Bear sat on the tractor seat, waiting for the best moment of his day to happen.
He was only partly stewing on his confrontation with Sayer from last night. Partly thinking about how to fix up things with Thorne. A simple I’m sorry wouldn’t do it, not that Bear wanted to apologize. He wasn’t in the wrong.
But Thorne would never admit he’d overreacted. Sayer was right about that—Thorne was kind of a bully. It was all in service of the ranch, sure, but it was still true.
The door opened, and Bear’s heart felt like the sun, rising to meet a new day.
Pippa shut the door behind her quietly. Almost furtively. Like there was something inside that she didn’t want to let out.
“What’s up?” he asked as he climbed down from the tractor.
She started guiltily. For a moment she seemed to be chewing on the idea of telling him a lie. It hit him harder than it should have. But seriously, she’d told him about Sayer helping them. What had happened that would be worse than that?
Then her expression eased. Not entirely into relaxation or a smile, but she looked content with what she’d decided.
“My sister is here,” she said, searching his face.
“Yeah, I know.” His brows drew together. “Is she okay? Do you need a doctor? I don’t—”
Oh shit. She didn’t mean Lulu—she meant one of the others. Another sister was here, living in the house. There were three of them now.
He felt his face fall, his fingers go numb. Another sister had come. And just yesterday his family had gotten a past-due notice for the plans for the processing plant. It was why he’d spent most of the day going over the accounts. Why he’d been desperate enough to go to Sayer, who’d pretty much spit in his face.
His sheep herd was gone. There was no getting around it now. No other way to stop the impending collapse of the ranch’s finances.
And Pippa had another sister come here to live in the house that wasn’t theirs.
Bear hadn’t resented Pippa yesterday when he was going through all that, but this morning, hearing this, it ran hot and fast and metallic through him.
“She just visiting?” The sneer in his voice shocked even him. “Or does she have nowhere else to go?”
Pippa’s gasp sliced through him. Her eyes widened, the hollows wounded. “No.” So quiet, but it raked him like a lash. “She doesn’t have anywhere else either.”
For a long moment they were suspended like that, her in her hurt and him in his own. If he let it linger like this, it might just go on forever. Neither of them ever speaking to the other again. That was how those splits worked, how it had happened with Sayer. How it might happen with Thorne if Bear didn’t do something.
He couldn’t let that happen with Pippa.
“Sorry.” He ran his hand over his face. “I was… Is she okay?”
Pippa pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “As okay as she can be. She works—worked—as a personal assistant for someone and lived on their compound. I guess her boss decided she wasn’t going to pay her taxes, and the IRS decided that wasn’t cool.” She shrugged with one shoulder. “The IRS took everything, including her stuff. She can probably get it back, but she doesn’t know when.”
He could hardly believe what she was saying. “The IRS stole her things?”
Pippa gave him a look that clearly said, You naive idiot. “She was only an assistant. I doubt they even heard her when she told them the stuff was hers.”
“The family curse.” He’d thought her a little off when she’d said it. That she was being melodramatic. But now he might be starting to believe. He was a rancher, so he knew bad luck like the back of his hand, but the Crivelli sisters could teach him a thing or two about it.
Pippa nodded. Folded her arms. “You okay? You look…” One corner of her mouth curved. “Well, good, like always. But maybe a little stressed.”
He contemplated lying to her. He imagined he was wearing an expression similar to the one she’d had when she’d come out the door. Torn between an easy lie or the hard truth.
“We got a big bill for the plans for the processing facility.” It wasn’t as difficult to admit as he’d thought. “Well, the past-due notice for it.”
He considered telling her about Sayer but decided against it. No need to get her hopes up that there was a way out of this beyond the lawsuit.
“Oh.” Her head drooped, her arms tightening around herself. “Will you guys be okay?”
Would they? Probably once he’d sold off his sheep herd. Or maybe some payments would clear early. Or the grain supplier would send their bill late. “We’ll be fine.” His mouth twitched. “At least until the lawyer sends his bill next week.”
She lifted her head, caught his faint smile, gave him a bigger one in return. “I know someone who does great pro bono work.”
“Oh yeah? I hear he’s busy defending some sweet little thing from a big, bad rancher.”
Her chest rose on a sharp inhale. She said something that almost sounded like wolf, but it was too low for him to hear properly.
