CHAPTER 9
HE WATCHED MY OTHER FILMS
I’ve spentthe last two weeks arriving at Vaughn Ranch long before the sun is up. Silently, I move around the outskirts of the barn while Landry does pull-ups, rows, stretches his muscles and joints, lifts weights, and works on his grip. He does a routine that lasts a little over an hour and a half, and then I’m back with him in the kitchen, filming passively as he prepares breakfast, does Sadie’s hair (please, literally, I can’t even talk about this out loud to anyone because it’s so precious), hunts down socks and wrangles boots, all the while collecting fresh eggs every morning after a grueling workout.
I’ll admit, the more mornings I spend watching him work out while I move around the barn and film him from different angles, the more I feel my mindslipping.
To pornographic places.
But holy crap. Landry Vaughn oozes strength and capability. Masculinity and power. And that’s what I thoughtbeforeI saw him training. Watching him put his body through torture on the daily, mentally powering through what looks to be a massive amount of discomfort and unease—my perception has shifted again. Now I pretty much think he’s a fucking hero in cowboy boots.
This man keeps me on my proverbial toes. Always changing the way I view him by letting me a little closer, inside just a bit further. That phone call two weeks ago was so unbelievably unexpected and truthful. He didn’t owe me anything. Sadie is his daughter, and the way adults engage with her is completely up to him. In fact, as much as I felt rebuffed, I respected him for placing boundaries when he was uncomfortable. He was being a good father. Heisa good father. An excellent one.
Killing the engine of my little gold car, I shove the door open and step out, the smell of dirt and grass overwhelming me today. I’m tired this morning because I stayed up editing footage so late last night. Once I started watching back everything I’d filmed from his training sessions, adrenaline overwhelmed me. I reread my notes from the diner, where I’d met Chuck and Norris, and couldn’t stop thinking about Landry, that phone call, and how much complexity and depth is hiding beneath his walls.
Anyway, I need a coffee the size of Texas, but it’s five past four, and I know Landry is already working hard in the barn.
I trudge through the crunchy lawn toward the barn, bypassing the house this morning because I’m a little late and I don’t want to wake Sadie. When the dilapidated old structure comes into sight, sure enough, the doors are open, light glowing from inside.
Excitement unfolds in my chest, making it snug and warm, and I tip my face at the sky and take a deep breath. I don’t need a crush on an older man who has a child and a boatload of problems to solve. I’m here for work. I’m proving to Devin that he fucked up, not me. I’m gonna show the world who Landry Vaughn is, and everything vital to him, andThe Comeback Riderwill win an Indie Film Award.
I can feel it in my bones.
The sky is gorgeous, with soft pinks and rich golds you can only find when the sun is rising. Quickly, I film the sky, the sun burgeoning through the clouds, the gorgeous sight of yesterday giving way to a beautiful today. When I lower my camera, I study it one last time, knowing within a few hours it will be so bright I can hardly look up.
When I drop my gaze back to the barn, I spot Landry, stretched between the open doors, white T-shirt taut over his back, hat placed dutifully over his messy dark hair. He’s got a great head of hair, and last night I dreamed about filling my hands with it while he was between my legs.
Nope. We’re not going there again. No, no. Bad Quinn.
I lift my camera, and film him as he readies the mechanical bull, and rosins his bare hands, biceps swelling from how hard he’s pressing. Everything between my thighs gets damp and delightful just watching him, and then, out of nowhere, he lifts his head, and steers his gaze my way.
“Mornin’,” he greets, his voice low and rocky, sleep still lining his words.
Landry Vaughn asleep in bed.
Good heavens, would I love to see that.
I lower the camera and tread toward him, a thrill running up my spine when his sapphire eyes snag on my favorite pink cowboy boots, and his lips curve into a grin. “Good morning,” I greet, and for some reason, this morning, hedoesn’t get back to working out right away when I come in. This far, he has yet to acknowledge my presence, not more than a “Watch out” and “Do you need more light?” But today, he reaches behind him and passes me a mug of coffee, piping hot.
The very thing I just whined about needing in my head.
“Holy shit,” I groan, looping my camera around my neck to take the mug. “You are saving me right now. I’m exhausted today.”
“I heard,” he says, making my gaze snap up to him, abandoning the mug temporarily.
“What?”
He doesn’t smile, but his lips twitch, and he says, “Mabel called me this morning. Said you got in late. Could maybe use a cup.”
I nod my head in what feels like slow motion, and keep my eyes on him as I take the first sip.
“I didn’t know how you take it,” he says, then looks at the tip of his boots when he adds, “I shoulda been offerin’ you coffee for the last few weeks. I apologize. In fact, you’re welcome to anything in the house. All day. You don’t have to eat lunch in your car or back at the inn. Hell, you’re more than welcome to eat breakfast here, too.”
I take another sip of the coffee, mostly just to buy time to gather my words. Something about Landry tells me being direct with him is the best way. “The reason you didn’t want me to call her sweetheart, I understood it. I still do.”
He stands motionless, steam wafting off the top of my coffee, fogging the space between us for a moment, a perfect momentary barrier while we find our words. I set the mug down on the toolbox, because I’m a hand talker. “Breakfast is just a bigger version ofsweetheart, you know? And I’m not saying I’m this effervescent person that your daughter isabsolutely going to like, fall in love with, but I’m just saying, you were right and…” I shake my head and bring my hands to my forehead.
He just blinks at me. An unmoving wall of cowboy muscle.
