom? Damn it. That last thing I want is more drama, more bullshit. Why are people so shocked at the thought of a single dad? What, women can’t be shitty parents too? Only men cut ties and run? Only men can be deadbeats? Jesus Christ, what is wrong with the world that we think only women are there for their kids, that men are the ones who leave, that it’s anyone’s business who Olivia’s mom is?
I don’t owe anyone a damn thing. And I certainly don’t owe my co-workers explanations on the dysfunction of my personal life.
The best thing that bitch ever did was walk away.
We don’t need her. Olivia and I, we’re just perfect on our own. I’ve got her, she’s got me, and we’re getting along just fine.
Still furious, I stare at the paperwork on my desk and try to divert my energy to work. The tenants have to leave for me to renovate the house. I work on one project at a time, so the roadblocks are more infuriating. My hands are tied, and I don’t like being in a situation I don’t have full control over. My old man taught me to make sure I’m always on top.
“Even a hooker is waiting to cut your throat and take your wallet,” he’d told me on my twelfth birthday. Great words for a young boy to hear. But he’s right. Everyone is waiting to see a weak spot to exploit.
“You’ve got to strike before they have the chance.”
Yeah, he gave me more gold than I give him credit for. But I would have traded it all. But it is what it is. I made myself. I took the information he gave me and used it to crawl out of the hole he’d dug for me.
An eviction will take months. Maybe it’s time to take on a second project. I have to learn to live with this streak of perfectionism within me. It’s a dog that’s got me by the throat, and maybe it’s time to break out. It’s not like there aren’t other properties I’ve been looking at. I won’t stop until I own every worthwhile patch of dirt in this damn city.
My phone rings, and I see the name and ignore it. I don’t want to talk to Connor right now. I don’t want to talk to either of my brothers right now.
Chapter 2
Emma
Jet nudges my back, and I give his nose a stroke. Leading the horses into the barn at the end of the night has been a chore I’ve had since I was five. I remember that first time like it was yesterday. Dad hadn’t known I was following him as he led an old mare into the barn. He had an endearing habit of talking to the horses. He’d divulge secrets to them he wouldn’t share with anyone else, not even me.
And he was telling her that he needed a boy, some strong young son to take his place.
A daughter, he’d confided as the mare shook her head and swished her tail, was trouble. He was certain I’d be like my mom, knocked up at sixteen and married off to the stupid boy she’d fallen in love with.
The problem was, my mother wouldn’t be able to give him any more children. He would never have that son he so desperately needed to fill his boot prints when he was gone. No, my mother had bled out seconds after I’d been delivered.
And something in dad burned out when she died. Something intangible, but I’d seen it in pictures of him before she was gone, pictures of him as a child, pictures of him as a handsome young man that dotted the walls of the old family farm house. Some spark that loved life just… fizzled out.
Dad never blamed me, or if he did, he never made me aware of it.
I think he blamed himself. I think that pain destroyed him, ate him alive inside, yet still, he somehow managed to give me a good life, a solid foundation, and the tools I needed to become someone stronger than he’d ever hoped a daughter could be.
As he talked to that old mare that night when I was five years old, I’d walked right up and took the mare’s lead rope from him. In my best grown up voice, I’d told him I’d take her from here. He’d just stared after me, as if unsure what had happened or if he should argue with me.
But he hadn’t. And from then on, he expected me to bring them in every night.
A breeze kicks up and I lift my face toward the heavens. It had been a brilliant early summer day and the world still smells like warm apples and horses, hay and willow trees.
I miss him.
It’s different to lose a parent you’ve never really met. I didn’t know mom beyond the stories dad had told me. She’d been sweet, quick to love, and very unassuming. Dad told me I was like her, and I rebelled against that thought.
I don’t want to be sweet or unassuming. There’s no place for either of those traits on a ranch. I need to be tough, rough, and able to roll with the punches life throws at me. And there’ve been a lot of punches.
I stand still and look up at the stars that are beginning to blink overhead. The edge of the horizon is still fading orange and the chill is quickly destroying the warmth of the day. Jet lowers his head to nibble on the grass at our feet and I give his neck a quick rub. The old dirt road leading to the barn
is lined with grass that’s short here and there where the horses have kept it in check.