Bear, he wanted to say. Or rather, he wanted her to say, breathy and needing. She’d growled at him in the feedstore, and he’d wrapped his hand around hers—
“The goats.” Her voice had risen. “I need to milk. If you want to come with me.”
Right. The animals needed care. Bear was more than used to them coming before anything else in his life. “Sure.”
As they walked to the pen, Pippa’s shoulders hunched up, her attention going inward.
He resisted the urge to sling his arm around her, draw her close. “You sure you’re okay? You didn’t seem upset like this when Lulu came.”
“It’s harder with Allie because she’s the baby.” She cut him a quick glance, her eyes a flash of deepest brown. “Lulu and I are used to this. She shouldn’t be.”
That time he couldn’t stop himself—he caught her arm. “You shouldn’t be either.”
Her face lit with warmth, but it was watery, wobbly. “That’s nice to hear, but I can’t be crying when we get to the goats. Hecate will smell blood in the water, and who knows what she’ll do then.”
“I’ll protect you from her.” He meant more than just the goat, but he didn’t want Pippa to actually start crying. Really, she needed defending from him, not a goat. And yet he couldn’t keep away.
“Not even you could stand against that goat,” Pippa said. “She’s diabolical.” But there was clear affection there.
When they started walking again, she somehow maneuvered it so that her hand was tucked under his arm, her shoulder brushing his. Her shampoo smelled like flowers on steroids, and he wanted to bury his face in her hair even if it overwhelmed him. Especially then.
Too soon they reached the pen and he had to release her. He let her set up Artemis in the stand, watching in case she needed help. But while she wasn’t exactly accomplished, she was competent. She’d figured out a lot and was figuring out the rest. Which meant he didn’t need to put his hand between her shoulders to guide her and leave his hand there. A shame, really, but he kept his hands to himself.
She got the goat settled, arranged the bucket, and set her forehead against the goat’s side. “It works,” she said. “The forehead trick.” Her voice was muffled by the goat.
“It’s a good one.” He found an empty water bucket, turned it over to make a seat. The morning breeze was a sharp kiss on his cheeks. The birds were waking up, and the other goats were munching their hay, and Pippa was giving soft encouragement to Artemis. He linked his hands, let them hang between his knees, and simply enjoyed the moment. Most mornings, he was the one doing the work, no time to let things wash over him. Being with Pippa like this… he hardly ever got to do something like it.
“I have to find Allie a job,” she said, picking up their earlier conversation.
She can’t find her own job? But that felt like something Thorne might say. Bear didn’t want to say it.
“You said she was a personal assistant?” He wasn’t entirely clear on what that meant though. You picked up after rich people? Did whatever they didn’t want to? “Maybe somebody up at the resort might be looking for someone. They’re all rich up there.”
Pippa made a humming noise that was half approving, half considering—Good idea. I’ll think about that. “Being a personal assistant isn’t her passion though. Allie should be doing something that makes her light up.”
Bear wondered what Pippa’s passion was. He guessed it wasn’t working at the feedstore. “What makes her”—he couldn’t believe he was asking this—“light up?”
Her milking rhythm slowed. “She likes making people happy. She wants people to be at ease. And she’s shy.” Pippa cocked her head, her curls catching on the fabric of her shirt, stretching them out. The tension of not reaching out to release them was almost unbearable. “Or maybe quiet. I think those are different things.”
A quiet people pleaser—the opposite of Pippa.
“If she wants, the resort is always hiring,” Bear said. “And she can take the time to figure out what her passion is. What does Lulu do for a job?”
“Marketing.” Pippa had caught her milking rhythm again. “I think. I’m not entirely clear on what she does.”
“Lark’s in marketing too. For a feed company. I don’t understand what she does either. Lots of driving and talking to people. Putting things on the internet.”
“Your worst nightmare.”
He nodded, although she couldn’t see him. But she had to know she’d hit right on. She understood him better than she should, considering the length of their acquaintance.
“I was creeping on the ranch Instagram.” Pippa glanced at him over her shoulder. “You guys have sheep too. Lulu loves sheep.”
He choked on his next breath. She didn’t know about the sheep. She was only making conversation. He swallowed hard. “Yeah. You getting sheep next?”
She glanced at him again. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
Even though that came out short, she seemed reassured, because she went back to milking.
“No, we’re not getting any sheep. Goats are enough. Besides, sheep are stinky.”
