by Annie Evans
Straddling the Fence
Annie Evans
Clay Hearts, Book Two
Turned down for her dream job, large-animal vet Bellamy Haile is determined to drown her sorrows at the bottom of a tequila bottle—and underneath the ripped bod of the gorgeous stranger she just met in the liquor store. She’ll have time enough to nurse mild regret later, when she takes over her uncle’s small practice in Serenity, Georgia.
Settled into an old house bequeathed by her grandmother, Bellamy doesn’t expect one of her first vet calls to bring her face-to-face with her one-night stand. Eli Carter happens to live nearby…and he’s more than willing to pick up where they left off.
As Eli and his family welcome her into their hearts and homes, Bellamy experiences a sort of love and acceptance she’s never known. But even hot nights in Eli’s bed may not be enough to make her choose small-town Serenity when a second chance at her dream job comes calling.
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Straddling the fence
Annie Evans
Chapter One
Bellamy Haile considered the enormous wall of colorful liquor bottles in front of her, trying to determine which particular variety would be the quickest to numb the thought process with the least amount of unpleasant aftereffects.
The twenty-dollar bill in her pocket said she’d have to stick to the basics and away from the pricier stuff with the hard-to-pronounce names and fancy packaging. After the events of the past week, her budget had gone from tight to practically nonexistent, so even spending that much was now frivolous.
The money she’d made from being one of the onsite veterinarians at this weekend’s rodeo was decent, but it wouldn’t last long. Since she wasn’t contracted for Sunday, it wouldn’t matter much if her head was fuzzy tomorrow morning. She could sleep it off, then get on the road back to Athens and finish packing up her studio apartment.
Her nana always said to stay away from whiskey unless you planned to sip it. Dark alcohol tended to produce the worst hangovers, she’d told a younger version of Bellamy one day while making a bourbon glaze for a cake. An odd conversation to be having with one’s grandchild, but that had been her grandmother—wise, wonderful and, yes, sometimes inappropriate.
Of course, quantity factored into the equation also. Rum? Nah, too sweet, worse headache. Vodka might be the way to go. Mix it with orange juice and reap a few health benefits in the process. Tequila was a viable option of the swift-hammer sort, and since she was spending Saturday night alone in a Perry, Georgia, motel room, if her clothes fell off there’d be no one around to see it.
Bellamy sighed. One more sad truth to add to the pile.
The letter she’d received two days ago was the main source of her quandary. Folded and creased and pounded into a tight square, the slip of paper felt like an anvil in her back pocket. Weighing her every step. Pulling her shoulders down right along with her mood. One thing it wasn’t was tear-stained. She might be having a temporary wallow in a puddle of self-pity, but it would take a hell of a lot more than a lost job opportunity to make her cry.
Still, she’d stared at it for so long she had the entire depressing thing committed to memory.
Dear Miss Haile,
Thank you for coming in to interview for the position of staff veterinarian with Claybrook Farms. As you know, we interviewed several highly qualified candidates, yourself included. This letter is to inform you that you have not been selected for the position; however, your resume and reference letters will be kept on file for a period of three years so that we might consider you for future contact should a position become available.
We enjoyed meeting you and wish you much success with your ongoing job search.
Best wishes,
Roger Clay
Not “highly qualified” enough, it seemed. Hard to believe a standard form letter could sting so badly. And she wasn’t the only one who’d received it, since there were fourteen applicants for the position. Delete her name and insert another, drop it in the mail, crush someone else’s dreams for the cost of a stamp. Her misery didn’t find much comfort in the company.
So, that was that—her perfect job filled by someone else, probably with years more experience and a penis below their belt buckle.
Claybrook Farms was one of the premier horse breeders in the southeast, and the position would’ve come with benefits rarely offered by other employers—staff housing, a company vehicle, bonuses, travel. Bellamy had wanted it so much she could practically smell the handcrafted, oiled-leather saddles adorning the walls of Claybrook’s enormous tack room.
But student loans didn’t pay themselves, nor magically disappear, and she couldn’t stomach the thought of asking her parents for money while she continued the job search. Out of available options, her only choice was to accept her uncle’s offer and take over his practice. Given the state of the economy and the number of people looking for jobs, she acknowledged how lucky she was to have something waiting, but that didn’t deflect the hurt of rejection and disappointment.
The thought of a small-town practice alone was enough to make her want to crack a seal on a bottle of 90-proof and drain it right there in the aisle of the liquor store. She wouldn’t just be working with horses exclusively, like she’d hoped, but cows, sheep, goats and pigs. Maybe the occasional emu or alpaca, or even a buffalo. God forbid someone have a llama. People didn’t shy away from much these days when it came to livestock or family pets.
She grabbed a bottle of tequila that wouldn’t bust the twenty then turned around to head to the cashier at the front of the store—
Only to run smack up against a solid wall of male.
His hands made a grab for her biceps to keep her from falling on her butt while his low chuckle caused her face to heat with embarrassment. All the while, she clutched the liquor to her chest as if it were a fragile baby rabbit.
“Excuse me,” Bellamy mumbled and moved to step around the stranger once he’d released her arms.