The barn stands out against the green mountains behind. The aspen trees back there line the creek. Beyond the far side of the creek bank, the mountain climbs steeply and the trees turn to maple, pine, cedar, and oak. Dad loved the peace out here, the sound of the water running over rocks, the sound of the wind in the trees.
He’d told the mares that this place was his heaven on earth.
It’s only been six months since he passed away.
Only seven months since I’d finally gotten him to go to the hospital.
Seven months ago they’d told us he had stage four prostate cancer.
Seven months ago, they’d said he had four weeks left to live.
That I had four weeks to make peace with the fact that I’d be alone in the world.
He’d gripped my hand, then, he’d held it tight. I felt his apology in his grip, and it killed me. Even now, my eyes tear up at the memory. Even after being given the news that he would die, he was apologizing to me like it was his fault.
It’s been six months since I stood before his fresh grave beside the mother I can’t remember.
“I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself,” I say softly to Jet, who lifts his head, perks his ears, and stops chewing on the grass he’d ripped free as he listens to my wobbly words.
Sure, dad wanted a boy. But I’m still here.
I’m still taking care of his ranch. My ranch. My namesake. The place that my grandparents had passed on to my father. A place filled with ghosts that roam freely during the wee hours of the night.
But those ghosts don’t bring me peace. No, I feel more alone than I ever have before. Every night after I lock the horses up, I make my way to the house with a sense of dread. Because I remember coming in to dinner and light, warmth from the fire and dad’s smile.
But that was before.
Now I come home to the single bulb I leave on over the porch that casts light into the kitchen. I never leave the fire going for fear of burning the place down. Dinner consists of whatever I have the energy to throw together; usually ramen or pizza because they’re both easy and fast.
Dad would scold me for that, but I’m just too damn tired to take care of myself.
But all of that means nothing. Coming home to an empty house without dad’s love and joy is like coming home to a tomb. I just haven’t died yet.
With a sigh, I vault up onto Jet’s back. With the lead over his shoulders, I hold tight with my legs and tilt my hips forward to encourage him to get moving.
He does, and I realize how exhausted I really am.
This place is too much work for one person. I spend seventeen hours a day working. I could hire some help, but my experience with that has never been good. Men don’t listen to me. They pretend to work and fool around when I turn my back. Dad was good at keeping people in line with barked orders and threats, but I just sound silly when I try to be like him.
It’s easier to go it alone.
But it leaves me lonely. There’s no chance at a social life here with as much as I work. Even hired help offers some passing topical conversation. Now I just talk to the horses. Guess I’m more like dad than I give myself credit for.
Jet stops before the barn and I slide from his back to open the door. He follows me in, lifting his head as the other horses look at us over their stall doors. The warm, horsey smells of the barn close in like a hug that feels like coming home and I feel a tiny sense of peace. All too soon, I close Jet in his stall and lock the double locks.
On my way out, I peek in on Genuine Honor – Jenny for short – and see she’s still standing. Her huge gravid belly is growing day by day, and I make a note that I’ll have to call Kyle out to look at her tomorrow. She’s due soon, and while dad swore no mare needs a vet around to throw a colt, I feel better with help on hand.
I give her nose a gentle pet, talking softly to her. “Such a pretty girl,” I tell her and her ears swivel and lock forward like she’s hanging on my every word. “I bet you’re uncomfortable, baby, it’ll be okay.” She lifts and lowers her head in a spirited show like she’s agreeing with me. It’s her signature move, and makes her easily my favorite mare.
As I lock up the barn for the night, I look over the sea of faces peeking at me over stall doors, ears forward and curious eyes on me, I smile. I wouldn’t trade this for anything. Dad taught me a love of horses at a young age. And all the bloodlines we’ve had in our family for generations are highly prized and sought after.
It pays for the ranch, and keeps me living well, but if I’ve no time to enjoy what I’ve worked so hard for, what’s the point?
Feeling like a dead person walking, I make my way back to the ranch house.
The porch light draws me in like a moth and I stumble up the steps, keeping on my feet only because of my death grip on the railing. Inside, I lock the door up tight behind me out of habit. A glance around the kitchen leaves me no doubt that I’m just too tired to even try to make myself food.