“They are not,” he said before he even thought about it.
She stopped milking entirely, turned to face him. “The sheep are yours, aren’t they?”
Okay, now it was just getting unnerving, how well she read him. “Maybe I just like sheep.”
“You do. So that’s why you got a sheep herd. The caption said it was a new thing for you guys.”
Damn Lark and her social media. “Yeah,” he said, “the sheep are mine. Lamb isn’t a big market, but it is growing. We already sell grass-fed beef—lamb is the next step.”
Her brows drew together. “How’s that?”
“Grass-fed beef tastes different from grain-finished beef. Not gamier, that’s not exactly it, but different. Closer to lamb, but not quite. I figure if people like grass-fed beef, they’d be more willing to try lamb.”
Pippa went back to milking, finishing off Artemis. “I’ve never had either,” she said as she put the goat away and led Athena to the stand. “But that makes sense.”
“I’ll bring you some of both.”
“You don’t have—” She caught herself, dipping her chin. “Actually, thank you. I probably let you do too much for me.”
Maybe, if she still considered him the enemy. Which he probably was, although it was all getting real nice and tangled now. “I’ve got a freezer full. Multiple freezers. Anyway, the sheep operation is mine. We’ll see if I’m right about it.”
He didn’t mean to sound so down—she was going to figure out something was up—but he couldn’t help it.
“Thorne…” She said his name as if she weren’t sure she was allowed to. “He doesn’t like it?”
“He’s skeptical.” And when Bear sold the sheep herd, it would prove Thorne right. Which would make Thorne easier to live with but would leave a large hole in Bear’s own, private ambitions.
I know you want something for yourself too. You’re not like him—you’ve got more in you.
Sayer had been right about that. It was going to hurt bad when Bear got rid of those sheep. Would take him a while, if ever, to recover.
But it wouldn’t hurt bad enough to leave behind his twin and his sister.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, raising her voice without looking at him, “and you can tell me to mind my own business, but… what happened with Sayer?”
Bear stiffened, instinctively bracing for a blow. But she wasn’t going to hit him, at least not physically.
“Ansel didn’t say anything,” she said hastily, her volume rising even higher. “Sayer didn’t even say he was your brother, but of course we knew. You guys look so much alike. I didn’t ask him about it though. I…” Her voice died, probably because he still hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even breathed. “I wanted to hear from you.”
That last was probably the quietest she’d ever been.
He took that in. It was tender and raw, what she was asking of him. Give me some of yourself, she was asking. Like I gave you some of myself.
After a long moment, he said, “You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t.”
She might. It was probably ridiculous to outsiders, but it was deadly serious to them. “Thorne and Sayer had an argument. A massive falling-out.”
“And the rest of you guys got caught up in it?”
How to explain that without making Thorne look like an asshole? “With Thorne, there’s no middle ground. You’re either with him or against him. When Sayer left, he cut Thorne off completely. And he cut the rest of us off because he knew we’d keep working with Thorne.”
Man, it sounded bad even when he tried to be neutral. Real bad. He ought to say that Sayer was the one who left—Sayer decided it wasn’t worth trying to get along with Thorne. The rest of them managed it though. Sayer gave up.
“Oh. I see.” The lack of judgment in her tone amazed him. “We probably shouldn’t be having this conversation while I’m milking. I can’t focus on you.”
“You don’t need to stare into my eyes while I tell you this.” Still, he was touched in spite of that.
“What did Thorne and Sayer fight over?”
He sighed. “This is where you’ll laugh. It was over… cattle breeding.”
Pippa kept milking—Artemis was almost empty now—but he sensed rather than saw her frown. Something about the arch of her shoulders. “No, that’s not funny. But it is… ridiculous. Not in a funny way though.” She pulled the milk bucket out from Artemis and turned around. “I don’t know enough about it to understand. Could you explain?”
He didn’t know that an explanation would make it sound any better. He took the milk bucket from her so she could put Artemis away. “We mostly breed Angus cattle on our ranch. Actually, we only breed Angus now. When my parents turned over the ranch to us, Sayer used part of his share to buy some Charolais. He had the idea to raise purebred Charolais and use them to crossbreed into our Angus stock.”
“Charolais?”
He took her hand, led her out past the goat barn so she could see. “Over there, on Sayer’s pastures?” He pointed to some small white dots in the field. “Those are Charolais. They’re a breed from France.”
