Page 39 of Slow Burn

Wade turns to take the dishes inside, muttering something incomprehensible to himself.

“I kind of like him,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.

There’s a notification on my computer screen when I go back to the office after lunch, and despite everything Wade told me about Tessa, anticipation flutters in my chest that it might be an e-mail from Beck.

Instead, I find a woman’s name I don’t recognize in my inbox. Sherry Wright. Her e-mail address is the name of a company I recognize because I painstakingly filled out their intense application form when I first got to Sage Valley. I filled out a lot of applications. This is the only one that has gotten back to me with a reply that isn’t computer generated.

I read through the e-mail, learning that she’s a manager at an up and coming business consulting firm in the city, and she’d like to set up an interview next week. The disappointment of not seeing Beck’s name is replaced by a burst of excitement that I try and fail to contain as I let out a squeal.

The prospect of getting a job back in the city isn’t just exciting, it’s exactly what I need. What I am working toward. I could get another apartment, resume my life in Calgary, do the job I’ve worked so hard to do and do it well.

It would also mean I wouldn’t have to stay in Sage Valley, and I wouldn’t have to keep working for Wild Sage. I could ask Beck if he’ll give me a reference even though I haven’t technically worked here for that long.

With any luck, by next week, it’ll be goodbye Sage Valley, and goodbye Cactus Jackass.

Chapter 16

Beck

Tessa left in tears, and I feel like a fucking asshole.

I’m taking it out on the barn floor as I finally give it an overdue clean after the long winter and busy calving season.

I’ve been telling myself for weeks that I needed to be honest with her, but every time I tried to figure out how I wanted to let her down, the words sounded wrong. Cruel, even. And every time she looked at me with expectant and hopeful blue eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her.

On paper, Tessa and I would have been good for each other. But in real life? It felt like sticking a square peg in a round hole. I always felt like I wasn’t doing enough for her. She didn’t understand me. I understood her, though. I know she wanted a love like the ones you see in those cheesy movies, or in books. Where he gives the woman some long eloquent speech about how much he loves her, how he can’t live without her.

That’s never going to be me. I’m a man of few words, and I’m not going to force something that isn’t working just to spare her feelings. And it’s become increasingly obvious to me over the last few weeks that I’m never going to be able to give Tessa all of me. Not the way she deserves.

I finish sweeping the bulk of the dust off the floor and pull out the hose before I walk around the barn and turn on the tap to full blast. I figure now is as good a time as any to give the barn a deep clean, since I’ll be on call for the rest of the night.

Austin let me know that the last heifer is ready to calve today. He said she was hanging out at the edges of the herd, and seemed uncomfortable and antsy. She’ll be the last one, weeks behind the rest, and then calving season will finally be over. And I will have one more mouth to feed.

The spray of the water is loud as it blasts the dirt off the concrete, so I’m not aware anyone has approached until I hear a loud “Hey!” over the noise.

I startle, turning abruptly to see who is approaching the barn, and I forget that I still have the hose turned on. As I whirl around, the spray follows, and gets all over Lyla.

“Ahh!” she shrieks, holding her hands in front of her to shield herself. “Turn it off!”

I quickly release the handle of the sprayer, trying to stifle a laugh as she scowls at me. She’s soaked from head to toe. Her jean shorts are drenched, her hair is matted and stuck to her face, mascara runs down her cheeks. But as my gaze drags over her sopping form, my eyes land on the way her white t-shirt clings to her body, the fabric nearly transparent.

I smirk, a juxtaposition to the way she’s glowering at me.

“Bet you’re glad you decided to wear a bra today,” I tease, but I can’t help the way my jeans tighten at the sight of the black lace.

“Fuck off, Beck,” she snaps, but she doesn’t attempt to cover herself. Instead, she bends down and picks up the basket she’d been carrying when she came down here, and the assortment of vegetable scraps that are now strewn about the floor.

Her wet t-shirt and fucking perfect tits make my cock twitch, but it’s her sharp admonishment, her withering glare, that sends a jolt of electricity through my core. It zips through me, from my chest all the way down to my toes where they curl in my leather boots.

She stands, having refilled her basket with the vegetable scraps, and her eyes meet mine. Dark and stormy, with flecks of gold from the sun. Like lightning in the dead of night.

Like honey and chocolate.

It hits me all at once, why I could never give all of myself to anyone else. Part of my heart has always been reserved for Lyla. For this beautiful, intense, wildfire of a woman.

Austin’s words from yesterday come crashing back, snuffing out any flicker of hope I ever have of being with Lyla, and I wonder if I’m destined to be alone for the rest of my life.

I trust you.