by Sasha Gold
Perfect. Of course Vivian’s coming now. And she’s bringing a realtor. Can’t wait to see the realtor’s expression when I show her what’s left of the guest house.
Ben walks in, shoving his phone in his pocket. “They’re delivering the same make and model first thing in the morning.”
“How much is that going to cost?”
“Delivery? It’s free, I think.”
I grit my teeth. “No, the truck.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll work something out.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
Shrugging, he leans against the linoleum counter. The evening light casts a soft buttery glow across the room. It’s my favorite time of day. Dusk. And this is my favorite room in the house, the place that has calmed me from my earliest memories. Not now. Who brushes off the loss of a brand-new truck?
How can he be so calm?
He must see the doubt in my eyes.
“The important thing is no one got hurt, Grace.”
He speaks quietly. His gentle tone and forgiving words make my eyes sting with the threat of tears. I blink several times in rapid succession, fighting off this ridiculous response.
He frowns. “Don’t cry.”
“I hate when people tell me that.” My words sound garbled and thick.
“Well, I hate seeing a girl cry. It’s not your fault. I asked you to move my truck. I should have done it myself.”
God, I hate him. Why is he being so nice?
“After, I thought about how you could have been in the truck. Or in the house. Puts things in a different perspective, doesn’t it?”
I try to swallow the lump of humiliation clogging my throat, and I shake my head.
“I need a place to stay while I get your fence up and while I look around San Felipe. I plan to stay here.”
His words don’t exactly surprise me, or not as much as the other events of the day. I’ll never forget watching his truck roll down the driveway. But still. He wants to stay here. In my house. I can just picture Granddad spinning in his grave. I wait for Ben to say more. Or to laugh off his words. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on me.
“I don’t even know who you are.”
My words are true. Technically. But in a way, I feel like I do know him. How many times have I woken in the middle of the night, pulled from a dream of him? I’ve imagined things about Ben that I could never confess to anyone.
He shrugs. “There’s not much to know. I rode bulls for a while but now I want to settle down. I have one more rodeo and then I’m done.”
I run my gaze over his crisply ironed broadcloth shirt, the jeans molded to his narrow hips and muscular legs. His boots look custom-made. Everything about him screams rugged cowboy with a healthy bank account. I’ve already made it clear that I’m not selling my ranch, so I don’t bother repeating that. I don’t want to sound shrill.
“I’m here to find a place to live, Gracie. If you let me stay, I won’t bother you.”
His voice is low, his gaze intense and the very idea of him bothering me sends a shiver up my spine. There’s something different about him this evening. He’s been joking and flirting with me since he stepped out of his truck, but now he’s serious. Thoughtful. He doesn’t act like he’s going to give me a bad time or make inappropriate comments.
“I can swear on the Bible if that would make you feel better, Gracie.”
I close my eyes and take in the events of the afternoon. I need a fence. I need to figure out how I can deal with the truck. So, in the meantime, I guess I’m taking in a roommate. But that doesn’t mean I won’t make him swear to keep things professional.
I get up from the chair and find Gran’s Bible in the den bookshelves.
His lips quirk, and as I hold the worn, leather-bound book in front of him, he sets his left hand on top. Raising his right hand, he holds my gaze even though he’s a head taller than me.
“Okay, swear you won’t bother me,” I say.
“I, Benjamin Calhoun, swear I won’t bother Grace Hopkins.”
I wait, because there’s a light in his eye that suggests he’s thinking of something more he wants to say.
He lowers his voice. “Unless she bothers me first.”
I give him a frosty smile. “Right. And I swear to finish the fence in a week’s time.”
“I swear to finish the fence in a week’s time.”
“That you won’t touch me while you’re in this house.”
“I won’t touch you while we’re in this house.”
I scoff and return the Bible to the den bookshelves. “I’m onto you.”
“Okay,” he says. “By the way, I’m getting some help with the fence, just so you know. I’m paying for the extra help.”
I don’t know what he’s up to, but something about his demeanor makes me believe him. If he wants extra help, what do I care? I just need a fence.
He follows me, stops in the doorway and looks around the room, eyeing everything from the windows to the green easy chair. Wandering to the bookshelves, he studies the knickknacks first, and then the shelves. He’s scoping out the house. Could he possibly be more obvious?
“Would you like me to give you a tour?”
He picks up a picture my gran took of me when I was seven. I’m wearing my first pair of chaps. “You grew up here?”
“I did. My parents died when I was little.”
He picks up a picture of Vivian. She’s in tenth grade, posing in her twirler uniform. I’m used to disappearing from people’s radar the minute they catch sight of her. It’s like I become invisible.
“That’s Vivian. My sister.”
I watch him closely, but he just nods absentmindedly. He sets the photo aside and he scans the book titles on the next shelf.
“Are you two close?”
“Yes. Very.”
He turns his gaze to me and narrows his eyes. “That’s not really true, is it?”
His question flusters me. “Why do you ask me that?”
“Something about your voice. It shifted.” A slow smile curves his mouth and he goes back to looking at the books. “I think you’re fibbing.”
“What do you care?”