She squinted at them. “En français? Ooh la la!”
He couldn’t help it—he laughed, pulling her under his arm and pressing a quick kiss against her forehead. “You don’t speak a lick of French, do you?”
“Nope.” She reached for his hand, interlacing it with hers as she tucked herself closer. “So Sayer wanted to breed the white cows? What happened then?”
“Thorne said no. Said we ought to stick with the lines we knew. That if we tried it and we failed, it could cost us too much. Sayer argued with him forever. Even showed him data on the crossbreeds.”
“Data?” She was idly stroking his index finger with her thumb, nothing more than an absentminded touch.
He found it hard to concentrate despite that. The rest of her pressed against him wasn’t helping either. “Cattle breeding is big business. So there’s a lot of science on it and behind it.”
“Thorne didn’t believe the science?”
“It’s not exactly that… All of us follow the latest cattle news. We have to, to keep ahead of the game. But Thorne is cautious. He knows what our lines can do, what they produce. We know the types of Angus bulls we want to bring in. The Charolais would have been the unknown. Thorne hates that.”
In some ways, Bear couldn’t fault his twin. It was a hard business they were in, with razor-sharp margins. Why go on what might be a wild-goose hunt and ruin the good thing you already had?
But he also understood Sayer. Nothing ever moved forward without taking a chance. Yeah, there was the possibility for ruin… but also the possibility for something new. Something better.
“That’s why Thorne hates your sheep,” she said confidently. “Because he’s afraid of them.”
Bear almost wished Thorne were here just so he could hear he was afraid of sheep. “He doesn’t exactly hate them. But he is skeptical.”
She stared out at the cattle Sayer had chosen over his family, still rubbing Bear’s fingers. “So Thorne and Sayer could never agree on the white cows. And Sayer decided to leave.”
Bear shrugged one shoulder, the one she wasn’t nestled under. “Yeah. Sounds dumb, huh?”
She shook her head, curls spilling over her shoulder, whisking over his arm. “No. It’s sad, but it’s important to you. And to Thorne. And to Sayer. Important enough to hurt all of you. So no, it’s not dumb at all.”
He brushed a finger over a curl. “The fight wasn’t really about cattle,” he said. “At heart, they can’t agree on who should be in charge. Sayer thinks it should be him because he’s oldest and he’s got the new ideas. Thorne thinks it should be him because he’s never wrong and he knows better than to take risks.”
“Who do you think should be in charge?”
“No one. We all work on the ranch, we’re all invested in it surviving—it should be all of us together, like it was before.”
That was impossible though, with Thorne and Sayer both dug in, neither willing to give an inch. Christ, but it left a massive ache in his chest, like something had blown a hole in him.
Bear wanted the ranch to survive, but even more than that, he wanted his family whole again.
“I’m very sorry they’re doing this to you,” Pippa said. She ran a hand over his chest, somehow knowing exactly where it hurt.
He couldn’t say anything after that, not that there was much left to say. He supposed he could tell her that he went to Sayer, asked him to help fix all this, but his brother refused. But Sayer still came out to help them—they were cleaning up the orchard, he could tell—and Bear didn’t want that to be awkward for her. Even knowing this much might make her uncomfortable next time Sayer came.
“I still have to milk Hecate.” Slowly she unwound herself from him.
He let her because if there was one thing that always needed doing, it was chores. And he ought to get back to his own instead of sharing sad family stories with her.
He followed her to the hay shed though, unable to let her get too far from him. Keeping her close was something he needed right now although he didn’t understand why.
She looked up as she scooped out the grain for Hecate, a question in her eyes. “You don’t have to stay and help. I know you’ve got things to do.”
“No.” He took a step toward her. “I don’t.”
The dark, enclosed space, the sweet scent of alfalfa, the way her breaths were slow, deep, made his pulse beat electric, animalistic.
Another step and he’d be crowding her into the hay bales. He took it.
She let the scoop drop from her hand to spill over the floor, the sexiest bit of surrender he’d ever seen. Grain crunched under his boot heels.
Her eyes went wide when her back hit the bales. Surprise. Desperate anticipation.
He knew exactly what she was feeling.
“I don’t have to go,” he whispered as he cupped her face. Christ, but she was beautiful. Her hair alone could haunt a man’s dreams. All of her possessed his.
