Falling for Owen

by Jennifer Ryan

  “I’ll just be a minute, sweetheart. Let me check the back door lock and make sure the motion lights are on.”

  Claire nodded. Since the place was so small, it was easy to watch him go to the back door and check the deadbolt and the slide lock. He hit the switch for the lights and they came on, a bright glare against the window over the sink. Not much to see at the back of the house but more weeds and pastureland beyond.

  “Thanks for being such a good sport tonight, Claire. I guess I messed up your date.”

  “Date?” Claire asked, confused.

  “Dinner with Owen.”

  “Oh, yeah. We had a great time. But how did you . . .”

  “Owen mentioned it.”

  “Mentioned what?” Owen asked from the living room window. He checked the lock and the stick in the frame preventing it from sliding open for added protection.

  “Our dinner date,” Claire said, wondering why he’d mention it to Shannon at all.

  “Dinner was good. The rest of tonight, not so much. I’m so sorry that son of a bitch hasn’t been caught yet.” Owen checked out the window by the front door and smiled. “Cops are here. A car will sit out front tonight. They’ll do regular patrols out this way until Dale is caught and locked up, so if you see a car approaching, don’t panic. Be vigilant, but don’t automatically assume it’s Dale.”

  Shannon walked to Owen and grabbed his forearm, looking up at him. “Thank you so much for everything.”

  “No thanks necessary.” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “You should put some ice on that eye. Get the prescription filled tomorrow for the pain meds if you need them. Call me if anything else happens.”

  “I will.”

  Owen held out his hand to Claire and she took it, happy to leave.

  “Lock up behind us. You should sleep easy tonight with the cops outside and the pain meds you took at the hospital.”

  “I’ll try. Thank you again,” Shannon called from the porch.

  Claire and Owen waved back at her, but Owen didn’t climb into the truck until Shannon closed the door and they heard the snick of the locks slide into place.

  “Those are some bright motion lights.”

  “I got them cheap at the hardware store. They do the job.”

  “If she remembers to turn them on.”

  “They should stay on all the time if she leaves the switch in the house on. I don’t know why she turned it off,” he said, frustrated.

  “Maybe the police turned it off by accident.”

  “I doubt it,” he said, turning the truck onto the rutted road once again.

  They hit the main road and Owen kept the speed slow, so he could talk to her. “I’m really sorry about tonight.”

  “You have no reason to be sorry. You did a good thing, picking her up from the hospital and seeing her home.”

  “I wish this whole business was over and you and I could move on with our lives.”

  She wrapped herself around his arm and snuggled close to him. “I think things between us are moving in the right direction. I’m not going to let anything derail us or make me second-guess you. I’ve done that too much already.”

  “You saved me tonight.”

  “You didn’t want to go in her house alone with her.”

  “She tends to be touchy-feely. After the comment about coming to stay with me, I didn’t want to endure any more awkward moments. I’ve tried to make it clear she’s my client. Nothing more. I want to help her, but . . .”

  “She makes things weird and awkward,” Claire finished for him.

  “And she does stupid things like turning off the security lights.”

  “And forgetting to lock the back door when she knows Dale is still a threat to her.”

  Owen glanced at her and frowned. “See, it’s not just me. Things with those two just don’t add up to normal. Her growing need to have me intervene and protect her is getting uncomfortable and it’s interfering with you and me.”

  “She’s enamored with you because you saved her. Once things settle down and your interactions with her taper off, she’ll find her bearings and someone else to shower with her affections.”

  “I certainly feel like I need a shower. I don’t like what’s happening with Dale, or her. This whole thing has me on edge. I feel like I’m missing something. Nothing adds up.”

  “He has to know the police are looking for him after the attack on me and all the vandalism. Why would he take a chance and come back here? What does he want to do, run away with her in some grand romantic gesture to get her back? He has to know he’ll go to jail and they’ll be apart again.”