“None of my business,” he murmurs, sliding out Granddad’s copy of Cowboy Tails. He flips through the pages, a smile ghosting his lips.
“You can take the book with you. I don’t have television by the way. Let me show you the rest of the house.”
He follows me around. Since he’s already seen most of the downstairs, we head upstairs. The narrow steps creak as we ascend.
“I don’t suppose you’re a very good poker player, are you?” he asks.
“That’s kind of a random question.”
“You’re not a good liar.”
“My great-grandfather won this ranch from your great-grandfather, playing poker, so I have it in my blood.”
“Maybe we’ll play sometime.”
I stop at the bathroom door. “You’re only here a week, Ben.”
“That’s plenty of time to think of some interesting stakes.”
I ignore his sultry tone. I also resist the urge to remind him he just swore an oath to be a gentleman. “This is the only upstairs bathroom. You’re going to have fun trying to fit in that shower. Don’t bump your head on the gabled roof.”
After that I show him the guest room. The antique iron bed is going to be too small for him, but there’s nothing I can do about that. He follows me around as I show him the rest of the rooms. He has to duck his head to go through doorways.
After he’s taken his suitcases to the guest room, I stop in the doorway. “When can you start on the fences?”
“At dawn.”
“I need to get up early too. I have to work on the books. I’ll make breakfast.”
He grunts as he tugs his shirt off and tosses it aside. I hadn’t expected that, and suddenly I’m facing a giant, bare-chested cowboy, with a torso that looks like it was hewn from granite.
/> “Damned straight.” He unzips his suitcase, rummages through his belongings without looking up.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll take bacon and three eggs over-easy.”
I’m nodding, like I agree with him, and the traitorous part of my brain is actually agreeing with his demand for a made-to-order breakfast. I turn away, gritting my teeth. A week, I tell myself. That’s all I need. One week to fix my fences and then I can be on my way to making money with this ranch.
Unless I need to purchase a new truck for my fence builder.
That could be, as Granddad liked to say, a small fly in the ointment.
Chapter Four
Ben
The next morning, I find my breakfast warming in a cast-iron skillet on the stove. Grace is nowhere to be found, but her scent lingers. After a shit night of sleep in a bed that’s two feet too short, I’m in a dark mood. Her sweet scent doesn’t help. I hear her upstairs, humming. The sound makes me growl.
When her door was open, I glanced in her room. Her bed is twice the size of mine, a pretty four-poster bed that would fit my frame just right. I’m pissed that I slept alone last night, and I’m pissed she gave me a tiny bed. I’m sure she’s messing with me, and I don’t take kindly to her switching things around.
I tossed and turned all damn night. The woman I’ve chased for months was just down the hallway, sleeping in her great big bed. Probably sleeping with a smile on her face. Every time I heard a noise, my senses shifted into high alert. I couldn’t stop thinking about her lying in bed and how she’d look, asleep in the moonlight. Then I thought about her living alone in this house and how easy it would be for somebody to get to her, and I’d go from fantasizing about her to wanting to protect her from men, men like me.
I came back to San Felipe with a single goal. To acquire the Hopkins Ranch. Meeting Grace a few months ago made me waver for a moment. It’s clear she loves the ranch with all her heart. I might even feel a tad guilty for the plans I’d made. But yesterday, when I watched the truck plow into the little farmhouse, something inside me, something primitive, an emotion I’m not proud of, took over.
Lust.
I want more than a chunk of land stolen from my family. I want the great-granddaughter of the man responsible.
I swore I wouldn’t hit on her, and I swore on the Bible. I might come from a line of rough men, but I don’t take swearing on the Bible lightly. I’m a man of my word. Still, I’m not too worried about keeping my promise. Gracie’s going to come to me. I can see her checking me out when she thinks I’m not looking. I won’t need to lift a finger to rope that little filly.
I just need a little time.
I wolf down my breakfast and head out to the shed. Yesterday I had the delivery guys set aside what I’d need for the first day’s work and I loaded it onto the trailer. Grace has a couple hundred feet of unfinished fence line, and I aim to get most of the posts set today. That would be impossible if I’d worked on my own, but I have back-up.
Just as the sun lifts over the ridge, Tyler and his brothers roll into the barnyard, pulling a horse trailer. They’ve brought my old roping horses and my tack too. Along with my horses, they’ve come to help get this fence built.
Their father bought my former ranch, 2,500 acres in the panhandle. After they unload the horses, I get the animals bedded down in the barn. Later, I might throw saddles on them and invite Miss Hopkins for a ride. I’ll give her a tour of my future ranch.
After the horses are settled, the boys jump on the trailer. I drive the tractor out to the field, unhitch the trailer and run the auger.
“I can run the auger, Ben.”
I narrow my eyes at Tyler. He’s grown a couple of inches in the last few years and he’s settled at about six foot one, but it’s still hard to see him as anything but a kid. “I remember the postholes you dug for me a couple of years back.”
Tyler grins. His brothers toss out a few insults, adding to mine.
“I’ve gotten better. We fenced the entire Wilson place last winter. And you know what a hard-ass he is.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“This ain’t even your place.”