“Then don’t.” She hooked her fingers into his belt, anchoring him to her. “Stay.”
If Bear didn’t kiss her in the next second, Pippa was sure she would… Well, she’d probably kiss him.
Yet the moment suspended between them was so fraught, charged with the kind of energy that promised to burn in the best way, she also didn’t want it to end.
Under the backs of her fingers, his abs flexed. She wanted to get at that bare skin, to get the feel of him under her own skin.
Still, he held himself away. Close enough that his breath ghosted over her cheeks—he’d eaten something cinnamon sweet this morning—but not as close as she needed.
“Pippa.” Oh good Lord, the yearning he put into that. “I want to kiss you.”
Not asking, because that wasn’t his style, but still making sure she said yes before he did anything. If she weren’t being propped up by a hay bale, she might have swooned.
“Oh God, please do,” she babbled.
When his lips met hers, it was like before—sunshine, electricity, home—but even better. Like waking up with a smile on her face, already knowing it was the weekend. Like when she drove over the rise at the end of the drive just a little too fast, stomach swooping with shocking delight.
It was like seeing the first star in the sky, knowing an entire galaxy was coming along behind.
She parted her lips, tasted his. He was so warm. It was like putting sunshine on her lips.
He licked into her mouth, a casual intimacy that nearly shattered her.
For the past year, she’d been entirely lacking in even the barest human contact. She went to work at one of her jobs, where no one touched each other even when things were normal. Then she went on to the next job, where it was the same thing. Then she came home to her ex-boyfriend, who obviously wasn’t coming near her. And Tybalt, who really did love her, didn’t show it through physical affection.
When Lulu had arrived, Pippa had someone she could hug again. It was almost painful, how good it felt to have that back.
With Bear’s kiss, Pippa realized she was hungry for this kind of touch too. Intimate, knowing, private… She was ravenous, her body coming alive with appetites.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He groaned like he’d been dying for this exact moment, and she felt it all the way to her toes.
He laid her back against the bale, the stems pricking through her shirt, sharp and hard. But it was worth it because she could lift her knees, wrap her legs around him. He came between her thighs, a heavy, hard weight right on the very spot where she ached. He rocked into her, and it was like she splintered, came back together, even needier. It didn’t even matter that the hay was tearing up her skin when he did that.
“Is this rolling in the hay?” she asked. “Because it’s fun.” How had she managed to live so long and never done this before?
A thought that wasn’t exactly nice came to her. “You’ve probably done this a lot.”
His cheeks flushed. He wore embarrassment devastatingly well. “Kind of. But the last time was at the county fair.”
She rolled up onto her elbows. “You made out at the fair? With the animals and the carnival rides?”
“I was seventeen,” he explained. “In high school. We had to take care of our animals all week, so late in the evening, once chores were done and before we had to be home, we… took advantage.”
She tried to imagine Bear at seventeen. He’d be younger, but would he have been less self-assured? Less competent? Or had he been building garden boxes and milking goats and fixing chicken coops—and rescuing women—even then?
Pippa couldn’t really remember what she’d been doing at seventeen. She’d slept through most of trig, she remembered that.
“Did you win lots of ribbons?”
He shook his head. “That was Lark. She took home champion market steer, market hog, market lamb, and market turkey one year. And had at least one champion each year since she was thirteen.”
Pippa’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot.”
“People hated her for it. I did okay, but I wasn’t as focused as she was.”
“Because you were too busy rolling in the hay?”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Possibly.”
She touched the dent in his cheek just because she could. He already had stubble coming, sharp pinpricks amid the smoothness of his skin. Had she ever touched anyone right there, where their smile left their mouth to jump to their cheeks? She didn’t think so.
So many new ways and places to touch. She wanted to explore all of them with him.
“You’re pretty good at rolling in the hay,” she said, “for such a long dry spell.”
“Mmm.” He put his nose into her neck and inhaled. It tickled a bit and inflamed a lot. “It’s like riding a bike.”
“So I’ll be a pro next time?”
“You already are.” He kissed the hollow of her throat so gently, like she was the most precious thing in the world. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Really?” Her voice sounded blurred. “We kissed before.”
“I dream about this.” He ran a finger along her collarbone.
“You… You dream about me?” That didn’t sound right. It sounded like something that would happen to a woman who wasn’t under a family curse. Not Pippa—she didn’t haunt men’s dreams.