  “Exactly. I’m glad I’m not the only one thinking he’s crazy for pulling this shit.” Owen rubbed his hand over his head. “If he’s pissed at me, why not come after me like the first time? What purpose does it serve to go after you? All it’s done is draw us closer together and piss me off even more.”

  “Maybe he’s gearing up for some kind of showdown with you.”

  “Again, to what end? Picking a fight with me is not going to make Shannon go back to him.”

  “Maybe it’s all just a guy thing. He thinks you slept with his wife and he wants retribution.”

  “When you see us together, would you think we’re sleeping together?”

  Claire hid a smile and enlightened him to some of Shannon’s tactics to gain his attention. “Anyone who sees the two of you together is immediately drawn to Shannon and the way she looks at you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Owen pulled the truck into his driveway and cut the engine.

  “She looks at you like you’re dessert, and she can’t wait to take a bite.”

  “She does not.” He smiled and chuckled, uncomfortable. Probably because he knew she was right, but didn’t want to admit it to her.

  “Yes, she does. Take the scene at the hospital. She clung to you.” Claire opened the truck door and got out, but turned back to Owen before he exited. “She invited herself to stay with you.”

  Owen met her at the front of the truck and took her hand. “The only woman staying with me is you.” He rushed her, bending at the waist and hitting her middle with his shoulder. She reflexively fell over his back and he stood tall, smacking her on the bottom. She hung down his back and smacked him on the ass.

  “Put me down.”

  “I will. In our bed.”

  Our bed. Not his bed. Their bed.

  It took some doing with her up and over his shoulder, but he got the door opened and slammed it shut with his foot. Two steps away from the door, he turned back to flick the locks.

  “I can’t even take my woman to bed without making sure the doors are locked up first,” he grumbled, taking the stairs without any hesitation due to her added weight.

  “Do you have any idea how sexy it is that you can carry me up these stairs without even breathing hard.”

  “Oh, honey, you’ll have me breathing hard soon.”

  She laughed and rubbed both hands down his ass and thighs and raked her fingers back up. He retaliated, placing one big hand over her rump and squeezing. He slid his hand over her and his thumb traced the seam of her jeans down between her legs. He pressed, then circled his thumb over her center, finding that spot that made her sigh and melt. Two could play that game. Despite being upside down with her hair hanging to his feet, she slid her hands around his hips to the fly of his slacks, finding the rigid length of him. She worked both her hands over his hard cock.

  “Ah, God, sweetheart, I want you so damn bad.”

  She laughed. “Then why are you just standing next to the bed? Put me down.”

  “Promise not to stop touching me.”

  “Put me down and find out.”

  She expected it, but when he flipped her over and she landed on the bed with a bounce, she gasped and laughed at the same time. He landed on top of her before the bed even stopped moving. His mouth took possession of hers, his tongue diving deep. She loved it when he was like this.
All possession, demand, and heat.

  Clothes disappeared in a hurried peeling of layers that resulted in tangled arms and legs and mouths tasting and licking and nipping at exposed skin.

  Everything about Owen changed the second he thrust into her hard and deep. She expected the urgent pace he’d set to continue until they were both panting and rocketing into the stars. Instead, he went still in her arms and stared down at her. With a gentle swipe of his finger over her forehead, he pushed her hair from her face and met her gaze.

  “I mean it.”

  No explanation needed. He loved her. Saying it didn’t come easy for him. Maybe that’s why she believed him, even without the actual words. Anyone could say it. People said it all the time without really feeling it. Owen had expressed how much he felt in those three words. When he gave her the other three words, they’d be forever.

  “I believe you.”

  He needed to hear her say it. It set him off. Their lovemaking was wild. All grappling hands and a desperate need to be close. Skin to skin. He couldn’t get enough of her. He demanded she give him everything. She gave it willingly, knowing exactly how he felt, because there’d been a moment in that little cabin where she’d needed to feel him and the love they shared and know that nothing would ever take this feeling away.

