Me: Fine. Don’t pee your cords!
Cece: Good girl. One more thing…don’t neglect the balls.
Chapter 20
Glitter…and all her other colors
Hunt
The crackle of our campfire fills the cool night air, the smoky scent of wood journeying up my nose as I grab a bottle of beer and my fiddle. Happy joins me minutes later, post texting, wearing a colorful poncho and a long, sweeping skirt. A glass of wine in one hand and a bottle in the other.
“So, he fiddles and fondles?”
“That he does.”
She sits next to me on the half cut log. “Hunt Hard Dick. My goodness, this really is something else.”
“You seem quite persistent in pronouncing my name that way. That can only bode well for me. And considering your plan…you.”
“It’s impressive.” Happy twists her head to me.
For a girl who keeps feigning no interest, I see and feel a spark of curiosity.
“And to think you’re not interested in its impressiveness,” I say.
“I’ll ignore that. So let’s get down and dirty. Why are you here?” she asks, crossing her legs, her thick, wooly socks brushing my thigh.
“To get down and dirty.”
“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity with someone. Else.”
“Ouch. I’ll ignore your blatant disregard of my attraction to you.” I clink my bottle to her glass. “I’ve been coming here for over twenty years with my grandfather. He passed this spring. I have his ashes to scatter.”
Happy gasps, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That’s gut-wrenching, but sweet, you and your grandfather.”
“Thanks. There’s a nice view up that way.” I motion over my shoulder. “And a trail that reaches it. Maybe I’ll do a sunset scattering along with a beer. He’d like that. When I turned sixteen, he started packing a few beers in his bag for us to drink up there.”
A single stream of tears rivers down her face. A reason to touch her? I’ll take anything. I cup her cheek, my thumb smoothing the tear over her warm skin.
“Jesus. I barely know you and I’m crying.”
“Happy tears?” I chuckle. “That’s all he’d want. He was a joyful man. No matter what came his way, he was the sort of guy who dealt with it at face value. I don’t think I ever heard him complain, not even when my grandmother died.”
“Face value? That’s a good one for me. I like it.”
I spread my legs over the log. She follows suit, our knees meeting in rousing union.
“So, tell me about you,” I say. “How do you spend your days?”
“Besides avoiding my dirty doctor?” She smirks. “I’m in graduate school, getting my masters in writing and performing arts. Somehow, I want to combine the two. Truthfully, I just want to avoid a career that would include wearing grown-up clothes. I also write a column for pocket change.”
“Interesting. I had you pegged for a skydiving instructor.”
“Very funny.” She smacks my thigh with an open hand, giving me another opportunity to touch her.
I pin her hand to my leg then work my fingers over her knuckles. She lets me, all the while biting her lip. I love how many chances she’s given me to touch her in the last few minutes.
“I have a friend who’s a professor in PA. His name is Bowie Brig. What’s the column you write?”
She looks down as I draw one finger across the back of her hand. “Climax. It’s about sex.”
Mid-swallow, I choke on my laugh. “Versus mountain climbing. So hang on—you’re a virgin who writes a sex column?” I swig a sip of beer, trying to quell my amusement so as not to embarrass her.
“It’s not hard to write about sex, for heaven’s sake. I’m a great researcher, I love watching porn, and I read a lot.”
“You love watching porn?” I slap my chest, barking out a laugh. “I’m in-fucking-love with you.” I kneel and place my hands in a prayer clap. Then I look to the sky. “Please, God, let me be the man to deflower this uniquely sexy woman; then let her fall in love with me.”
“Oh, yeah. You keep praying.”
“Believe me, you want your first fuck to be with a guy like me.”
“A guy like you?” She snorts, wine spilling on my crotch as her arm jerks. “Yeah, you probably treat it like an Olympic sport.”
She stares at the wet spot on my jeans, under which my dick has become exceptionally stiff.
I lean to her neck and whisper, “Just imagine what I could do with you in a bed. We’d be free of fluorescent lighting and speculums. I won’t even ask you to wear a paper gown or put your feet in stirrups. Though I will ask you to spread your legs for me. Wide.”