Except it sounded so wonderful. Powerful. I can come to you even in your sleep.
“Every night,” Bear confirmed.
She wished she’d dreamed of him. But her dreams were mostly unsettling these days, vague scenes of her trying to help a goat or weed the garden and failing. Maybe one day he’d come to her in her dreams and save her there too.
Or maybe tonight she’d have a good dream about him. The two of them in the hay all over again.
“Really?” She wet her lips. “Every night?”
He nodded as he played with the neckline of her shirt. “Is this okay?”
“Yes. You can pull it down or take it off or—” She wasn’t sure where she was going with that, not that it mattered because Bear tugged her shirt down, exposing her to his gaze. She’d gone with a low-cut, lacy bra today, just because she wanted to feel pretty. When she saw his expression, she was so glad she had. She felt like a dream when he looked at her like that, the very best kind.
He put his mouth to the edge of her bra, warm lips on her skin, hot breath through the lace. Every inch of her woke up with current, even the roots of her hair focusing on what came next.
She lifted herself, hoping he might reach behind and unhook— “Ahh!” She sat up too fast, only missing cracking Bear in the face with her forehead when he caught her.
Her back was on fire, scratched and shredded by the alfalfa. She tried to brush at it, her shoulder twisting awkwardly. But it didn’t help.
“Hell,” Bear muttered. He peered over her shoulder at the damage. “Let’s go clean that up. Do you have any antibacterial cream? What about bandages?”
Pippa let her lungs fill slowly. Now that the shock was past, she was realizing it really wasn’t that bad. Some scrapes and they’d twinge under her shirt for a bit, but nothing serious. “No.” She caught his face again, set her thumb in the crease next to his mouth. “I don’t want to stop.”
His inhale, quick and pleased and needy, went straight to her belly, like he’d breathed into her instead of into himself. “Hang on.”
With that easy strength she couldn’t get enough of, he gathered her up and switched their positions. Now he was up against the bale and she was straddling him, their pelvises locked tight, thighs straining together.
Save a horse, ride a cowboy. Finally she understood the appeal of that too.
“Forgot an important rule of hay rolling.” Bear was smiling, but there was hungry tension in his tone. “I go on the bottom.”
That sent such imaginings through her. Bear in a bed, under her. Or the floor. Or anywhere in the world.
Except that they were technically at war, at least legally, and this moment was only stolen. There likely wouldn’t be any more to steal.
That made her so sad; she sent it to the deepest part of her mind. If she could ignore the pain in her back, she’d ignore that too. And she would.
Because she still hadn’t gotten enough of touching him—likely never would—she ran her hands over him, up him, around his shoulders and ribs, down his arms, which were taut with lean muscle as he held her to him. His breathing went deep and rough as she stroked him, his eyes darker than midnight. He seemed to be enjoying the simplicity of the moment as much as she was.
Maybe he’d been starved for affection the past year too.
“You’re gorgeous.” She sighed without really thinking. But when she did think about it, he was. Long, lean, strong, and sweet under his gruffness.
“Me?” He cocked an eyebrow even as his cheeks darkened. “I’m the one who’s looking at gorgeous.”
“You do that so easy,” she said wistfully.
His expression went thunderous. “You think I don’t mean it? It’s just sweet talk? You and I are going to have a long talk about your exes one of these days.”
“Oh.” She could only blink at him because he was so fierce and so solid between her thighs. “Do we really need to?”
“Not right now. I don’t think there’s space here for anyone else, do you?”
There he went again, just rolling those things off his tongue. His nimble, clever tongue.
He was right—she could only think about him. And he was here, in her grasp. So she grabbed his shirt lapels and tore, the buttons giving with the most delicious snap-snap-snap. “This shirt is amazing.”
Bear let his head fall back as he laughed helplessly. It made the muscles of his flat, taut abs dance. Her mouth went dry.
His chest was bare, his skin slightly lighter than on his face and neck. A farmer’s tan, but he made it sexy. Dense, curling hair that her fingers wanted to run through. A slice of shoulders, heavy with muscle.
She bent her head and breathed him in. He must shower at night, because he smelled mostly of skin, a bit of hay, a touch of chill. When she’d come here, she’d realized that even the temperatures had a scent. And he smelled like cool morning air.
