His head tilts in the direction of the dogs. “I’ll go check it out.”
“I’ll come too and get a sandwich before making my way back to watch things here.”
“Everything will be all right if you leave it already?”
“Yeah, I won’t stay gone for too long.”
He nods, grabbing the shotgun on our way out, and I follow, closing the heavy door and securing the lock behind us.
“Where’s Dallas?” I ask after a beat of walking.
“Headed back to his place. He forgot his phone and didn’t realize it until we were already halfway down the property line. He’s coming back, though, especially since we saw those tracks.”
“Damn.” A sigh escapes as the white vehicle comes into my sight. It’s her again. Maybe she’s returned for her bowl this time and will be on her way quickly.
As we near, I can see that I was right. It’s Shyla after all. I was silently hoping someone else owned a truck that looked like hers. She’s standing outside, next to her truck petting my dogs, and of course, they’re eating the attention up. Some guard dogs they make—bunch of spoiled pups.
“She can’t seem to get enough of you. Maybe you ignoring her isn’t working like you think it is.” He snickers, amused with my scowl as I stare in her direction.
“Hmm,” I mumble and draw in a deep breath, then exhale, blowing the air through my teeth. “Not sure what else to do with her at this point. Ignoring her and throwing her in the pond didn’t seem to work like I’d hoped.”
“Go roll around in the barn with her. Maybe that’s what she’s after.”
“Not happening.”
I can’t stop from flicking my eyes toward the barn. Thankfully, Nate misses it. Shyla and I have had fun in there before, but I won’t admit that to my brother. That’d just give him more fuel to tease me with.
“I’m just saying, you may as well take advantage of it while she wants you. When was the last time you were laid, bro? Your dick’s going to shrivel up like an old man’s.” He cackles at my expense. Asshole.
“That’s none of your damn business.”
Too long ago, that’s when. And not because I haven’t been offered, but none of them have done much of anything as far as stirring my dick up. I think it’s kind of pointless to have sex with someone if they can’t make your cock twitch with anticipation. I wonder what Shyla really wants? Would she go to these lengths just for a sale or does she need a quick fuck?
“Hey, Shyla!” Nate calls, smiling and waving like they’re old buddies.
“Hi,” she replies with her own little flutter of her fingers. I wonder if she recognizes him. “You’re all grown up, Nate Owens!” she says a moment later, answering my silent question.
“Yes, ma’am, I am. You looking for any ol’ Owens to play with?” He smirks, making her blush.
“No, uh, I stopped by to speak to Clyde.”
“I see.” He clicks his tongue. “That’s just too bad. You ever get tired of him, you can hunt me down. I bet we’d have lots of fun together.” The ass flirts with her, and as much as it irritates me, I’m pleased to hear her shoot him down immediately.
“Nate…” I warn, drawing out his name and his hands fly up in surrender.
“I’m headed in the house. You two enjoy yourselves.” He winks, the little shit stirrer. “And Clyde, be easy on that one. I think you could break her if you’re too rough.” He winks at her next, clearly enjoying every minute, and I huff with a half-assed eye-roll.
I was always easy with Shyla. She’s like five foot nothing, and I’m six foot six, same height as my father was. The woman barely reaches my nipples with the top of her head, if that. She was flexible though—that I can’t forget no matter how hard I push myself to.
“Shyla?” Grumbling, I come to a stop in front of her with my arms folded, my usual broody expression firmly in place. Nate has images running through my mind now, exactly what I didn’t want to happen around her.
“Hi, Clyde.”
My eyebrow rises in response, not saying anything, just waiting to see if she’ll admit what she wants and then be on her way out of here. She left so easily before. I don’t know why she keeps coming around. I can’t let her suck me back in like she did when I was a kid.
“Nate is so big! I mean he was always tall, like you, but he’s filled out. I can’t get over how big he is and then Tyler…they’re men now.”
“They are.” I nod. Shorter than me, but they can hold their own, no doubt. Lord knows they eat like freaking pigs. They better be large men with how much meat and veggies they put away.
“You did good, Clyde. You should be proud of them.”
“I am.”
Her eyes flick over my torso. “I…uh…wow…you uh…you still work out, huh?”
I glance down to see what she means and realize I don’t have a shirt on. I’d taken it off in the shed when I started dripping sweat and hadn’t stopped to put it back on. I was in too much of a hurry to see who was here.
“I work around here.” I gesture to the barn with my hand. Not that it matters because she doesn’t look, only gapes at me.
“I can see that,” she whispers watching a sweat droplet travel down my chest then licks her lips. Her staring at me makes it hard to breathe. I wish she’d ramble on like she usually does to distract me.
It’s sunny and beautiful outside today, and it’s not doing anything to cool me off after being around the fire for the moonshine. Seeing her like that doesn’t do anything to stop the rising heat inside my groin either. She’s gorgeous. And that alone pisses me off.
Little wet rivulets of sweat travel down his tan, muscular frame, and my mouth waters in response. How on earth can Clyde Owens look even better now than he did back when he was playing football? He still has the stocky build with shoulders as wide as a fridge, but the rest of his body has filled out in places I never realized could even use filling. They were beautiful before, but now…utter perfection.
