Hitched

by Pippa Grant

  She snort-laughs. “Oh, please. What have you been right about lately? Today for example?”

  “I was mostly kidding,” I say as I follow her inside. “But I was right about going to bingo with you. Brilliant idea, that one.”

  She hums beneath her breath as she climbs up on the top rung of the wooden gate on our left. “True. We put on a good show. And it was fun.”

  I catch the back of her tee shirt as she leans over to check on the pen of mama goats, most of which are already asleep. She glances over her shoulder, casting my hand an amused look.

  “Just making sure you don’t fall in,” I say.

  She arches a brow. “I do this every night. Haven’t fallen in yet.”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  “If I did take a tumble, the worst that could possibly befall me is a good licking from worried mama goats.” She smiles. “But I appreciate the concern.”

  “My pleasure,” I say, reluctantly releasing my grip on her tee as she climbs down and starts across the barn, scanning the other pens as we go. “So you have to pen the males separate from the females and the babies?”

  “Yeah. I separate the mamas and babies at night so I can get milk from the mamas in the morning. The bucks are separate from everyone else and the other bucks or they get aggressive with each other. I do my best to make sure each buck has a fixed male friend to sleep with overnight, though. Goats are social creatures and get lonely, but I’m trying to keep the herd a manageable size so I can’t just pen them together and let ’em go at it.” She sighs. “Though honestly, sometimes keeping the bucks away from the ladies feels like my full-time job.”

  “Randy suckers, huh?”

  She rolls her eyes. “So randy. Zeus has devoured three fences in the past year. He’s that determined to get to whichever doe is currently in heat. He’s horrified more than one group of school kids trying to mount the ladies.” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Half the babies are his.”

  “Shouldn’t have named him Zeus. Clearly gave him a god complex. Next boy goat gets named Brian. Or Greg.”

  She grins. “Kevin.”

  “Nigel.”

  “Yes, Nigel, that’s perfect,” she says with a laugh. “Next batch of boy babies, they’ll all be Nigel. I’m sure that will solve the randy problem in no time.”

  Doubtful. My name could be Nigel Periwinkle Manboobington the 3rd, and I’d still chew through a fence to get to Hope. I’m that desperate to touch her, a fact I’m sure is going to make getting to sleep tonight as hellish as it was last night.

  But at least tonight, she’ll head to bed without hating me.

  It’s a small victory, but definitely a start in the right direction.

  She stops beside the last stall and looks in on the animals. “But these boys don’t need to be Nigels. They’re as sweet as they come, and the baby goats adore them. The kids follow Chewy everywhere. I can’t hardly keep them apart. Probably because they know he watches over them, keeping the predators scared away.”

  Two fluffy alpacas are snoozing snuggled together in the hay on the far side of the pen. “You know Chewpaca, of course.” She points to the larger animal on the right before shifting her finger to the left. “And that’s Too-Pac, his new best buddy.”

  “Nice. So alpaca boys don’t fight?”

  “Oh, they can, but luckily these two get along really well. And alpacas can actually die of loneliness, so it’s important that Chewpaca has a friend. Too-Pac is a little younger and naturally submissive, so I’m sure that helps.” She glances up at me, a mischievous smile on her face. “Once the pecking order has been established, animals almost always calm down and get along. People too, I’ve found.”

  I return her grin. “Is that right?”

  “Yes.” She turns, leaning back against the gate as she lifts her chin. “So I expect we’ll be fine from here on out.”

  “Yeah?” I brace a hand on the wood beside her head. “Now that you’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m your alpha alpaca?”

  She laughs softly, her grin spreading to take up her entire face, sending a surge of awareness rushing through me. “Oh, please. It’s clear that I’m the alpha alpaca. I have a much fluffier, more glorious pelt.” She pats my chest through my tee shirt, her fingers warm despite the cool spring night. “But that’s okay. I like beta males.”