Chapter 21
Birds can build houses out of anything
Happy
As Hunt grabs another beer, I pour my second glass of wine and calm myself down. Wide? I’m dying to hear this guy’s story. I’m sure he’s an open book—there’s nothing to hide in that smile. Self-assured. Tender-loving gorgeous. It’s going to be either the beginning of me or the death of me. He’s all rodeo—ballsy and ready for anything. Just like I want to be. Will be.
I’ve spent the last week trying to figure out my attraction to him. I’ve settled on lust. And lust spells trouble. A deadly sin. It’s the devil in disguise, and my ability to judge someone’s character can often be faulty. Am I dragging my past along with me for a reason? Maybe I’m using it as an excuse. Lucky me, I have my shit past and vitiligo as excuses. Walls.
My journal, now chock-full of thoughts and ideas about how I can move on, brims with things to conquer. My therapist tells me that some people use their past as fuel. I like that analogy because, with the amount of crap in my past, I’ll have enough fuel for ten lifetimes, and those next ones are going to be mag-fucking-nificent.
Hunt strolls out of his side of the tent and perches next to me on the log.
“You certainly don’t seem to have any confidence issues,” I say. “I wonder what that means. And that was rhetorical. Anyway, I’m sure it would be something dirty.”
“I’m a guy. It’s what we do, we think with our dicks a good portion of the time, and you know that as I recall.”
“I really don’t want to hear that from my gyno.”
Shaking his head, a flirty smirk on his lips and a sexy eye-wandering gaze I’m beginning to like way too much, he tucks my hair behind my ear. Everything he does is sweet, intimate, and gentle. Like the stroke of his finger curling around the edge of my ear. And my reaction, an arched back married to a bone-deep nervousness.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“Dinner. I’m starved.” I swing my leg over the log and jump up. Had I sat there a second longer my answer would have been different. You.
I saunter to the other side of the fire and stare at him over the flames. “Are you doing that chuck wagon thing or going to the dining room? I was just going to read tonight. So I’m having dinner delivered.”
“I’m doing the chuck wagon as well. I was just going to fiddle and do crosswords. But I’d be happy to fondle and do horizontals if you like after-dinner games.”
Folding my arms over my chest in hopes he doesn’t see my erratic breathing, I say, “It’s like you’re on wind up. When was the last time you were with someone? For real.”
“Honestly? It’s been a while,” he answers, dragging both hands down his face.
“How long were you with your ex?”
“Two years.” He scoops up his fiddle and begins playing a mellow song.
“I’d call that long. Was she the one?”
“I thought she was, I asked her to marry me. I loved her, then she got pregnant—not mine. Told me the day I proposed.”
“Oh,” I mutter as I wring my hands behind my back. God, I know what that’s like. What he feels like, or something in the vicinity at least. Maybe he really is done with her; that could make for a shit-ton of hate. “I’m sorry for you. But, she seems like she’s
still into you.”
“Our relationship is complex, but…I’m moving on. No point in hanging on to the past when you can’t take it with you.”
Moved on or moving on? Sounds like we’re living parallel lives. What an interesting thing. I always assume I have the weirdest story. But still, that kiss in the hall at his office, and the way she said, “My Hunt.” Something doesn’t add up here.
He continues playing his fiddle, I’m guessing to fill our wordless moment. How I wish I could cross the chasm and pick up all the parts of my plan right here, with him. Acclimate my heart. Give in to his seductions. Tell him the truth, that he does take my breath away, and then let him physically do that to me. I imagine one hungry swipe of his tongue anywhere on my body again could convince me it was the right choice. It was one thing on his exam table, but out here, in the wild? Shit, I’m not sure I’d stop him.
The jangling, creaky noise of wheels grinding and the clomp of horse hooves sound in the distance. A covered wagon embellished with twinkling lights and bells, pulled by two massive horses, comes to a dust-swirling halt in front of our deck.
A lanky, leather-faced man lunges off the wagon. “Hunt Hardick, shit. This makes what? Twenty plus? I’m sorry about your paw paw.”