I’m too tired to even human.
With that, I decide to forgo even the stairs and curl up on the couch. I’ve already got a blanket there and a pillow. Some nights, this is all I’ve got. Drag myself to the couch, curl up and fall asleep.
Dad would be so disappointed.
Chapter 3
Kieran
Seven a.m. isn’t too early for a business meeting.
With a stranger.
Who doesn’t know I’m coming.
I park and get out of my truck. This is the first time I think it has seen a dirt road. I’ll have to hit a car wash on the way back into town. Who the hell would want to live out in the middle of nowhere like this?
From somewhere past the house, I hear water. It’s no surprise, I know a river runs along the backside of the barn that stands against the backdrop of the mountain.
I’ve already had ideas to make this place worth so much more. Condos. River view condos on one side. The other could be marketed as ‘nestled in nature.’ I could zone and build forty condos here, if I wanted to waste space and spread them out.
If I wanted to zone as a subdivision, I could fit nearly a hundred of the damn things. I could even leave in some trees to please the housewives wanting to believe they’re closer to nature right around the corner from their Whole Foods.
All the while, I’d sit back and collect rent.
This place would make my fortune grow substantially, and I’m never one to pass up on an opportunity like that.
Straightening the lapel of my suit – might as well make a good first impression – I walk up the front porch and take a deep breath. All the fury I’d felt from last night hasn’t dissipated. If anything, the aggravation feels like it’s grown. The pit of ire has matured into a great ball of darkness that taints every interaction I have.
Even Olivia seemed shocked by my short temper.
And she’d avoided me, even after I apologized to her and told her that I wasn’t upset with her, I was mad at someone who was being mean and not playing by the rules.
So I’d gotten the hell out of the house early. No need to create more issues. Olivia’s got enough stress on her plate, I don’t want to be the cause of more. Sandy had made sure I’d gotten an earful last night when I got home. Apparently, Olivia has been starting fights at school, but not between her and another party, no, she’s more clever than that.
She does something, and then tells the person that someone else made her do it and watches all hell break loose.
I’d be proud of her cunning if I wasn’t so upset that her therapist told me we were past this kind of behavior.
Before me, the ranch door opens and I’m met by curious green eyes that are strikingly cat-like.
“Can I help you?” The woman steps out on the porch and I can only take in every detail of her. The socks on her feet don’t match – one’s purple with little green watermelons all over it, and the other is yellow with orange
suns. Her light colored jeans hug her slim, well-shaped legs. There’s a curve in her thighs that looks like she’s spent more than her fair share of time straddling a horse. Or a man.
The errant thought is all my cock needs to stand at attention.
Her hips are rounded and give way to a narrow waist line. She’s wearing a white tank top and a black sports bra under it, and all I want is to pull the thing off her and free those beautiful breasts. The curve of her shoulders to her neck beg me to kiss along them. Even her ears, the delicate shells of them, are beautiful.
Her jaw is flared and her chin is pointed. Wide cheekbones are dotted with a light dusting of freckles and she’s pale – almost too pale. Her nose is small and straight, a perfect addition to her already pleasing features and speckled with more of those cute freckles. But those eyes, all wide and green, framed by starburst golden lashes, capture my attention and hold me hostage.
Her hands come up and grab the free flowing locks of golden brown hair and she twists it all up and piles it on her head in an effortless move that leaves her both messy and appealing all at once.
My cock pulses at how deft her slim, pretty fingers are.
She arches an eyebrow at me, and I clear my throat.
“Is, um, your husband here?” Surely she’s not the owner of this place. She’s got to be the wife or daughter of the farmer. But I didn’t see a ring.
Her eyes narrow dangerously. “What do you want?” she asks point blank, and I gather my wits. No matter how fucking sexy she is or how bad I want to push her against the wall behind her and bury myself in her, I’m here for business.
“I’m looking for the owner of this place,” I say, keeping my tone cool.
She lifts her shoulders a few millimeters. “You’re looking at her,” she says, tucking her hands in her back pockets. With her weight shifted to the right, she calls attention to her hips again, and I enjoy the curve of those sexy thighs.
Steal Me (Longshadows Book 1) Page 48