  I try to stop smiling and put on a faux angry face, but my lips refuse to cooperate. “I am not your beta, woman. I’m an untamed man-beast who eats rocks for breakfast and spits nails for lunch.”

  “Because that makes sense.”

  “Go on. Say it. You’re my alpha alpaca, Blake. That’ll be your fourth nice thing about me today.”

  She laughs again, her fingertips trailing down my chest nearly to my belt buckle before she pulls her hand away, making me fifty percent harder with that one simple touch. Pretty soon I’ll be giving Dildo Shaggins a run for his money.

  Maybe I should have taken him inside, after all. Made more room in my pants.

  “Personally,” she says, “I prefer a man who’s okay with his woman taking the lead.”

  His woman. Just hearing her say those two words together makes me want her even more. Want her to be mine. My woman.

  My Hope and my hope.

  Capital and lowercase.

  She makes me feel things I haven’t felt in so long, dare to wish for something more than a workaholic life spent chasing professional success so hard I barely have the energy to shower by the time I’m finished for the day, let alone go looking for love.

  But that’s because I haven’t wanted love, not really.

  I already found it four years ago, and some stubborn part of my heart refuses to let go of that dream, the one that ends with Hope and me waking up in the same bed every morning for the rest of our lives.

  Just because she wasn’t ready four years ago doesn’t mean I wasn’t. We were great friends growing up and all it took was one night, seeing her in a different light, for me to want so much more. To want it all.

  I bring my free hand to the other side of her head, trapping her between my arms while I lean closer, smile falling away as I whisper, “So where would you lead me, Miss Alpha? If I handed you my reins?”

  Her tongue slips out to tease across her lips as her gaze drops to my mouth, leaving little doubt that she wants to be kissed as badly as I want to kiss her.

  “Nowhere in particular,” she murmurs. “At least not right now. Just like to know I’ve got the option.”

  “Liar,” I counter. “I think you know exactly where you want to go. And what you want me to do to you when we get there.”

  Her chest rises and falls faster. “Blake,” she whispers, my name a warning and a confession and a plea for mercy all wrapped up in one.

  I tip my forehead closer to hers. “Just tell me what you want. Because I promise, whatever it is, I want to give it to you. I like making you happy a hell of a lot more than making you hate me.”

  “I’ve never hated you.” Her breath rushes out, caressing my lips, turning a wheel inside of me another crank, until the tension is almost unbearable. “I’ve never hated you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Of all people, I should know better. But—never mind. I just want…”

  “Yes?” I prompt after the silence stretches on for a beat. I want to ask why she should know better, but I get the feeling that’s not where I should press right now.

  She’ll tell me when she’s ready.

  “I mean, I don’t want…” Her head tips back and her nose brushes against mine.

  She moans softly, a sound that echoes through me, making me ache to kiss her, crush her body to mine, show her right here on the floor of the barn how much I want to give her pleasure.

  But I’ve fallen into this trap before.

  I’m not going to push. I’m going to wait until Hope asks for it, begs for it. I want her to own this decision, to own how much she wants me too, for once in our fraught personal his
tory.

  “Tell me, Mrs. O’Dell,” I say, my lips so close to hers that her body heat warms my skin. “I want to know what you want and don’t want and everything in between.”

  She sucks in a breath and ducks under my arm. “I can’t do this.”

  I spin to face her. “Why not?”

  “I just can’t,” she says, her cheeks pink and her gaze looking everywhere but at me. “I can’t keep making the same mistakes. People don’t change, no matter how much you might want them to.”

  “I disagree,” I say, but she’s already rushing on.

  “And it’s not fair to ask them to. Not when what they want is a perfectly fine thing to want. I mean, asking Kyle to quit making fun of me for dropping out of vet school is one thing. Or asking my parents to stop using me as a go-between.” She takes a step back, shaking her head faster. “But fair or not, no one ever changes. They say they will, and then they go right back to business as usual, like all the crying and begging and bargaining never happened in the first place. I just can’t do it. I can’t try to change knowing I’m doomed to fail, and so there’s no point in even trying.”

