by Maisey Yates
He nodded once. “Got it.”
“But I don’t blush.”
“I believe you.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, squinting her eyes and tilting her head. “Why don’t you?”
“Because I saw you blush.”
“But don’t I come across as superjaded and stuff? The cold is a way more logical explanation.”
For just one moment he turned over the words that had entered his mind, turned them over, examined them, asked himself why he was even thinking about saying them. Because he didn’t say words like this. He didn’t talk to women like this. But he didn’t bring strangers home, either. So, screw it. “It would have to have been a big coincidence. A gust of cold air across your skin the second you looked at my cock.”
Her mouth dropped open, her blue eyes widening.
“What? You’re the only one allowed to be a little bit shocking?” he asked.
“Yes. Shocking is my territory. You’re a very nice guy. Salt of the earth. Rarely shocking. Aggressively appropriate.”
He reached out, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her up against him. She was soft, cold from standing outside and absolutely perfect. “Appropriate?”
“I might have to revise that opinion.”
“Yeah, you might.” He sighed heavily and released his hold on her reluctantly. “I have to go work.”
“Oh,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “There’s that responsibility.”
“You have to work today?”
“Not until later.”
“Well, when it’s time I’ll give you a ride down there.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, grimacing. “Because now I feel like you’re paying me back.”
“It’s not an exchange.” Frustration gnawed at him, because he wasn’t quite sure what it was, only that this wasn’t some kind of sexual-favors currency exchange.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t understand that.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly as though she were suddenly feeling the cold. “We should go inside.”
She brushed past him, her hard footsteps putting a little jiggle in the heart shape of her rear. And he watched, even though he shouldn’t. Even though he should be more concerned with her emotional well-being than the shape of her ass. He was concerned. Just with both things.
He followed her back into the cabin. It was a small place. One bedroom, a bathroom and a living room–kitchen combo. It definitely wasn’t where he wanted to be. Definitely wasn’t where he saw himself being at twenty-six. But all of the money he’d saved to buy his own house had gone back into the farm. So here he was.
He knew all about paying into things and getting nothing in return. Knew all about uneven exchanges. Pouring into something hoping that it would be a long-term investment that panned out. In his experience, all of his investments had just required more investing. It was like rolling a boulder uphill, making a little bit of progress, then losing it again. Then hitting a slick patch and getting sent all the way back down to the bottom.
She was rummaging around in her things, pulling clothes on, obviously irritated with him. And for some reason it bothered him.
“I think that we need to outline some rules here,” he said.
She looked at him as she pulled her shirt over her head, shook her hair out and raised a brow. “You want to lay down ground rules? What, like don’t fall in love with you?”
“I don’t think you’re in any danger of falling in love with me. I’m kind of an ass.”
She snorted. “Somehow, you manage to be both the nicest guy I’ve ever met and kind of an ass. So, I won’t argue.”
“Right. Anyway, this thing between us. The attraction stuff...”
“The screwing,” she said.
“If that’s what makes you happy. What we’re doing, it’s completely separate from you having a place to stay. Separate from the rides to work and all of that. I would do that anyway.”
“Your mom is the one who said I could stay.”
“Yes. She does that. And when she does it, I’m the person who ends up taking care of her strays. She likes the idea of helping people, but the fact of the matter is she can barely help herself. So when she has someone staying on the property I end up driving them places when they need it. I end up taking care of any issues they’re having with the trailer. I get them to job interviews, or whatever else they might need. Her heart is in the right place. Her life is in just about the worst place. Makes things difficult.”
“Okay, so if your goal is to make me feel like an even bigger burden, you’ve accomplished it.”
She started to walk out of the bedroom and he reached out and grabbed her arm, tugging her back to him. “No. My goal is to make you understand that this isn’t me asking you for payment. Or giving you any favors because you’re sleeping with me. I could go out and sleep with someone else. I’m damn sure you could, too. But I don’t want to. Because I want you. That has nothing to do with debt.”
She blinked, swallowing visibly. “You want me?”
“Yes.”
“Say it,” she said.
“I want you, Casey. That’s the only reason I want you in my bed. Not because I deserve it. I don’t.”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.” She closed the space between them, curving her hand around his neck and drawing up on her toes to kiss him. “If anyone deserves a little bit of fun it’s you.”
He didn’t know why, but he didn’t especially like her characterizing what passed between them as fun. Yeah, it was kind of fun. But that was too simple. There was more to it. It was fun, but it was torture. It was easy, but it was also a bit like lighting yourself on fire. Desperate, hot, all-consuming.
Maybe it wasn’t that for her. He didn’t exactly want to get into the experience conversation, but he would guess that she had a lot more than he did.
But the fact remained that he had made her blush.
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, instead of giving voice to any of the things he was thinking.
“I think I deserve some fun, too. Show me your tractor.”
“Is that a euphemism?” he asked.
