But Sage couldn’t be any different. From what Ma told me earlier–because she was good friends with Mabel and knew the details–Sage was Mabel’s sister’s daughter and from New York. Back in the eighties, Mabel had left the city and her life there and married Chuck Parker. He’d been the mayor of Devil’s Ditch for over a decade before I was born and died of a heart attack shoveling snow. I hadn’t known she’d had any extended family–let alone a gorgeous niece, who was now filling in while she recovered from surgery, as Trig had originally said.
I didn’t know if Sage was staying in Montana once Mabel was back on her feet. Why would a city girl like her want to remain in a small, quiet town like this? Hell, we were so “small town” that the nearest escalator was in Boise, meaning Devil’s Ditch was in the middle of nowhere. It couldn’t be appealing to Sage for the long term.
I led a quiet, routine-filled life. I was up before dawn. Worked hard. Read. Did shit with my family. Why would Sage want a rancher’s life? It was honest work. I had a good home. Good family. More often than not, I had shit on my boots, a splinter in one of my fingers, sunburn on my cheeks.
I rocked with the sway of the tractor as it rodeover a dip in the field, headed back to the barn. Frustrated. Excited. Angry. Hopeful. Horny.
I’d been hard since the second I laid eyes on Sage in the diner.
I’d been hard when I saw her holding baby Sage at the hospital. The sight of her holding a newborn made me want that with her. To give her a baby. To put one inside her.Ourbaby.
Even now, out in the fucking cold afternoon, I wanted her. Needed her.
I needed more of that kiss. I licked my lips. More of her pussy. She’d be off soon and I was gonna get it.
8
SAGE
The last thingI needed today was a burst water pipe in Aunt Mabel’s cellar. I’d already gotten three more voicemails from Jackson and another text, and even though it was in all caps, he was forgettable.
SAGE CALL ME
I’d gotten back to her place–where I was staying while she was in rehab–and heard water running. At first, I thought maybe I’d left the water on in the bathroom sink this morning because I’d been so distracted. But it wasn’tthat.
I followed the sound down the wooden stairs to discover a pipe connected to the hot water heater had burst, probably from the bitter cold that had settled in overnight, spraying water like a Roman fountain. It must’ve been leaking for a while because water covered the floor. I had to slosh through six inches of it to hunt around for the water main shutoff. When I finally did, the cellar went quiet. I shivered. Tried to figure out what to do.
“Shit,” I muttered, knowing nothing about home repairs. I’d have to find a plumber and hopefully they knew a restoration service, one with a pump to drain out all the water.
None of Aunt Mabel’s furniture, flooring or cabinetry on the main floor was damaged, but this previously dank, dark space now had a pond in it.
The doorbell rang and I looked up, as if I could see who was there through the floor above me.
I sloshed through the water, went up the stairs and answered the door.
Buck.
“What are you doing here?”
He looked me over. Probably saw the distress on my face, and my sopping wet shoes and ankles. I was so ridiculously pleased to see him. Sure, I wanted more of what he’d done to me in Aunt Mabel’s officeand whatever might come next, but that would have to wait. He’d have to come back later.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, instead of answering my question.
I sighed. It was freezing outside, but it wasn’t all that warm in Aunt Mabel’s house either. I stepped back and let him in as I explained. “There’s a burst pipe in the cellar. I turned off the water main, but it’s a mess down there.”
His gaze widened, then he clenched his jaw, nodded. “Which way?”
I pointed behind me and with a determined look, he made his way into the cellar, his boots clomping on the steps as he went. He stopped on the last tread, hands on the railing, taking in the situation.
“Shit,” he muttered, then pulled out his cell.
I stood a few steps above him, watching.
“Curtis, hey, yeah, it’s Buck Wilder. Got a busted pipe to a hot water heater. Flooded basement. Yeah. Yeah. It is. Right. Okay. 916 Birch. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
They spoke for a minute and I dropped down onto the step. When he put his phone away, he turned to me and we were at eye level. He set his hands on the railing on either side of me so our faceswere close. I hadn’t had my shower yet–I definitely wasn’t now with the water turned off–and I was sure I smelled like French fries, but either Buck really liked them or didn’t care.
His scruff had grown in since this morning and I wondered how it would feel against my inner thighs. His flannel was untucked beneath his jacket and there was some kind of grease stain on the thigh of his jeans.
