Page 18 of Slow Burn

No, I like it too much. It stirs something in me, like the way she’s called me Bossman.

I don’t really have a reason for her to not be doing this out here, other than the thoughts I have about her ass and the places the fabric of her leggings scrunch. And I have more important things to think about, a lot of shit that I can’t be distracted from.

Not by Lyla Morgan, anyway.

“My mornings are the only time I get for real peace and quiet,” I explain, trying to find a reason why she shouldn’t do sunrise yoga on the grass. “I just… like it that way, okay?”

She looks up at me, face scrunched from the sun, now cresting over the roof of the house and lighting up her smooth, tanned skin.

“Well, I like my sunrise yoga practice,” she retorts. “And as far as I can see, I’m not hurting anyone.”

As far as you can see. It’s fucking torture for me.

But she’s right. She’s not hurting anything by being out here. There I go being an asshole again, right after I’d made some progress in getting her out of that motel.

“Fine,” I say, turning on my heel and waving my arm behind me in defeat. “Have fun with your doggy-style, or whatever-the-fuck it is you’re doing.”

I hear her huff a breath behind me, but I don’t look back. If I do, I know I’ll never get the image of Lyla in that matching workout set out of my mind. It will be burned on the inside of my eyelids forever.

I dump the rest of my coffee down the sink, I don’t have time to finish it. I told Austin I’d meet him at the barn this morning. We have a long day ahead of us, and I’ve already wasted my precious alone time being a dick to Lyla. I wouldn’t have had to, had she not been half naked on my lawn at the ass-crack of dawn.

By the time I get down to the barn, Austin is already there with a couple of the other ranch hands, tacking up their horses. His horse, Bandit, is ready to go with his bridle and saddle on.

“You’re late,” Austin jeers, the only one of the group that has the nerve to call me on my shit. The rest of the ranch hands look up as I enter the barn, giving me polite nods in greeting. I put Austin in charge of the staff, a manager of sorts. It gives me more time to handle the bigger issues, of which there are plenty.

“Had a little run in with Lyla this morning,” I explain. Austin knows as well as I do how Lyla can be–a bit of a menace, and a total shit disturber.

Austin claps me on the back as I lead Willow out of her stall, and clip her lead rope to a hook to start tacking her up.

“Thanks for letting her stay at the ranch, man,” he says, his tone knowing. Not how hard it is for me to be in such close proximity to her, but how difficult it was for me to even set foot in the guest house long enough to clean it up for her.

The house is haunted with memories I’d rather forget. Memories that have dulled over the years, but only because I choose to ignore them. They weren’t painful at the time, but that’s what makes them hard to look back on now.

I give him a nod, and turn back to Willow, adjusting her saddle blanket before I put on her saddle.

“Lyla… Is that the babe staying in the old guest house?” Chase, one of the cowboys chimes in.

I let out a chuckle and keep quiet, wanting to see just how far this conversation will go. Austin obviously doesn’t talk much about his family life down here with the boys. They would all be choosing their words more carefully if they knew Lyla was the manager’s sister.

Another ranch hand, Dylan, lets out a whistle. “Damn, she’s fine,” he says. “Did you see her ass in those leggings?”

I glance over at Austin from under the brim of my hat, his face getting more and more red by the second. I know what Austin would like to do, what he might have done five years ago. Had he met these guys in a bar and overheard them talking about Lyla like that, he’d have hauled them out back himself. He’d have won, too. But he’s changed his ways, cleaned up his act. So I cut in instead.

“Better watch your mouth,” I warn, squaring my shoulders. “That woman is Lyla Morgan.”

It takes them a second, but they eventually catch on. All the blood drains from Dylan’s face, and he looks like he might vomit.

Austin has conveniently busied himself with another task, choosing to freshen the hay in all the stalls to keep him from saying what’s really on his mind.

I change the subject, because the reminder to be respectful about Lyla doesn’t just apply to them. It applies to me, too.

I had the same thoughts about her while she was out there, bending herself in half, showing me exactly how flexible she is. I didn’t verbalize them, but that doesn’t change the fact that I shouldn’t be having those thoughts at all.

Even though Austin’s been on his best behaviour recently, he wouldn’t hesitate to clock me in the face if he knew what I’d been thinking. So it’s best if I steer clear of Lyla as much as possible. I won’t have my coffee on the deck like I normally do. She can do her yoga, but I won’t be there to witness it if I can help it.

“We all know the plan for the day?” I ask the guys, now that all the horses are geared up and ready to go. It’s herding day.

With the south pasture out of commission, we need to move the cattle more frequently, and can only rotate them between two. It also means the fields are taking a beating, and I know we can’t keep up like this for long.