“No, your euphemistic tractor is out and proud. I want to see a literal tractor. And it better be green, just like on TV. It had better fulfill all of my farm fantasies.”
“I hate to break it to you, but if you have farm fantasies you might also have some psychological issues.”
“I have farm fantasies, but you have a farm.” She smiled. “I think that goes to show that your insanity is greater.”
“Sure. Why don’t you come with me to have a look at my insanity?”
* * *
JUST A COUPLE of days ago Casey could not have imagined that she would be taking a tour of farmland in a tractor. But she was. She had a strong feeling that he was only indulging her by letting her ride in it, because his truck would be the more practical way to get around. The tractor was, in fact, green. That pleased her.
Pretty much everything about the day had pleased her, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that.
The property was beautiful. Acres of green fields, hedged in by mountains that stood tall and blue like centurions keeping guard over the kingdom. You couldn’t see the ocean from here, but it didn’t make it less beautiful. She had the thought not too long ago that she wanted to go to the city. Somewhere anonymous. Somewhere she could get lost. She could get lost here. Lost in the silence. In the wide-open spaces, and the tight knots of trees.
But the idea of being alone like that, of finding peace in the solitude, was scary.
Cities were busy. She could walk down the street and never have a thought in her mind that didn’t pertain to what was happening around her. To the people walking past, traveling in tight groups like schools of fish, to the cars going by in a never-ending current, horns blaring, exhaust hanging in the air, advertisements flashing all around in neon. It occupied her every cell, every space inside of h
er, until she was filled with her surroundings.
But this place hollowed her out. Left her with empty chasms and so much quiet that her brain rebelled, sending thoughts and memories to the surface that had been resting on the bottom for years.
This wasn’t the kind of solitude she wanted. It was all a little bit too much. Too intense.
But right now, she was riding on a tractor, so that helped keep the internal monologue at a minimum. Especially since she was riding next to Aiden. There was something perversely enjoyable about it. Sitting next to him as they bumped along on the dirt roads, their shoulders touching, as if they were some Amish couple on a date. Though she supposed that Amish people didn’t drive tractors. But whatever.
It was sweet. And old-fashioned. And about a hundred other things that she’d never had before. Okay, so the fact that she’d had sex with him at least three times last night—and was seriously thinking that they needed to do it again soon—wasn’t particularly old-fashioned. But that was fine by her. He was...everything.
She’d had no idea it could be like that.
He was enthusiastic, and he cared about her. About what she felt. About her enjoying herself. He didn’t sit back like a king demanding service.
He was telling the truth. It wasn’t payment. And he had never treated it like that.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shouting over the tractor engine.
“About?” He looked toward her, one dark brow raised before he turned his focus back to the dirt road in front of them. She studied his profile. His strong nose, his square jaw. Those lips. Very, very talented lips.
“Accusing you of asking for payment, giving payment, whatever. I don’t even remember all the lame stuff I said. I know that isn’t what this is. And you’ve never acted like it was. Sure, you’ve been grumpy, a little bit judgmental—both of me and of yourself—but you’ve never treated me like a whore.”
He frowned, his dark brows drawing together. “No. And I don’t like you using those words when you talk about yourself.”
She lifted her shoulder. “Why not? Plenty of other people have said it.”
“So? You can’t let other people decide what you think about yourself. All those people... Do they even know you?”
She snorted, laughing to try to get rid of the pressure in her chest. “You don’t know me.”
“Maybe not. But you know yourself, right?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes.”
“Casey,” he said, stopping the tractor and killing the engine, “tell me.”
Her heart stopped beating. “Tell you what?”
“Whatever you need to. Everything.”
“Why?”
“It’s on the tip of your tongue all the time. You insult yourself. You put yourself down, and you make it sound like you don’t care. But you keep bringing it up, so I imagine that you do care. It just seems to me that you’re carrying something pretty heavy and are asking for help even though you don’t realize it.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize that you offered psychoanalysis with your orgasms and tractor rides.”
“You’re pretty transparent. You deflect when I get close.”
“News flash, jackass. You’re not close. Physically, sure, you’re close. But join the club. That’s what people do. It’s what lonely people do. It doesn’t mean we’re connected. It just means we were both alone and we didn’t want to be.”
“No. That’s not it. Not for me. I’ve been alone for six months and didn’t need to find anyone else. Not until you. So it can’t just be that.”
“Maybe it is for me.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, her heart sinking because she felt bad saying that to him when it wasn’t true.
It wasn’t true. She didn’t like the truth any more than she liked the lie. She wished that what she felt for him—the attraction, the other stuff—was about loneliness. Was about wanting to keep warm. But it wasn’t. There was something else with him, something deeper. Stupid.
She’d known him for a couple of days. She had known guys for months and felt nothing beyond vague annoyance and shallow desire. So why did she feel like there was something wrapping around her throat every time she looked at him? Binding her to him in the most uncomfortable, dangerous way she could think of.