  He rolled her over the bed and she ended up on top of him. She straddled his hips and rose above him on her hands, her hips grinding into his as he thrust up and deep. His mouth clamped on to her breast. His tongue swept over her hard nipple and he sucked hard. His hands gripped her hips, urging her to move with him. He dipped one hand between them, his finger circling the slick nub where they were joined. Her body tensed and tightened around him, and he thrust deep, spilling himself inside of her. The heat he’d built inside of her exploded. His hands gripped her thighs and squeezed as aftershocks rocked both their bodies. She collapsed on top of him, their breaths sawing in and out.

  Owen wrapped his arms around her and held her tight to his chest. He buried his face in her neck and hair.

  “Hey, honey, I’m not going anywhere,” she reassured him.

  “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to me.”

  “I wish I believed that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  * * *

  CLAIRE WORKED IN the barn, feeding Bo and Luke, dumping the old water from their buckets and replacing it with fresh. She’d grown to love the horses, though she remained cautious around them. In her head, she called them “the two old coots.” They lumbered in and out of their stalls and to the pastures at their own pace. When Owen tried to get them to move faster, the crotchety pair stopped in their tracks until Owen stopped pulling on them. Watching him with them made her smile. He had such affection for them. They reminded him of the good times in his youth. Free. Wild. Riding the wind on their backs with Brody, escaping whatever hell their father had in store for them if they stayed home.

  Finished brushing down Luke, she gave him a pat on the shoulder and rubbed behind his left ear the way he liked.

  “All right, old man. You’re all set. Eat your lunch, and I’ll let you out into the pasture when I finish with your brother.”

  She ducked under the rope at the stall entrance and went across the aisle to Bo’s stall. He stood in the entrance, watching her with Luke.

  “Jealous, big guy? Don’t you worry. I’ll brush you down, too.”

  Bo nickered and scuffed his foot in the straw. He leaned his head over the rope barricade and looked over at the cupboard next to his stall.

  Claire smiled. “You’re so smart. Yes, I’ll get your favorite brush. Spoiled,” she told him, rubbing the white diamond on his forehead. She peeled a spearmint from the roll on the counter and handed it over to the eager horse.

  She ducked under the rope and grabbed the huge blue bucket from the corner of the stall, hauling it out to the yard to dump the remaining water. She dragged the bucket back to Bo’s stall and drew the hose over. Bo nibbled at her hair while she filled it. He never actually ate or pulled it. Just played with the long strands.

  Bucket full, she pushed on Bo’s side to get him to move out of her way. Easygoing and amicable most of the time, he stepped back so she could get his food bucket off the holder on the wall. She tossed in a flake of mixed grass and hay and a scoop of crushed oats just like she’d seen Owen do so many times over the last weeks. She hung the bucket back up, and Bo snorted his thanks and lumbered over for lunch.

  Careful when moving around his backside, she didn’t see the rake and stepped on it. The handle shot up and cracked her in the face over her right eye. Instinct kicked in, and she grabbed the handle to keep it from hitting her again or falling to the ground where Bo could step on it and hurt himself. The horse shied at the quick movement and hit her on the side with his hip, sending her backward off balance. She hit her head on the stall wall and caught the outside of her shoulder on a nail, ripping her T-shirt and skin in a long line. Blood dripped down her arm, but she ignored it, trying to move with the rake in her hand and Bo stomping and shifting to see where she’d gone. Nervous, the horse huffed and stomped his front foot.

  Adrenaline gave her the strength to stand up and move to the front of the stall. She jumped back a step when she saw someone standing in the entrance.

  “Shannon? What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see Owen. I heard the ruckus and thought he was in here. Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she said automatically.

  “You shouldn’t leave rakes lying around like that. Someone could get hurt.”