“Sure you want to do that?” he asked, stopping her in her tracks.
His rough, deep voice made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She looked up and, oh boy, she shouldn’t have because he was so very pretty. A full head taller than her, with broad shoulders, dark-brown hair that was long overdue for a trim and a smile that could stop city traffic. His eyes were the unusual gray shade of building storm clouds with tiny faint lines fanning out from the corners. Lovely lips too, full and soft looking, even if they were currently curved in amusement over her lack of grace. There was just enough bristle on his jaw that it would make her face nice and tingly if he kissed her.
Whoa, what? Jesus, Bellamy, he asked you a question.
“I’m very sure I want to do you.” That gorgeous smile grew wider the same instant she realized her verbal goof. “Oh no—I meant this!” The floor could open up now and swallow her whole. She pointed at the bottle. “I want to drink this until my eyes cross and I can’t feel my head.”
His laughter was like fingertips gliding up her spine, as potent as the alcohol she held. And naturally, he would smell amazing. She was almost positive if she pushed her face to his throat and inhaled, her panties would melt right off and slide down into her boots.
Holy crap, she needed to get away from this guy pronto.
Then his hand was being offered. Bellamy considered it as if it were a rattlesnake. If she touched him, no doubt the contact would cause an immediate chemical reaction inside her body, a violent collision of lust and stupidity that she didn’t have the strength to extricate herself from tonight.
But then again, perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.
“I’m Eli,” he said.
Bellamy slid her hand into his and lied so easily it was scary. “Clover.”
His smile flashed on, then off, then on again, and it took all she could do not to laugh too. “No shit?”
She faked offense. “That was my beloved aunt’s name.”
The smile crumpled and the hand that still held hers pulled free. He held both of them up in front of him, palms out, looking genuinely contrite. “I’m sincerely sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your aunt. Or you. It’s just that I’ve never met anyone named Clover before. It’s very…unique.”
Try being named Bellamy.
“It’s ridiculous,” she said, lifting her chin. “But I adored my aunt, so I carry it proudly.”
She was going straight to hell for this. If her aunt were actually dead, she’d be laughing her ass off from wherever she’d landed. As it was, she was more than likely enjoying a cocktail of her own with Bellamy’s uncle in their RV, somewhere near a beach in Florida. And her name was Margaret.
“Let me make it up to you,” Eli said, reaching for the tequila still cradled in the crook of her left arm. “How ’bout I buy you dinner, then afterward we’ll drink a toast or three to your sweet aunt?”
Bellamy clamped her fingers around the neck of the bottle when he tried to take it from her, engaging him in a mild game of tug of war. “Who said anything about her being sweet? For all you know, she could’ve bitten the heads off live chickens.”
Eli let go, propping his hands on his narrow hips, sighing and shaking his head at the floor. “This is not going how I planned.”
She nearly dropped the bottle, which would be a true tragedy because she still might have to pay for it and miss out on all of its wonderful narcotic benefits. “Planned?”
“Let’s start over.” He drew a deep breath. “I spotted you today at the rodeo behind the chutes. After that, I might as well’ve been watching corn grow in the arena because my eyes kept drifting back to you. But when I tried to find you between events, you’d disappeared. Then come to find out, we’re staying at the same motel. I just happened to be grabbing stuff out of my truck when I saw you crossing the parking lot headed in this direction. So I followed you here and now I’m stepping all over my tongue and your feelings trying to—”
Bellamy placed one finger across his lips, even though she could listen to that sexy drawl all night long. Her insides were a big gooey mess over his surprising admission as it was. “Eli, stop.” She handed him the bottle. “Buy me a drink.”
* * * * *
An hour later, she was well on her way to being tipsy after doing several shots out of standard motel-issue plastic cups. Had it not been for Eli raiding the snack machine of nearly everything it contained, she would’ve gotten there a lot faster.
Candy wrappers and empty chip bags littered the metal picnic table outside Bellamy’s poolside room. The motel was ancient and cheap, but it was clean and far enough off the interstate to avoid major traffic noise and traveling families. It was a cool, clear, early October night, and since the pool wasn’t heated, they had plenty of privacy. No screaming kids or nearly naked couples bobbing in the over-chlorinated water. The slider off the back of her room was open and she’d tuned the television to a channel that played country music 24/7, keeping the volume low enough that it wouldn’t disturb her neighbors, yet her and Eli could still hear it.
He sat next to her, his long jean-clad legs propped in one of the spare chairs, booted feet crossed at the ankle. The sleeves of his cream-colored western shirt were rolled back a few turns, revealing tan forearms dusted with dark hair. Every time he moved his wrist, Bellamy’s gaze fixated on that exposed strip of flexing muscle and thick bone, and her heart thumped a little harder.
And good heavens, could a simple western shirt be any sexier? She could already hear the sound of those pearl snaps popping apart at her urging, one by one. See the soft fabric slide off his wide shoulders to reveal the hard, sculpted body beneath. Feel the warmth of his tanned skin beneath her palms and the sound of his breathing escalate as her hands drifted down his torso toward his belt buckle.
