by Em Petrova
That’s how I got here in the first place.
She turned for the barn and the horses heard her, eagerly snorting and shifting in their stalls for what they knew was coming. Today she had a wrinkled apple she’d found in a fruit basket in the kitchen and sliced it for them. She was just reaching the first mare’s stall when the low rumble of an engine reached her ears.
She stood and went back out, heart pounding in her throat and making her feel queasy. If someone had discovered she was hiding out here…
A truck came into view, trundling up the driveway. Aria clung to the door frame, keeping her head ducked out of sight in case.
In case of what? She couldn’t possibly run again. That was a child’s tactic, and she was not a child. Though she’d made the mistake once already, she wasn’t very proud of it.
A glance toward the house showed her Wheeler had stepped onto the porch. While he made his slow way down the steps, the truck pulled to a stop. A cowboy with a black hat climbed out, and she recognized him immediately as King Yates, Bellarose’s husband. Their wedding photos were plastered all over the world.
It was impossible to work with Bellarose and not take an interest in the woman’s life, though Aria was still quite shy with the other actors. Bellarose seemed to make more attempts than most to speak to Aria, almost taking her under her wing. Aria appreciated it more than she had ever revealed.
When King closed the truck door, he lifted a hand in greeting to Wheeler. The pair met halfway across the yard, and Aria inched out a bit to watch them. Wheeler threw a look her way but if he spotted her, he didn’t show it.
King hooked his thumb in his jeans pocket and Wheeler leaned on his crutch, taking the weight off his broken foot. She watched him closely, how he pulled at his hat brim as he talked. Did he even notice he did that? And how he turned every so often to look out over the mountain, as if he’d find some answer there.
Aria might be new to acting, but she was learning to watch people closely to gather mannerisms that would help her later in her role. Though currently, she didn’t find herself very challenged.
Another engine noise startled her, and she sucked in a breath as she stared at the drive. Another truck came over the rise, this one white. As that driver parked, King and Wheeler made their way toward the barn.
Heart pounding hard and fast, Aria wondered what to do now. She could stick around and meet King and this new guy, who she saw was the vet now that he took a toolbox from his truck and headed her way.
She wasn’t ready to rejoin the world just yet. She needed to remain hidden a while longer.
She slipped out the back into the fenced area and ducked under the rail. When the guys came in the front, she circled the building and made a break for the well-beaten path leading to the foothills. Wheeler must take regularly trail rides by this route, and she could see why it would be a beautiful ride.
Taking long strides and pulling in breaths of the fresh air into her lungs felt good, and before she knew it, she’d begun the climb. The trail forked off and she took the left branch. In seconds, the path grew steep. Wheeler couldn’t take the horses this direction. The exercise felt good and the blood pumping through her system helped clear her head a bit.
When she began breathing hard, she found an open spot to sit and curled her legs to her chest to enjoy the solitude.
She wondered what the vet had to say about the injury. She hoped the horse was making improvements. The thought of Gusto being put down gave her a sharp pang. It would be a hard blow to Wheeler if such a thing was necessary.
Also, would Wheeler tell King about her being on his ranch? He was right that she needed to tell people so they didn’t worry about her.
A thought occurred to her, and she pulled out her cell phone from her pocket. The battery was low and there was still no service here, so she switched it off and repocketed it.
She made a mental list of who to contact. Her parents, her producer, Dickson. Jason, of course… Bellarose? She’d hold off on that. She didn’t exactly have a close relationship with the woman, but the fact that she’d spent the night upset by Aria’s disappearance left a brick weight in her chest.
So yes, she’d contact Bellarose.
Resting her head on her knees, she thought of Jason and what he must be feeling. She had hurt him, and she felt awful. Everything about her actions left her aching and remorseful.
Everything since that moment had been much easier—working with Wheeler’s horses, helping him out. Maybe she was making amends for her mistakes, even in a small way.
Or I just plain ole like being here.
The wind started to cut through her top, and she got up. Back on the path, she considered what she’d do if King and the vet hadn’t left, but she didn’t need to decide because the trucks were gone when she entered the clearing.
She went up to the house and found Wheeler in the mud room, balanced on one foot and sans crutches, pulling clothes from the dryer into a basket on the floor.
Hearing her, he threw a look over his shoulder. “You could toss your clothes in the wash too.”
She glanced down at her grubby shirt and jeans she’d slept in twice and worked in plenty. “I’d love to, but what will I put on?”
“I got some clean sweats and T-shirts. Be big on you but get you through while yours are washed.”
“A shower sounds amazing.”
“Go on.” His voice was deep, rough. It sandpapered over her senses, leaving behind a ripple of awareness inside her.
Today he wore a black T-shirt and an open flannel over it, and he’d sliced the leg of a pair of holey denim jeans. Through a rip under the back pocket, she saw he wore red boxers. But the thing that was really getting to her, working under her skin in all the strange ways men had to entice a woman… was the fact that he hadn’t shaved today.
Sporting a thick black shadow on his jaw and upper lip, he had her twisting her fingers together.
He cast another look her way. “I got this. Why don’t you jump in the shower?”