  My brow furrows. “I won’t make you cry, Hope. And you’ll never have to beg me for anything. Not ever.”

  Her throat works and her eyes begin to shine, but she still won’t look at me. “You’ve already made me cry. I just never let you know about it.”

  Her words break my damned heart. I’ve been so focused on my own pain over being rejected that I’ve completely overlooked hers. I’ve been a fucking asshole, and I’m ready to admit it. I’m ready to confess and ask for forgiveness and beg for a second chance if that’s what it takes.

  But before I can say a word, Hope exhales sharply and points a finger over my shoulder. “Oh, watch out.”

  I start to turn, but there’s already a long, silky neck wrapped around mine, pinning me gently, but insistently, to the gate. “Hey, Chewpaca,” I grunt out, reaching up to scratch his ears. “Good to see you too, buddy. How’d you get all the way up here?”

  “His stall—it’s on a platform,” she says softly. “Helps me keep the straw dry for them.”

  He lets out a musical hum-purr that vibrates through my chest, easing a little of the misery there.

  I get both hands involved with the scratching. “Yeah, you’re a good boy. We’ve got to keep you here with your mama. You’d miss her, wouldn’t you? She’s pretty much the best.”

  Hope watches me with soft eyes as she strokes Chewpaca’s nose. “I am not the best, but I try to be a good person. Try really hard.” She smiles a sad smile. “And that’s why I can’t make you promises I can’t keep. And I won’t. Because you’re a good person too. And I really want you to be happy.”

  She leans in, kissing Chewpaca’s cheek before patting him on the neck. “Good night, Chewy.” She steps back, blowing me a kiss. “Good night, Blake. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “In the morning,” I echo, taking up Chewy petting duties as I watch her go. I wait until she’s out of the barn before I whisper to the alpaca, “I’m getting the feeling she thinks there’s no middle ground for us, friend.”

  Chewpaca hums again, but lower in his throat this time.

  “Exactly,” I agree. “There’s always middle ground if you’re willing to look hard enough. And if you don’t give up.”

  The alpaca shakes his head, tossing the long silk on his neck.

  “Don’t worry, buddy, I won’t,” I promise. “I’m not ready to give up on your mama. Not even close.”

  With one last ear scratch, I wish Chewy a good night and head for the house, where I set Dildo Shaggins in a position of honor by the French press—hoping it will make Hope laugh in the morning—and get ready for bed.

  I toss and turn on the couch for a solid hour, but finally exhaustion wins out and I fall into a restless sleep, only to be awakened at two AM by a shuffling silhouette shambling through the darkness like something straight out of a zombie flick.

  It’s Hope, I realize as my brain casts off the sleep fog.

  Of course it is.

  Who else would be wandering around her house in the middle of the night?

  But her arms hang loose at her sides and her head is cocked at an unnatural angle and I’m pretty sure she’s…

  “Hope? Are you awake?” I ask softly, my voice a gentle rumble in the dark.

  “Mmm,” she hums before drawling, “corn chips sippy cup.”

  I grin. “What was that?”

  “For the baby elephant,” she says, her words slurred.

  “Of course,” I say, cursing myself for plugging my phone in to charge in the kitchen. I’d never show it to anyone but her, but a video of this would make my entire year. “And where is the baby elephant now?”

  “Under the covers,” she mumbles. “He’s hiding.”

  “Why’s he hiding?”

  “Scared of the chickens. Gonna get him corn chips in a sippy cup. Make him feel better.” She sighs and her head lolls heavily to the other side. “But I’m soooo sleepy.”

  I draw back the sheet and quilt covering my legs. “Then crawl in and take a rest. The couch is big enough for two and I’m sure the baby elephant will be fine. The chickens went to bed too.”

  “Oh, good.” She shuffles forward and sit-falls onto the cushion beside me. “So tired. Couldn’t fall asleep. Too worried.”