“Thanks. Me too. Happy, meet Wild Bill,” Hunt says, descending the stairs to collect our dinner baskets. “I’ll be scattering his remains at the ridge top.”
After a few minutes of talk, Wild Bill lumbers onto his wagon to continue on his route. Hunt takes two steps at a time to reach the deck top. He sets the baskets down, grabs my wrist, and takes it to his mouth, kissing the underside of it while his gaze dances between mine and my lips. This man doesn’t know how to do anything unless it’s intimate. I guess that has held true from the moment he pulled out my bluebird bobby pin and fixed my hair before he knew me at all.
How is it some people are so comfortable in their own skin they feel content climbing under another person’s?
“You’re staying out here, eating with me.”
My heart jumps, when he lingers on my pulse and kisses that tender spot until he bites it just enough to make me gasp.
“Yes, sir.” I nod as he drops my hand. Though, I wish he were still holding it. It really is okay to be okay. I am in charge of my happiness. Indeed.
“Hell, I was sure I’d need to work harder for that,” he says. “Maybe I’m not being bossy enough? That must be it. Or maybe you like being nibbled on as I recall.”
I don’t say a word as my entire body blushes. Yes, apparently, I like being nibbled on. I can think of all kinds of spots on my body it might feel nice, starting with my neck and ending between my…oh Jesus.
He opens his side of the tent while speaking over his shoulder. “I’ll grab a blanket we can sit on to eat dinner. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect. Thanks.” And that goes for everything you’re saying.
When he returns, we take corners of the blanket and spread it out. Hunt adds more logs to the fire as I sit and open my dinner basket. For all the nerves dancing around in my gut, I have to admit he’s an easy guy to be around. Easy to look at, laugh with, and talk to. Old-friend easy. Even in moments of unease, and with my minor slips and stumbles, I feel mostly brave around him. It’s been so long, too long, since I’ve felt this way around a man. To trust and listen. Something about this feels right. Freeing.
“Where’d you grow up? I’m sensing a Midwestern accent,” Hunt says then bites into a piece of fried chicken.
“Chicago suburbs.” My stomach squeezes at the thought of it. Of everything that no longer exists for me, not to mention the way it fell apart. Everything.
The secret. The doves. The snow globes. The river.
“Still have family there?” he asks.
“Nah.” I clear my throat when a thick sweat coats my back. “How’s your chicken?”
His brow knits in a sulk. “That was a fast close up. You’re all or nothing, huh?”
“Yeah, leave it.” I clear my throat to buy a few seconds. “How about you? You mentioned five sisters the night we met. Everyone in San Fran?”
He finishes off his beer then flashes his eyes at me. “Yeah, all five Ob/Gyn sisters. And both parents live there too, also OBs. Though they’re retired.”
“That’s quite a family focus.”
We continue talking about random things: school, my column, his sisters. He falls to his back after finishing his dinner, his cowboy hat tossed aside. After a long minute of silence, a rumbling sexy groan comes out of him and he flips to his side.
My gaze drops to his jeans as he adjusts his groin. He sure does that a lot. As he stares at my lips, my mouth waters, saliva collecting at the corners and my tongue seeking it. My chest rises and falls more rapidly than I wish. No question, he can read me. I can’t hide anything. Save my past.
“Come here,” he says, crooking a finger at me.
Instinctively, I scoot backward. “I don’t think so,” I answer.
“You said you liked kissing. I’m a good kisser. I think it’s time I show you how good.”
“I think it’s time I go read in bed.”
“With your vibrator… Jesus if I recall?” A mocking smile curves up on his lips.
I grunt out a laugh as I rise. “With my kindle, smartass.”
He nods and looks up at me. “Go for a ride with me in the morning? And, to clarify, I mean on a horse. I know this place like the back of my hand. They give me free rein to do whatever I want since I’m damn near family.”
I shake my head. “I’ve never ridden a horse. I’ll probably just go for a hike.”
“You’re at a dude ranch. What were you planning on riding?” His hand encircles my ankle, a firm grip running up my leg like a heat seeking missile.