His pecs are well-defined with a trickle of dark, blond hair leading down to the outline of his abs. They aren’t smack-dab in your face, but there’s no doubt in my mind that his stomach is hard under that sexy belly. And below that, Lord help me. His jeans hit his hips in just the right way. They aren’t loose either; they fit him snugly, encasing his tree trunk thighs. I remember those powerful thighs and how they’d spread my legs wide when they were moving between them.
He has a tattoo now too. That wasn’t there before. It’s a thick, black, tribal looking design, spanning over his left arm and shoulder, leading farther down the left side of his body. It looks as if it carries on over part of his groin as well. I wish I could see it, maybe trace it with my finger or tongue…whichever he’d let me use. I’ve never been one for the inky darkness on skin before, but the art on his flesh complements each dip and curve, making him stand out even more.
Blinking, I swallow deeply before meeting his penetrating stare. There’s a decent possibility that I’m drooling and just haven’t realized it quite yet. That would be mortifying, but the man has me in a daze.
His eyes flicker with amusement, even though the rest of his face is stern. His eyebrow shoots up, waiting for something.
“Huh?” I manage to mutter the word.
“You’ve seen it all before,” he gruffly reminds me.
He’s right. I’ve seen everything. “Oh, I know,” I find myself murmuring, my finger pointing, unashamed. “But not like that.” I lick my lips, just imagining what he must taste like. He’s so male.
“Like what?”
Blinking again, I attempt to regain some of my self-control, although, around this man, it’s no easy feat. He has just the right amount of dark blond scruff on his cheeks too. Makes me want to scratch my fingernails through it. And that straw cowboy hat—I could just imagine him wearing it and nothing else over that sweaty, glistening body.
Maybe the cowboy boots as well. Yep, he can keep the boots and hat and nothing else. Wait, what was I d
oing?
“Shyla?” His deep voice is raspy, like a caress right between my legs.
“I’m sorry.” I physically shake my head trying to clear it and meet his hazel irises. “What were you saying?”
“I asked why you are here—again.”
“Oh, yeah!” My eyes grow wide, remembering why I came over here in the first place. I mean it was for Clyde, but not to stand and ogle at him all day, although seeing him shirtless is a huge bonus. Like a reward for my efforts. “I brought you something,” I say finally.
“You brought me something? I still have your bowl…” He trails off, his thumb hiked in the direction of the house.
“You can keep it.” I wave him off, rambling, “I have more, but that’s not why I’m here.” Throwing the truck door open, I hoist up on the side step and reach into the back seat for his latest gift.
“What is it?” His eyebrows pull together, and I flip the frame around so he can see it better.
“It’s a wreath for your front door. Your favorite team, right?”
“Alabama?” He glances over the colors and details. The tiny elephants I hot glued all over are my favorite part.
“You love them, right?”
“I appreciate them helping Tyler with his football career, but we’re a Patriots house. Ty plays for them now.” I swear he stands taller as he says it, no doubt proud of his brother. Clyde practically raised Tyler; I can only imagine how he must feel about his younger brother’s accomplishments.
“Oh shoot, I didn’t think of that.” Biting my bottom lip, my gaze hits the ground. I was really hoping for another reaction like the fruit salad. I never thought to change it since Ty went pro; of course, they’d be supporting the Patriots over Alabama.
“I…uh, I still like it though. I mean, it’s the thought that counts, right?” he says after a moment, and my disappointment lifts a little.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, it’s real nice, Shyla. Thanks, but why did you bring it?”
“I made it for you.”
“You made it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to see you smile.”
His eyes grow thoughtful for a moment, and then he nods, rewarding me with a small grin. It’s not what I was going for. I wanted to see his pearly whites full of happy, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Been a long time since we had one of these for the door,” he comments, and I nod.
“I kind of figured. I thought it might make it feel a little more like home for you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I smile at him, hoping he’ll at least ask me out to dinner or something because of this.
“Well, if that’s all, I have work to do,” he mutters after a moment.
“Oh, okay.” I bite my lip again, not wanting to leave just yet. I have to think up another thing to do to see him again, and it’s not as easy as I first imagined.
It’s extra hard to do anything when the man’s standing there looking like that anyhow. I could just stare all day and not say a word, and I’d be just fine. “You need any help?” I don’t know where that came from; I’d probably be more in his way than anything.
“I got it; besides, don’t you have work to do as well?”
“The benefits of my job, I pretty much work whenever I want to or whenever a client needs me.”
“And you’re not here to pressure me into selling again? That’s not what all this is about, is it?”
I was wondering when he’d ask, or if he ever would. He’s the polite type but he’s also never been a bullshitter, and that’s what I’ve been doing—bullshitting around. “No, I’m not here for that, I promise. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”
He nods, and I hand over the wreath.
“So I guess I’ll see you later?”
“See ya around, Shy.”
My old nickname falling from his lips has my heart speeding up, and before I can stop myself, I fumble out, “Why don’t you let me cook you dinner sometime?” It’s too soon, I know it, but I can’t help myself. I miss him.