“You smell so nice.” Her voice was thick, ragged as her pulse. “All of you is…” She ran her hands up his torso, unable to find the words for what she wanted. Maybe there weren’t any. Maybe she could only communicate this through touch.
His fingers found the hem of her shirt. She felt a small tug, like he was rubbing the fabric between his fingers.
She glanced down. Oh. He was waiting for her to say it was okay. He was so careful with her, when he wasn’t shouting at her about the collapsing. And here she went, just tearing off his shirt.
Instead of talking—words were so inadequate—she took his hand and slid it under her shirt. When his palm met the skin of her stomach, they both gasped.
“So soft,” Bear muttered. “Your skin is the softest thing I’ve ever felt. How could I have let you lie against this hay bale?”
“I’m not as delicate as you think,” she said dryly. Already her back felt better. She had a nasty bruised lump on her shin from the milking stand. The hand she was currently stroking over his chest had a deep cut in the webbing between her thumb and finger—slip of a knife she’d used to cut the baling twine. Her big toe had been crushed by Artemis just yesterday. No, her body wasn’t fragile. She was finding she could survive a lot of things.
“I didn’t say delicate.” Bear’s eyes were so dark. “You’ve been through things that would have knocked anybody else down to their heels. But you still deserve care. Consideration.”
Something shifted between them with those words. What had been a roll in the hay became more serious. Her heart pounded just as hard as before, but slower. Taking this in.
Every kind thing Bear had ever done for her floated through her mind like sparks. A few here and there to begin with as she remembered, then an entire fall of them as every moment came back to her. They assembled into a constellation of care. Consideration.
What were they doing here? Yes, rolling in the hay, but what about all the rest of it? Each morning’s moments together, the repair jobs, the milking, every time he swooped in to fix something or make her life easier?
Was it because he couldn’t help himself? Or something more?
She wanted to ask him if he still wanted to tear down her house, but she was frightened of the answer. If she had to choose between him and the house… Well, her and her sisters didn’t technically need him.
Except maybe she was starting to need him.
Oh God. Her stomach felt like it had transformed into a flapping, frightened chicken.
“What’s wrong?” Bear sat up, carefully setting her on her feet. “What happened?” His fingers flexed into her hips, a motion that felt reflexive. Then he let go. “Did I do something?”
He’d done everything, which was exactly the problem. Threatened her last refuge, then became an integral part of it.
“I’m not sure what’s happening here.” She started buttoning his shirt back up because repairing what she’d done was the least she could do. And his chest was distracting. “We’re supposed to be enemies. Right?”
He stared at her like he wasn’t believing what he was hearing. “I kissed you. More than once now.”
“Yes.” She’d gotten to the middle button now and was trying very hard not to touch his abs as she fastened it. “And enemies don’t kiss.”
Except Sasha had told her all about this one romance book where in between trying to kill each other, the couple kept having sex. Sasha said it was amazingly hot.
“Then we’re not enemies,” Bear said as if it were that simple.
“We’re suing each other.” She snapped the last button into place and resisted the urge to press her palm into his lower belly. “You want to tear my house down.” She closed her eyes tight, trying to burn away the image of his bare chest that lingered in her vision. “This is all very confusing.”
Oh no, there went her stupid voice. Too loud and laced with tears. Great, she sounded one moment away from completely losing it. Why was she doing this? She hadn’t even cried when she’d lost her last job.
But then it hit her—this was the family curse again. Here she had a man who thought her worthy of care and consideration, who made each day better, who kissed her like nothing she’d ever experienced, who was smoking hot… and who was her enemy no matter what he said. Of course this would happen to her like this, everything she might ever want but wrapped up tight in barbed wire, ready to tear her to shreds.
“Hey.” Bear put his hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. “It’s not like this is normal for me. I’m not sure what’s happening either.”
She blinked at him. “I can’t believe you’d admit that. You’re always so certain.”
“Not when it comes to you.” He ran his hand down his face and looked so exhausted her heart twisted. Was he sleeping enough?
“What time did you wake up?” she asked. “And what time did you go to bed last night?”
“Too early.” His mouth twisted. “And too late. Let’s finish milking before Hecate tears down the pen.”
Right. There was still a goat to milk. And she was discovering that the animals always had to come first. They ate first, got their space cleaned first, had their water checked before anything else could happen.
Rolling in the hay was a very distant last on her list of priorities, and she needed to remember that.
No matter how delicious it was.