“A cowboy. And I don’t mean you.”
Can he see my lies? All of them, and how I can’t escape them. How I cling to them. I’m like the snow globes. Easily shattered.
“I’m actually beginning to believe you. You really want it to be that meaningless? Your first time? You should give yourself more credit. You’re so wound up over your skin and your damn plan you can’t see straight.”
I cross my arms over my chest, backing two steps from him, unwilling to indulge in the emotions I’d like to. God, that would be decadent. Feel in the moment, just let him make love to me. I’m fantasizing like crazy, but not ready to let my walls down.
“No man is going to want to be with me, once this skin condition goes ballistic across my entire body.” My voice shakes in accord with the rest of my nerves. “Not for one second can you begin to understand what’s going through my brain or what sort of future I’m envisioning. I’m trying to reinvent myself. I’m trying to be open-minded. It’s enough that I have to steer around mountains of crappy history and oceans of change. I’m looking to cross a few things I fear off my list sometime this week or next. I’d say I’m looking damn straight. I think the problem is I’m just not looking at you.”
Chapter 22
Hand in the cookie ___. *jar
HUNT
My little bluebird. My? I wish. Her ferocious honesty and her animated irrationality captivate me. Trying to go with the flow. Trapped by her plan. Locked in her cage. I’m beginning to see more dimensions in her than a fifty-carat diamond. More surprises than a sun rising at midnight. And the piece killing me is, she’s more amusing and sexier than a room full of witty lingerie models.
I suppose I deserved that barbed response. I’ve never been shy when it comes to asking for what I want. It’s exactly what gets me in trouble. Confidence-meets-need-meets-idiocy.
After finishing my beer and putting the campfire out, I enter my side of the tent, and tap on the canvas wall separating our beds. “Hey, you still up?” I wait a few seconds but receive no answer. “Happy, I’m sorry. I can be a little too bold. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. Sorry I criticized your plan. I think you’re brave, and maybe, if I don’t piss you off again, you’ll cons
ider me in your plan. Anyway, I just wanted to say that and goodnight.”
Either she’s more pissed than I thought or she’s asleep. Then the glow of her Christmas lights shines. And damn, she’s right. You really can’t look at them without smiling.
“Hey, um…thanks. I didn’t mean to go off on you like that. It was a little harsh.” She strides from one end of the tent to the other, the lights swinging around in circles like a lasso. “I’ll try not to be so reactive, neighbor. And, for the record, I’m glad my cruise got canceled. Me and you sharing a tent with a flimsy piece of canvas separating us must have happened for a reason, besides Cece and apparently your sister. Maybe plans are meant to be broken.” The lights die, and her bed squeaks. Then, quietly, so soft I almost miss it, she whispers, “Just like hearts.”
The next morning, the crack of dawn brings the scent of syrupy pine and morning dew along with the sound of horses pawing at the earth. The ranch hands must have put them in our corral while we were sleeping. After throwing my jeans on, I walk barefoot and bare-chested out my door.
I dig through our breakfast basket and set out fruit and pastries, incase Happy decides to join me, then I pour a cup of coffee. Inhaling the rich aroma, I settle into a creaky rocking chair and begin a crossword puzzle. A few sips and two words in, my phone dings with a text.
Sela: S.O.S. Tired of being housebound…miss u…how’s ranch?
Me: Stay put. Not long now. Ranch is good.
Sela: Miss me?
Me: Missing you is no longer an option. See you soon for next checkup. Stay in bed. It’s best for the baby
Sela: Having second thoughts
Me: Baby is coming. Second thoughts?
Sela: You and me
Me: You’re bored and this isn’t a text conversation
Sela: K. Bye. Talk soon.
Me: Take it easy. Please stay off your feet.
Second thoughts. I still can’t believe I asked Sela to marry me even though the kid wasn’t mine. I don’t know what it says about me that I’d forgive her so easily, but I would have.
Of Winged Creatures & Nesting Grounds: (A Quirky, Sexy, Dirty Doctor Romance) Page 10