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Amalie
I scratch between the large cow’s ears, laughing softly as she rolls her head in appreciation. “You like that, huh, Bessie?”
I've been Lucas’s wife for a month now and have learned a lot about taking care of the cows. They can be such sweet creatures but also absolute terrors when they want to be. Bessie is my favorite and the most loving.
I lived a pampered lifestyle in Chicago, at least on the surface. There were maids to clean up after me, people to take care of any problem that came up, and no animals to look after.
Now, I wear barn boots, jeans with holes in the knees, and an old T-shirt when I'm taking care of the cows, and I know how to operate a four-wheeler. I’ve learned how to care for the cows, and they’ve become a passion and an escape for me. I feel free when I'm out in the fields or in the barn looking after them.
I’ve also loved burying my hands in the earth. I love all things horticultural, but I never had a chance to use my floristry qualification from college in any meaningful way. Lucas has bought me some planters, which I’ve filled with colorful blooms and lush greenery, transforming the front porch into a vibrant oasis. I love sitting out there, watching the delicate petals unfurl in the sunlight and inhaling their sweet fragrance. It soothes my soul to see the growth of new life, no matter how small. Each emerging flower brings hope and renewal, reminding me that even in the darkest of times, beauty is waiting to bloom.
Tending my beloved flowers has been my outlet because Lucas doesn’t want me to leave the house without him unless it’s to care for the cows. It’s frustrating, but I know it’s for my protection. The threat of my father is still out there. As the weeks have passed with no sign of him or his men near Shelby, I've begun to relax a little. But I can't become complacent.
My wrist has healed, and I've slept soundly every night—well, apart from the erotic dreams that feature Lucas front and center. In the darkest part of the night, I dream of all the lurid things I want him to do to me, all the things I want to do to him.
I know Lucas will do whatever it takes to protect me, but he's been distant for the last month. There's been no further intimacy like the afternoon of our wedding—one of the best days of my life despite the circumstances. Sure, he takes care of me and treats me like I might splinter if I'm handled too roughly—and that was probably true a month ago, but I'm stronger now. Being here and spending time with him has allowed me to blossom in a way I never could under my father's thumb.
One minute, I think I see the same emotion in Lucas's eyes that my heart holds for him, but the next, he's grim and keeping me at arm’s length. It’s driving me crazy. Maybe he doesn't want me anymore? I've never had a relationship, so I'm navigating uncharted waters. Maybe I should dig out the bag of cash I hid beneath my bed and take off.
I discard that thought as soon as it enters my mind. I'm frustrated, not stupid. Not only is this the safest place for me, but it's where I want to be because this is where Lucas is. My husband.
Beneath his stoic exterior lurks a vulnerability I can’t ignore. I yearn to understand him better, to decipher the complex layers that make up his guarded persona. Perhaps, deep down, he feels as trapped as I do.
I sigh and resume my task. Bessie watches me from the paddock where she stands, waiting for the special treats I give her before applying the ointment to treat her mild case of pink eye. I wash my hands and pick up the supplies I'll need, pulling on some sterile gloves.
“You’re such a good girl, Bessie,” I murmur as I approach the placid cow. “I wish you could talk back. I think I need a friend.”
Friends weren’t something my father allowed, even as an adult. Friends could talk me into trying to escape the life he planned for me. They could influence my decisions, and he wouldn’t have that.
My father's controlling and abusive ways are so ingrained that I have to remind myself that Lucas's motives for keeping me close are far purer—he truly wants to keep me safe. And it's not like he's holding me captive—he takes me out once he’s home or on his days off.
“Come here, baby. Let me put this in your eye,” I say to Bessie.
I clean her eye with a sterile wipe. Working quickly, I apply the ointment to Bessie’s big brown eye without her blinking it all out. “Good girl, Bessie.”
Giving her some pellet treats and a bucket of feed, I dispose of the gloves.
I’m full of unreleased energy, even after working in the barn or out in the fields checking the cows. The perfect way to work off that energy would be to strip my husband naked and drag him to bed, but am I brave enough to make the first move? What if he rejects me?
"What do you think, girl," I ask, stroking Bessie's head. "Should I seduce him?"
Her answer is to stick her big, pink tongue out and lick my hand.
I laugh. "You think I should lick him, huh?"
The thought is pleasantly erotic, and my body heats as an idea takes shape. I don't want to be Lucas's burden. His duty. I want to be his wife, in every sense of the word. Because I've fallen in love with him. The emotion fills me until my chest aches. I’m in love with the man who has protected me, believed in me, and cared for me in a way my father never could.
With him, I feel alive and cherished. Without him…
Washing my hands in the sink, I dry them before I head into the house with a new sense of purpose. Lucas was out working with the hired help earlier, but I glimpsed him returning to the house a short while ago.
I shower quickly and change into leggings and a T-shirt before searching for my husband. He's not in the kitchen, living room, or his study. I bite my lip, my heart pounding, as I head for his bedroom, seeing the door is slightly ajar.
"Lucas?" I push the door open and come to a halt.
Lucas stands by the large bed with only a towel draped around his hips, and oh, sweet heavenly lord, he's a sight to behold. Broad shoulders, wide chest, thick thighs. He's a big guy, and although he's fit, his muscles are strong from his lifestyle rather than pumping iron. Droplets of water from his recent shower slide down his chest with its smattering of hair until they hit the towel covering his…
Holy crap. He's hard. And big. The erection tenting his towel is less "tent" and more "marquee."