“Too stinky for ya?” She laughed, only half kidding.
“I’ve spent years on roundup with guys who don’t wash in a month. The sweat of one woman’s not gonna affront my senses.”
She caught a gleam in his eye.
“You can tell me about the roundup when I get out. And what the vet said.”
“Will do.”
She left him and went into the 1980s bathroom. Turning on the water and shedding her clothes shouldn’t feel like such a delicious pleasure, but it kind of made her stop taking for granted the luxuries she had in life.
The hair and makeup artists, the wardrobe people and all those who washed her dirty clothes, did her dishes and put food in front of her, she was grateful for each and every one. She wasn’t spoiled as some celebrities were, but she never wanted to become that way either. She must make it a point to let them know how valuable their time was to her.
The thought of giving them little gifts too excited her when she returned to the set.
Not yet, but soon.
And Jason deserved an explanation and apology.
The bodywash she used smelled masculine and spicy, reminding her of all the guys in her life she’d spent time with, and she didn’t mind. She dug her fingers into her scalp to scrub her hair and then rinsed the shampoo from it. There was no conditioner, but she’d deal with the tangles.
After the shower, she felt more human. Looking at her discarded dirty clothes made her wrinkle her nose. No way did she want to put those back on. She wrapped herself in a towel and went to the door to call out to Wheeler for the sweats and T-shirt he’d mentioned, when there was a knock.
She cracked the door a couple inches.
He loomed there on crutches, holding a wad of clothes in one hand. His gaze traveled over her wet, tangled hair to the slope of her bare shoulders and down to the towel, banded tight above her breasts.
His gaze tumbled down the towel to her bare thighs. Lingered. Then sl
owly came back up.
Whoa. What is that?
Liquid warmth spread over her like a glaze of frosting over a cake fresh from the oven. At recognition of his interest, her core gave a throb.
“Here ya go.” His voice was more than gritty this time—it sounded as though he’d gulped a fifth of whiskey between doing laundry and coming to the bathroom door with clothes for her.
She reached out, one hand latched to the towel to keep it closed around her nudity.
A strange urge hit her. What if she just shoved back the door and dropped the towel? Let Wheeler push her up against the dated blue vanity and rub that beard scruff all over her?
He didn’t put the clothes into her hand, and she didn’t take them. They just stared at each other. Heartbeats passed while a new pulse took up residence between her thighs, leaving her skin sticky with her juices.
A trickle of a breath passed her lips. He ran his tongue across his own.
Suddenly, he shoved the clothes at her. “Get dressed.”
She fielded the clothes, nearly dropping them, and closed the door again. Leaning against the vanity, her heart tripping wildly, she whispered, “What was that?”
Never in her life had she felt a profound urge to give herself to a man. She was modest to the extreme, and it had taken Jason months of patience before she’d finally given into his advances.
She’d known Wheeler less than two days, and she was thinking about how it would feel for him to lift her onto the vanity edge and plunge his cock into her?
With shaking hands, she dropped the towel. Her nipples were distended and aching, and her clit in the same state. She hadn’t masturbated in a long time, but maybe she needed to in order to clear her thoughts of fantasies of Wheeler.
It didn’t help when she slid his big sweats over her bare pussy and knotted the strings to hold them in place. Even then, they sagged low on her hips. And his shirt smelled of fresh laundry and a hint of the owner. Both of these things only heightened her arousal.
By the time she brushed out her hair and toweled the droplets of water from the ends again, she barely had a grip on herself. She really had lost her mind, hadn’t she? First the Jason thing and now this?
* * * * *
Jesus Christ. Wheeler’s jeans were doing nothing to harness the erection he sported after getting a good eyeful of that gorgeous, damp and dewy woman clad in nothing but his towel.
Fuck, he wanted to storm back there, part her thighs and drop down and taste her. The slickness of her pussy against his tongue, hearing her throaty cries as he gave her orgasm after orgasm…
He smacked a palm off his forehead to snap himself out of it. It didn’t fucking help.
He plopped onto the footstool in the living room. Using a crutch, he nudged the laundry basket closer and began folding garments with rapid precision. Left, right, up, stack. Left, right, up, stack.
The sound of the bathroom door opening might as well have been a gunshot with the way he reacted, half coming off the footstool. Then he made the mistake of looking up to see Aria standing there wearing his sweats, loose and hanging off her rounded hips and his All American Rodeo T-shirt knotted at her waist. She cradled her clothes in one arm, and the action made her top ride up on that side to reveal more of that golden tan, freshly showered skin.
A glance at her clothing parcel just about gave him a fucking heart attack, because he caught the barest hint of lavender lace that must be her panties or bra.
Somebody call a priest. I have a confession to make for a sin I haven’t even committed yet.
Taking somebody else’s fiancé, spreading her out on his bed and fucking her for the next twenty-four hours solid was surely something he’d spend eternity in hell for.
His mind stuttered to a halt. Wait—she wasn’t somebody’s fiancé anymore, was she?
Hell, he was in the clear.
“I see you managed to move the basket.”