From the look of his weathered boots and the calluses she’d felt when they shook hands earlier, that impressive physique was earned the old fashioned way, through hard manual labor, which only made him hotter.
Eli was a smooth-talking Southern farm boy fantasy come to life. Probably a once-in-a-lifetime lay for a broke, over-stressed, career-oriented, seduction-challenged woman like her.
In addition to the tequila, he’d bought a six-pack of beer for himself, and he was tapping the mouth of a brown bottle against his bottom lip while he studied her face. The calculating grin he wore was lethal, the wicked look in his eyes promising.
Bellamy knew where this attraction between them was headed, and the trip was short. About eight steps, to be exact. All it needed was a little encouragement from her. Where before she’d wanted to get blitzed out of her mind to numb the thought process, now she would rather keep some of her wits about her so she’d remember every tiny detail come tomorrow.
One-night stands weren’t her thing, but getting lost in Eli for a few hours was a much better alternative to hitting the bottom of a bottle hard. No headache and queasy stomach tomorrow morning, just a few mild regrets more than likely, but she’d take the bad with the good. And it would be good, no doubt about it. Lust burned as hot in his gaze as it did in her belly. The question was simply how long would it take before they gave in and landed on that mattress in a tangled, desperate heap.
“So, cowgirl,” he said. He couldn’t say Clover without grinning or stumbling over the word, and he had no idea how fitting the nickname “cowgirl” was going to be in a few weeks.
A couple of times she’d almost caved and told him her real name, but that felt too intimate, even though she was fully prepared to give him her body. Something told her the sound of her name on his tongue would settle somewhere deep inside her, where it would hurt to recall later. And she would surely remember Eli long after this night was over.
“What were you doing behind the chutes at the rodeo today? You had credentials, but I didn’t see you participate in any of the events.”
“I thought we said no personal questions?”
“I never agreed to that.”
“No personal questions,” she said.
“You already told me you aren’t married. That’s personal.”
“No, that was a prerequisite for us having drinks and a private conversation outside my open motel room door.” Eight short, inevitable steps from a bed.
“But that entails a certain amount of trust too. We could both lie.”
“Did you?”
“No,” he said, and she believed him. “But still…”
“I didn’t either, Eli, and my gut says I can trust you.” His slow, cocky grin made her own smile return. “Plus, I texted your name and tag number to a friend of mine in case you strangle me with the phone cord later.”
He grabbed his chest, wincing. “Jesus, woman, you sure know how to hurt a guy.”
Bellamy switched to the bottle of water she’d brought outside with her. “Oh please. You’ve got heartbreaker written all over you. I’m surprised you’re not out partying with your buddies at one of the local bars, trolling sad buckle bunnies in need of comfort after not scoring themselves a bull rider.”
“Not gonna lie. I might’ve done that very thing, until I saw you stompin’ your way to the liquor store with a frown on that beautiful face, which was a damn shame. I figured I had one chance. If you shot me down, I’d tuck my tail between my legs and go drown my sorrows with my friends.”
She shook her head. “If I shot you down, there’d be a hundred more girls ready and willing to take my place.”
He leaned closer, lowered his voice. “But you didn’t, and now look at us, gettin’ cozier than biscuits and honey. At the rate we’re goin’, I’ll be proposin’ over breakfast.”
Scratching at the label on her water bottle with a thumbnail,
she forced the butterflies in her stomach to behave. She shouldn’t like Eli this much after spending less than two hours in his company. Saying goodbye in a few more was already a weirdly uncomfortable thought to entertain.
Metal chair legs scraped as he dropped his feet to the concrete and stood. She peered up at him, wondering what he was going to do next. Hopefully toss her over his shoulder and haul her to bed.
Instead, he held out his hand, his voice somber when he spoke. “Dance with me, cowgirl.”
Her legs were shaky as she straightened from the chair, but Eli’s arm sliding around her waist steadied her.
She’d only thought the pull between them was strong when he was sitting three feet away. Being snugged against his warm, solid frame from chest to thigh was like closing an electrical circuit. A low-level wave of desire pulsed throughout her body, radiating heat beneath her skin at all their shared contact points.
The large hand splayed at the waistband of her jeans kept their lower halves pressed together while his left hand took her right and curled it against his chest. Their booted feet interlaced like gear cogs. For a moment, she couldn’t discern the music over the sound of blood rushing through her ears in time to her thudding heartbeats. She focused and picked up the low bass line of the song, using it to find a rhythm. There was no need. The seductive sway of Eli’s hips and the hard, hot evidence of just how much he wanted her branding her hip was enough to keep her moving in a slow tempo.
When she tipped her head back to look at his face, his eyes were darkened shadows, but she knew they were trained on her mouth. She could feel it like a physical touch, making her jaw relax and her lips part. A soft sigh of longing oozed from her throat.
Her breasts felt ripe and heavy inside the cups of her bra. The abrasiveness of his day-old beard would feel amazing on her sensitive flesh, her nipples and throat, her inner thighs. His scent—woodsy and tinged with a hint of male—made her want to bury her face in the open collar of his shirt.