  The thing is, Claire hadn’t used the rake. In fact, she didn’t know what it was doing in Bo’s stall. Owen was meticulous about the care and feeding of his horses. He’d never be so careless as to leave a rake on the floor in the stall. In fact, she hadn’t seen it in the straw when she watered and fed Bo. Maybe she was too distracted with the horses and her remaining trepidation around them, but she didn’t think so. Something seemed off. Owen didn’t normally use a rake to clean out the stall. He used some red fork thing with many tines to scoop and pitch the straw into the wheelbarrow.

  “Your eye looks bad. It’s going to bruise. Did you break your brow bone?”

  Claire raised a shaking hand to her face and felt the welt rising under her eyebrow. “No. I don’t think so. It stings and throbs, though.”

  “I know.” Shannon touched her forehead and the fading bruise from Dale’s attack last weekend. The stitches were gone, but the small scar remained. Claire imagined the internal scars would never fade.

  “Owen is up at the house on a call. One of his clients,” Claire explained. Shaken, she rambled and stopped herself. She set the rake outside the stall door and turned to check on Bo. He lazily ate his food, keeping watch on her after every bite. She went to him and gave him a pat on the shoulder. As much to reassure him everything was all right as to make herself do it and not be afraid of him. He’d done nothing wrong. She’d spooked him.

  “I’ll come back and brush you in a little while.”

  She needed a few minutes to gather her wits and tend to the wound on her shoulder. She ducked under the rope at the door and checked both ways down the aisle. Shannon had left to go up to the house. Of course. No sense waiting for Claire when she really wanted to see Owen.

  Claire stepped out of the barn and into the bright sunshine. Only about twenty paces behind Shannon, the woman hustled up the porch steps and rapped on the front door. Owen answered with a confused look on his face. He looked past Shannon and caught her eye. Still talking on the phone, he held up a finger to Shannon to wait. It surprised Claire to see him step out of the house and close the door behind him. He stood on the porch with Shannon, but turned his back on her and finished his call.

  By the time she reached the stairs, he said, “I’ll call you back, Tom. Something came up and I need a few minutes to deal with it.” The clipped tone made Shannon wince. Claire wondered a
t his annoyance, too.

  “Oh my God, Claire. What happened to you, sweetheart?” Owen took her face in his hands and tilted her head so he could get a good look at her eye and forehead.

  “Did you leave a rake in Bo’s stall?”

  “Hell, no. Why, what happened?”

  “I stepped on it and the handle whacked me in the head.”

  “What the hell? Was it the pitchfork I use to clean the stalls? Maybe I . . . no, I put it away. I’m sure of it.”

  “No, this was a metal rake.”

  “The one for the pasture?”

  “I guess.”

  “What happened to your arm?” His fingers left her face to gently trace the cut and pull her shirt away from the wound. “That looks nasty.”

  “It hurts. Bo got spooked and hit me. I stumbled and fell to the floor and hit my head and shoulder on the stall wall. A loose nail caught me. You need to hammer it back in or pull it out. You don’t want it to catch Bo’s leg.”

  “You’re worried about my horse. Look at you, honey. Come inside, so I can get you some ice to put on that.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “How the hell did the rake end up in Bo’s stall? He could have been hurt.”

  “I don’t know. All I did was feed him and Luke and give them new water.”

  “You did all that?”

  “Well, you were on the phone so long. I know how you hate to feed them late. They get so upset when you don’t make it down to the barn to see them on time.”

  “Look at you, sweetheart, you’re becoming a real ranch hand.” He scanned her from her face down her white T-shirt and jeans to her feet. “You’re wearing my boots.”

  She giggled and glanced down at her feet stuffed into his dark brown cowboy boots. The ones he wore to tend to the horses. “I didn’t want to get my shoes dirty, so I borrowed yours. I have to kind of shuffle to keep them on. You’ve got some big feet, cowboy.”

  Owen smiled and for the first time acknowledged Shannon, standing next to them waiting. “What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised to see her.

  “This place is amazing, Owen. I love the house and barn.”