“I’m working on it, and even if my plans fall through, I want don’t want the owner to have a fence that looks like a dog’s hind leg.”
Tyler grumbles but doesn’t argue.
It takes me about an hour to dig the postholes. The soil here is rich, and black, damn near perfect. Not sandy like in the valley, or rocky like the hill country. Just fertile, and soft, and sweet. I shake my head. Seems like every thought I have takes me back to Grace.
By the time I’m done, the boys have mixed the cement and have several posts set. I leave them with a few instructions and head back to the barn on foot.
I’d intended to feed my two horses and Grace’s yearlings. When I open the barn door, I’m surprised to find Grace inside. I wanted to take care of the horses as a favor to her. I’m about to give her some grief, about something. Anything. Breakfast maybe. But when she turns around, I see her face. It’s blotchy. Her eyes are red. She sniffs and turns back to the wheelbarrow. She says nothing, but continues tossing hay into the stalls.
I don’t know a lot about comforting a crying woman. I don’t stay in a relationship long enough to be around too many tears. It’s one of the benefits of playing loose. But her tears make something twist inside me. I’d like to hurt whoever is making Grace cry. Badly.
I walk down the aisle and stop by the wheelbarrow. “I was going to feed the horses. So you could get your work done.”
“I finished,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Just as I got everything done for the week, I saw a Facebook post from my sister. She and her fiancé got married last night.”
“Married?”
She nods. “I talked to her yesterday morning. She must have forgotten to mention she was in Las Vegas. I guess it slipped her mind.”
“So, you don’t like the husband?”
She shoots me a furious look. “I’ve never met the guy!”
“Are you mad she got married? Or mad she married without telling you?”
Grace gives a small feminine growl and wheels the barrow back to the feed room. “Both.”
I follow a few paces behind.
Grace gestures furiously as she explains. “She’s talking about coming here, to show the property to her new husband and meet with a realtor. Now she’ll have two votes and I’ll lose the ranch.”
I lean against the doorway. “Her husband will have as much say as you?”
“That’s right. They can force me to sell. What they really want is the trust. Granddad tied up the money in a trust. Neither of us know how much is in the account, but Vivian’s always insisted it was a fortune.”
She slams the wheelbarrow against the wall. When she whirls around to face me, fire blazes from her eyes. Her hair, halfway restrained in a messy bun, is falling around her face, framing her features in a way that makes every drop of blood in my veins turn to wicked heat. She’s pissed and even that arouses me. I might officially need to see a doctor or something. This girl is fucking with my head so badly, I must have something wrong with me. Low iron, maybe.
“Are you even listening to me?” she demands.
“I am. What can I do? Want me to buy the ranch for you?”
I’m so fucked. If she wanted me to go to the depths of hell and bring back an ice cream sundae, I swear I’d do it. Does she want me to buy her ranch? Fuck yes? I’m ready. I wonder if she has any idea how much of me she owns. All of me. Every miserable bit. And if she knew half of my background, she’d run screaming.
“I could get your sister off your back. You know… pay off Lillian.”
“Vivian!”
“Right.”
I’m trying to be sweet to her, offering her things I never offered any other woman, and, if anything, she’s more pissed than a few minutes ago.
“Just stop it, Ben. Quit being so nice to me. I don’t know what I am
to you. An easy lay? You’re pretending to act like the wrecked truck is like…”
She waves her hands around her head like some demented person. It’s adorable. I want to bend her over my knee and spank the sass right out of her. And I want to kiss her and tell her everything’s going to be just fine. I also want to make everything totally all right. I want to do that too. Sweat rolls down my neck and I wonder, briefly, if I’m running a fever.
She sputters. “You’re acting like the wrecked truck is no big deal.”
“It’s not.” I stalk down the length of the feed room. “A big deal. I already bought a new truck so quit hollering.”
She’s scrambling back, her eyes wide.
So far I’ve only been sweet. Mostly. Maybe a little teasing. She’s not quite ready for me coming on strong, but I want her to settle down. To quit fretting. I don’t know what’s gotten her so hot and bothered, but I intend to take care of it. Whatever it is. She thinks her sister’s going to make her sell the ranch? Well, I’ll buy it for her. She thinks the truck’s going to cost her a fortune. I already bought a new one.
There’s no problem that I don’t want to solve for her. None. This woman owns me. I’m a little concerned about just how much she rules my heart. I’ve faced 2,000-pound bulls, and never worried about what might happen when I took them on. But Gracie Hopkins, at 110 pounds, slays me. At the same time, I can’t believe how much I want to toss her over my shoulder and carry her off. I’d show her who’s boss.
What the hell’s wrong with me, I’d really like to know.
I come from a long line of men who didn’t treat women right. I need to rein it in and take care of Gracie. She’s sweet. Angelic. I want to fix things for her. I want to be her hero even though I’m sure I’m the last person that’s right for the job.
“Gracie,” I set my hands on her shoulders. “I know what you need.”
Her lips part with surprise.
My words sound a little different than I’d intended. She blushes. I can’t take my eyes from her mouth and it takes every ounce of restraint to keep from pulling her into my arms and kissing her.