Maybe in a way nothing else has before.
Even when Mom got sick, I put the farm first. Maybe that was because taking care of the farm meant taking care of her and Pop. Maybe it was because work was the only thing I had control over back then. Maybe it was a little of both.
But this feels different.
There’s a real possibility I could lose this place—part of it in less than three months and the rest of it a season or two down the road when I can’t make ends meet—and that scares the crap out of me.
If this shit with Uncle Paul would’ve happened a year ago, I’d have left nothing to chance. Not one night’s sleep. Not one lost hour of daylight.
But now?
“The farm is not the only thing that matters.”
A tiny jolt runs through Hattie’s body. She lifts her head off the pillow and looks back at me over her shoulder. The moon is still high outside, and the curtains in my room are sheer. Her eyes find mine in the near dark.
“Beck… Are you… talking about me?”
“Hell, yes, I’m talking about you.”
I barely make it out in the dimness, but she bites down on a smile. Then she rolls over in my arms, facing me. The feel of her breasts against my chest and her thighs pressed to mine stymies my breath. My hands ache to move over her body, but I keep perfectly still.
It’ll be hours before she’s sober, I remind myself.
“But… what about you?” she asks.
I frown. “What do you mean?
Hattie’s hands come up between us and she hooks them on my shoulders. “Who drops everything for you?”
The question makes my throat tighten so fast, I almost choke. I clear it hard. “Griff, of course… If I would need him.”
“If?” Even in the dimness, I can tell she’s searching my face. “You don’t need help… on the regular?”
Shit. Why is my heart suddenly thrashing in my chest?
I clear my throat again. “Javier steps up when Pop falls or if I need to take him to a doctor’s appointment.”
Hattie smiles. “He’s your friend.”
A laugh startles from me. “He is.” The fact she recognizes that my foreman is more than an employee warms me from the inside like good whisky. She’s never even met him. Only heard me talk about him. How he teased me about having her over. How he’s first in line to sample a new batch from the micro distillery.
She tilts her head into the pillow, almost hiding one eye, grinning at me. “I’d drop everything if you called me.”
“Hattie,” I growl. My heart twists with some potent mix of awe and longing. I cup the back of her head, wanting so badly to pull her to me and kiss her hard.
But I won’t.
We’re touching practically head to toe. Already, this is testing my restraint. I want to kiss her. Taste her. I want everything. I’d love to make her come like I did in the store shed. I’d love to make her come with my mouth.
But I’m not taking any chances she’d regret it tomorrow. Not a single touch.
It’s dark, but I’d swear her half-hidden smile turns wicked. She leans in and I freeze, sure she’s going to kiss me.
Which is fine.
This is fine.
She can kiss me, and I can handle it.