“Yeah, the damn crutches are good for somethin’.” He sounded ornerier than he felt, but that was just his very full, distended balls being squashed in his jeans.
“I’ll just put these in the wash.” She drifted off, and he had to twist to watch her go. God, those sweats were hardly staying in place. One move and they’d slip down to show the curves of what he imaged to be her bare cheeks.
Turning around again, he rubbed his hand over his face. What had he gotten himself into? All he did was find her asleep in the straw, answered her plea to stay a day or two and figure things out while helping him at a low point in his life. And now… now he was having filthy, dirty fantasies about her involving some rope and a lot of lube.
He managed to wad up a couple pairs of jeans in the bottom of the basket in the time she was gone. When she poked her head around the doorway, he looked up. Her hair was starting to dry in loose waves, making her look even more like a swimsuit model.
“Mind if I make that phone call now?” she asked softly.
“Of course not.”
“It’s long distance.”
“I can manage the bill.”
She shot him a smile and vanished again. He tried to focus on the laundry and then gave up and sat there, wishing he wasn’t laid up, the vet hadn’t told him it would take up to nine months to heal Gusto’s strained ligament and that he knew what to do with the woman using his phone.
A damn celebrity right here, hiding out from her world. Of course, he hadn’t known that from the start, but now he couldn’t help but feel he was doing something wrong in letting her stay.
When King and the vet both had commented on what good care Wheeler was taking of the horse’s injury, he’d felt damn bad about remaining silent on the matter. He wasn’t one to take credit for something he didn’t do, but Aria had been nowhere to be found when they entered the barn.
He wasn’t surprised really, finding her gone. He’d have to ask where she’d taken herself off to.
Plus, he didn’t like lying to King. His friend had come to hear what the vet had to say so he could help Wheeler out, and here Wheeler was keeping important information from him.
He hoped after Aria made her long-distance call that she’d make a few to the people who worked with her on the set and let them know she wasn’t curled up under a rock on the mountain with hypothermia from being in the elements for several days.
No, she’s here in my house, cooking and cleaning for me and wearing my T-shirt.
He got up and used the crutch to nudge the basket out of the way. His toes were looking better from propping his foot, even if he didn’t want to admit staying off it was best. Six more weeks of this would kill him. Somehow, he had to find a way to shove the thing into a cowboy boot and get on with his life.
A sniffling sound drew his head up and around. He stared at the place where Aria had disappeared. He couldn’t make out her words but he knew when a woman was emotional.
Shifting the crutches under his arms, he rocked forward to go to her and then stopped himself. She needed her privacy. But did she need a kind word, human comfort? He hadn’t realized he did until she showed up here.
“Bye, Daddy.” Her voice carried to Wheeler. He busied himself with punting the laundry basket around some more to appear that he wasn’t eavesdropping. When she entered the living room, her eyes were watery.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Apparently, the show’s producer released a statement this morning that I had been missing for twenty-four hours, and my parents were pretty freaked out.”
“Damn. It means the sheriff will be searching for you.”
“I’ve made a huge mess of things.” She twisted her fingers before her. “I’m not sure what to do or where to start.”
“I’ll handle the sheriff and he can tell the people you work with.”
She nodded. “I’d appreciate it. I never thought about how many people would be upset by my actions. I was only reacting. I felt caged, cornered, trapped.”
“Like a wild animal,” he fill
ed in.
She met his stare. “Exactly. I didn’t know what to do to get out of that situation, and I made a snap decision that I’m now regretting very much.”
Her tone of despair called out to him, and he swung himself forward, planting himself in front of her. “We all make radical choices at times.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
He chuckled. “I wasn’t always old before my time.”
She cocked her head. “Is that what you think of yourself?”
He considered what he’d said. “Guess I feel it’s circumstances or somethin’. Hell, I don’t know. We’re not talking about me—you’re projecting onto me.”
That brought a laugh from her, a tinkling, musical sound that gripped him hard. “Maybe I am projecting.”
“Okay, when a squirrel runs up a tree and gets cornered by a dog, what’s it do?”
Her brows shot up. “Jump?”
“Yep, to the next tree.”
“You’re telling me to run again? I wonder if your neighbor will enjoy my company as much?”
“No, I’m not telling you to run, and who said I don’t enjoy your company? I’m saying find a way to get out of the situation. First way is by calling everyone and tell them you’re somewhere safe, laying low for a week or so until—”
“A week?” Her eyes shone.
He stopped to look at her, face fresh and devoid of makeup, hair starting to dry around her temples.
“You’re saying I can stay for a week?”
“Well, King and the vet did say you did a fantastic job getting the swelling down on Gusto’s leg.” Though she had made something else swell a whole lot more, and Wheeler was even now suffering the effects of it.
“Will you really call the sheriff for me?”
“Yes, but you gotta make the rest of the calls.”
“Okay.”
They stared at each other. “I could use some coffee. Would you mind making a pot while I call the sheriff’s office?” he asked.
Ten minutes later, he had the situation under control. Search parties that were about to be called out were stopped in time, and he even was promised a hand of poker with the guys soon.