  “What were you worried about, baby?” I ask, tucking the blanket chastely between us. I would never take advantage, but I don’t feel bad about having her here beside me. She’s safer tucked against me than sleep-wandering around the house banging into furniture in the dark.

  “Blake,” she sighs, turning onto her side and snuggling closer to my chest. “I just want to kiss him sooooo much.”

  My heart flips. “I’m pretty sure he feels the same way.” I hesitate, guilt warring with the need to put in a good word for myself while she’s in a receptive state of mind. Finally I add, “And kissing could be fun. Worth a try, I think. You should definitely kiss Blake tomorrow.”

  “No,” she mutters, her body going heavy against mine as she seems to sink into a deeper level of sleep. “No kissing. Don’t get to have fun. No fun for Hope. All alone. Just alone. And safe. And sad. Hugging the baby elephant.”

  I wrap an arm around her and kiss her forehead, falling a little more in love with her with every passing minute. That’s what this is, what it’s always been for me. I’m in love with this woman, who’s been in so much more pain than I ever realized.

  But not anymore. No more alone. No more sad.

  I’m going to show her that she can be safe in someone’s arms too.

  Mine.

  Twelve

  Hope

  * * *

  I wake up delicious.

  I am a sticky bun with extra icing.

  I am a hot fudge sundae with bonus caramel sauce.

  I am a two-hour massage followed by a sauna and a hot tub soak and finished off with a nap in a sea-side hammock.

  I am boneless with delight, perfectly warm and perfectly cozy and perfectly held.

  Held…

  My brow furrows, but I keep my eyes closed as I drift more fully into wakefulness and do a full body scan.

  Yes, that is indeed a big, strong arm wrapped around my ribs and nestled familiarly between my breasts. That is someone’s sleepy breath stirring the hair on the top of my head and someone’s long, lean, muscled form tucked against my back in the big spoon position. And that is most definitely someone’s morning whack of dawn pressed against the base of my spine.

  Despite all the years separating my first and latest experience with this particular sausage sunrise, I’d know it anywhere, even if Blake didn’t happen to be the only man presently sleeping in my house. His cock has personality and a…ahem…girthiness that is unparalleled in the rest of my experience.

  I squeeze my eyes even more tightly shut, mouthing a silent curse.

  Damn sleepwalking, damn my weak sense o
f self-preservation, and damn Blake for letting me crawl in with him when I’m guessing it was pretty clear I was not operating consciously.

  Damn him for feeling so damned good.

  For holding me so damned perfectly.

  And for possessing such damned fabulous slumber lumber.

  I fully intend to read him the riot act—and set forth some very firm ground rules about how to handle a sleepwalking incident should it happen again—but first to escape with as much of my dignity intact as possible.

  Moving stealthy like a ninja, I circle my fingers as far as I can around his wrist and lift the dead weight of his arm just high enough to give me room to slip under. I wiggle forward, centimeter by torturous centimeter, but I’m still several inches from the edge of the couch when a husky voice murmurs, “Leaving so soon?”

  I curse beneath my breath and release his arm like it’s made of molten lava. He moves his hand to my hip, squeezing it through the covers with a familiarity that feels lovely.

  Unfortunately, wondering what the hell I said to him last night while I was sleep drunk feels equally shitty.

  I hate not being in control like that. Especially when it puts me at someone else’s mercy.

  “Nothing happened,” he says. “I just offered you a safe place to lie down with the covers between us. I was worried you might hurt yourself if I let you head off on your own.”

  My irritation evaporates in the warmth of his sweetly-intentioned words, but I’m still mortified, and will continue to be so until I know—“How bad was I? Did I say anything I need to apologize for?”

  “No, not at all,” he says, squeezing my hip again. “You didn’t say much, actually. Just that you were really sleepy.” He hesitates for a second before adding with laughter in his voice, “And something about getting some corn chips for a baby elephant in a sippy cup.”