“Okay, then. Say I’m not special. And that this isn’t different. Why not tell me anyway? You’re leaving. You’re leaving, so none of this really matters. It’s kind of a time-out, right? From the real world and consequences.”
His words were even more upsetting than her thoughts. And that was stupid. What he was saying was true. It was necessary. She was never going to stay with him. She didn’t do permanent. Not with locations, not with men. She just didn’t. Someday, perhaps. But until then, she was not in the market for actual relationships. Actual friends or companions.
But talking to somebody...
She was struck then by the realization that she had never had an honest conversation with another person. The closest thing she could think of was that moment her mother had told her there was simply no place for Casey in her life. When Casey had walked away from that home she had spent years yo-yoing back and forth from for the final time without looking back.
But she had never shared her feelings. Never shared her story. Had never sat down and talked to someone with honesty. She kept a wall up. It was necessary. It was the thing that had helped her survive. The thing that had kept her from crumbling into a puddle of misery when everything around her was just too damn hard.
Maybe this was part of it. Part of heading toward finding a place to put down roots. Maybe she had to cast off some of the burden here in Copper Ridge, so that when she traveled on the load would be lighter.
“I was in foster care almost from the time I was born. My mom was an addict. Is an addict, in all likelihood. But we’re not in touch. She failed a drug test and I was taken from her. Put in foster homes. And maybe it would be six months, maybe even a year, but then I would go back to her. And she would try for a while, but inevitably she would fail another test, or the social worker would come and find she had been neglecting me, and I would get sent to a different home. That was how I learned to pack light and be ready to pick up and move when I had to.” She leaned back against the seat, resting her head against the metal behind her.
It was almost funny that she was sitting here spilling her guts out in the middle of this beautiful scenery, sitting on a tractor with a farmer. Almost funny because for once she couldn’t dredge up a fake laugh to help put distance between herself and the feelings that were clawing at her chest.
“Everything in my life was temporary. All of it. And I... I don’t even think it’s weird, because it’s the only thing I know,” she continued.
“Did you ever settle anywhere?”
“No. I stayed in one foster home for two years, and that was the longest I was ever anywhere. If you don’t count my mother’s house, which I was in and out of over the years. You just kind of pack everything up in a trash bag,” she said, not really sure why she was telling him any of this, or why she was thinking of those big black bags filled with all of her earthly possessions. Garbage bags. Because that’s what those few possessions she owned, those few things that rooted her to those years, might as well have been to everyone involved in shuffling her around. “And you go to the next place.” She swallowed hard, not really wanting to think about the next piece of the story. The next thing she was going to tell him. “The place I was at for the longest time... I got sent away from there. Because I ended up getting involved with their son. I was fifteen, and he was seventeen. I didn’t feel like I could say no. I didn’t really want to, because I did like him. He was nice to me.”
Aiden swore, but she didn’t stop. But the more words that spilled out, the dirtier she felt. Like she was getting it all over herself. All over him. What did he know about things like this? Why should he have to know about it? Why was she telling him this? He would never look at her right again. He wou
ld know exactly what she was.
But still, she couldn’t stop. Like the stitches had been ripped open on a wound and all the blood and everything else was just pouring out.
“Anyway, we got caught.” Tears stung her eyes, and she hated herself for it. She wasn’t fifteen anymore. She knew that she and Dylan hadn’t been Romeo and Juliet. She doubted he had even really cared for her at all. But he had kept her warm. And he’d made her feel safe. And his mother had called her a whore. “And I got sent to a new place. Someplace that didn’t have teenage boys. But I was just pissed then. So I found teenage boys at school. It’s kind of nice to have somebody to protect you, you know?”
“I bet,” he said, his voice blank. There was nothing. No pity. No judgment.
“And when I ended up on my own, I just kind of kept going the same way. I don’t like being alone.”
“Nobody does,” he said. “I mean, sure, some people like being by themselves but there’s usually someone behind them that anchors them, right? Even if that person isn’t there they have a connection. Someone that exists out there in the world that they care about. That makes you feel like you aren’t really alone.”
She nodded. “Yes. Except, I don’t. So, there’s nothing, even in my memory, that makes me feel connected to anything. Sometimes I think that if I wandered off into the wilderness I might just disappear. I mean, if no one could see me... If there was nothing tying me here, I might just float away.” She smiled, trying to feel it inside as well as out, because all of this intense feeling business was starting to get old. “But then, I guess that’s kind of what I already do. Like a feather. A drifter.”
“I bet more people think of you than you realize.”
She looked at him, at his earnest expression radiating with more sincerity than she possessed in her entire body. She had no idea what she’d done to deserve this little moment out of time, with this man who was so unlike anyone she had ever known. But she’d had very little beyond survival for the past too many years to count to deny herself this. “I’m not sure they think of me favorably.”