His shoulders stiffen, and after a moment of silence he mutters, “Thanks, but I enjoy my cooking. Bye, Shyla.” And he shuts me out as easy as that.
Tears form in my eyes as I spin toward my truck before he can see them. He shot me down so quick that it stung my pride a bit. What the hell do I do now? How do I get through to him after all this time?
“Bye, Clyde,” I reply in a whisper and close the door.
He probably didn’t hear me, but maybe that’s for the best. I need to regroup and regain my composure. The no shirt thing threw me for a loop and also being wrong on his favorite team. It’s something I was so certain of, and then turning me down for dinner as well got me all types of wobbly inside.
I need to be the one surprising him and catching him off guard, not the other way around. Since when does seeing a man’s stomach make me practically comatose anyhow? Since Clyde Owens grew up, apparently.
Maybe it’s time I step my own game up a bit.
Yep, that’s exactly what I’ll do. The next time I see that man, I won’t be the Shyla he’s used to in old, tight jeans and my favorite boots. Nope, I’ll show him just what grown-up Shyla looks like, and I know exactly the black skirt and stilettos to do it in.
If common sense was lard, most people wouldn’t be able to grease a pan.
—Southern Grandma
She brought me a wreath. Not sure what to think of it. A wreath is completely random and out of the blue. Is it supposed to mean something? Do I have to hang it on my front door now?
“What’s that?” Dallas gestures as he comes up the front porch steps.
“A wreath.”
“For the door or something?”
“Yeah…don’t ask,” I grumble and he shrugs. Nate’s going to love this; something else for him to dip his nose into. “You see anything out on the south side?”
“Some tracks.” He shrugs, meeting my stare, his eyes nearly tucked under his ball cap.
“That’s what Nate said. You think it’s anything?”
“Not sure. I brought my dad’s rifle with me in case it is though. Figured it’d be smart for me and Nate to both have guns on us, just in case it’s not the friendly type of visitors we run into.”
“Good. I don’t want anyone on the property that shouldn’t be here.”
“Is the lady in the white truck one of them?”
“Just leave her to me, cousin. You and Nate worry about watching the ranch while I’m preoccupied. And don’t get piss-ass drunk while you’re out there.” The last thing I need is them getting drunk and accidently shooting each other. I’d ring Dallas’ neck.
He nods, and we head inside. I could use a sandwich, and after Shy’s visit, a cold beer or six. The woman was only here for a few minutes and already has me wanting to drink. I rarely drink, so that speaks volumes about my feelings at the moment. And I have to figure out what the hell to do with this girly wreath she made. I appreciate the gesture, but do I really have to hang it on the front door now?
The entire time I was standing in front of her, she was staring at me like I was a slice of pie. When she licked her lips, I damn near lost it. Half of me wanted to beat on my chest like fucking Tarzan; the other half was telling me to yank her into my arms and just kiss her already.
I can’t kiss her. Hell, I can’t even touch her. I made a promise to myself the night she turned down my marriage proposal that I’d never allowed her to get close to me again.
Now, I’m thinking about how her lips look with the plum tinted lip gloss and the shit she’s wearing. I had finally reached a point in my life where she wasn’t on my mind every time I turned around, and now the woman is back. It’s like she could sense it and decided to screw with me some more. At this rate, I don’t know if I’ll ever escape her.
I wonder if Nate’s right. Maybe I need a woman after all to scratch an it
ch. I should go into town and ask someone on a date. We could smile, eat, and maybe even fuck. It would most likely get back to Shyla, and just maybe it’ll get her to stop showing up and bringing me gifts. My life can go back to normal, the way it was before she decided to put me through this current hell.
It was easier when she was pestering me to sell my land ‘cause her nerve pissed me off beyond belief. With her busily attempting to be nice, it’s like she’s busting out the big guns. I’ve been drawn to this woman ever since the moment I first laid eyes on her at twelve years old. Those feelings only intensified over time, and I’m damn sure not confident that I’m strong enough to keep shooting her down, even if I know it’s the smart thing to do.
For years I waited until I had enough courage to let her know I cared for her. She either always had a boyfriend or else I was too busy with sports and school. When everything finally aligned and we got together, it was like fate had finally gotten its wish. But then she turned down my proposal and moved away, so clearly, I was wrong. Her popping up now isn’t fair to my heart or sanity in the slightest.
“You okay?” Nate asks as I finish chewing the last bite of my sandwich, Shyla still floating around my head.
“Yep.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Clearly not,” I sigh and down a bottle of water. She gets me flustered, and I suddenly feel dehydrated, like she burns me extra hot.
“All right then.” He gives up and goes back to watching Rocky III with my cousin. I’m surprised he didn’t bring up the wreath, but I’m sure he will later. It’ll be more ammunition for his taunting. If only there wasn’t history with her, I’d take his advice and just fuck her already.
Tossing my paper towel in the trash, I head out the door with an ice cold beer. It’s time for me to get back to making money and attempt to forget about Shyla all over again.
Making my way down the stairs, bleary-eyed from shitty sleep, I hear rustling in the kitchen earlier than usual and find Nate digging around in the pantry. He’s probably looking for another box of his favorite cereal; the guy could practically live off it.
3 Times the Heat Page 6