Page 21 of Slow Burn

“You shouldn’t have,” he says.

“I wanted to,” I answer. “Besides, I was the one who ate them all the other night.”

“Happy to share.” Wade looks at me with a furrowed brow and gestures toward the other things in my cloth tote bag. “I meant you shouldn’t have gone to the store. We have everything here, and you’re welcome to help yourself. Why don’t you come by the house for breakfast tomorrow?”

I wave off his offer. “Nah. I’m not here to impose. Thank you, though.”

I don’t exactly want a repeat of the other night, where Beck was clearly put out by the fact that I was in his house.

“It’s not an imposition. It’s the least we can do for having you here to help,” Wade says, clearly unaware of the tension between me and his son. “Come for coffee tomorrow morning, I’ll make you some breakfast. I’d rather start my day talking to you than staring at Beck’s grumpy mug.”

I don’t want to disappoint him, or make him feel like I don’t want to spend time with him, so I give in and agree to stop by in the morning.

If I time it right, Beck might have already left to start his ranch duties, and I can also avoid his grumpy, stupidly handsome mug.

Chapter 10

Beck

I think the universe is punishing me.

There’s no other way to explain why I’ve come downstairs to find Lyla talking to my dad over coffee and pancakes.

He made her pancakes with fresh berries and cinnamon sugar. I can’t remember a day when my dad ever made me breakfast, let alone something with special toppings to boot. I have to stuff down the snide comment on the tip of my tongue.

As soon as I see her sitting there, bright eyed, bare faced, with those pink pouty lips, I realize the universe isn’t just punishing me, it’s fucking torturing me. It’s like a cougar, toying with its prey before killing it. All I can do is submit.

I’m not a submissive kind of guy. I don’t back down, I don’t give in. I’m stubborn and tenacious and I get what I want. But for her? For her I’d get on my knees and beg.

“Look who decided to get up,” my dad jokes, but it doesn’t land the way I think he hoped it would.

I grunt as I walk over to the coffee pot to pour myself a mug. Lyla cradles hers in both hands and takes a long drawn out sip, eyeing me over the rim.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” she teases, and I want to be annoyed. I really do. It would be so much easier if I was annoyed, if I didn’t enjoy her needling. But it’s another sign of the Lyla I once knew, and I want more. I want everything that I can’t have.

Her eyes heat my back as I pour my coffee, the weight of her gaze a brand on my skin. I don’t have to turn around and look at her to know that her dark brown irises are sparkling with mischief.

“I woke up just fine,” I mutter, turning to face the pair of them. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Lyla and I were discussing the work that needs to be done.” My dad changes the subject, and I’m grateful for it. I can’t take any more teasing from Lyla. I like it too much.

“And?”

“And we decided that I would spend the day with you.” Lyla’s smile is bright, that sparkle in her eye is still there. She’s smiling because she knows I already hate the suggestion. The only thing she doesn’t know is why.

“How will that help?” I cross my arms, resting my mug on my opposite forearm. Starting my morning with Lyla in my kitchen is enough torture for one day. Spending all day with her trying to pretend I don’t want to kiss her? That’s a humanitarian crime.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere near a cattle ranch,” she explains.

That’s putting it lightly. Eighteen-year-old Lyla declared to anyone who listened that she was leaving Sage Valley for good, and wanted nothing to do with the town that raised her.

I’m still skeptical about her ability to bring the ranch back from the brink of bankruptcy, but I pretend to consider her proposal as I squint my eyes and nod slowly.

“Look Beck, I’m just like any one of your other employees,” she says, when she can tell that she hasn’t won me over with the suggestion alone. “Think of today like my orientation.”

The problem is, Lyla isn’t like any of my other employees. For one, my other employees sleep in the bunkhouse, not one of the guest houses. They’re always sweaty, they smell a lot worse than Lyla does with her perfume that’s like a fucking dessert in a bottle, and I don’t think about how their lips would feel all the damn time.

“Austin does all the new hire orientations,” I point out, grabbing a pancake from the plate on the counter next to me and shoving half of it in my mouth dry.