Page 19 of Oops, I Fell For The Ranch Hand Next Door

Rev extends a hand across the counter. “Jessie, nice to see you again. You finding what you need at the ranch?”

The question sounds casual. It’s not. Rev’s asking if she’s staying, if this is real, if I’ve finally found someone worth keeping. Jessie shakes his hand and answers honestly. “I’m starting to.”

Approval shifts across Rev’s weathered face. He nods once, then turns his attention to me. “Sloane’s order is in the back. Give me a minute.”

He disappears through the doorway. I slide my hand from Jessie’s back to her hip, fingers curling possessively over the curve there. She leans into me without thinking. The unconscious trust in that movement makes my jaw tighten with want.

“Rev’s good people,” I tell her. “Retired preacher. Opened this place ten years ago. Doesn’t talk religion, just lives it.”

“He sees everything.”

“He does.” My thumb runs along her hip through her jeans. “Which means by tomorrow morning, anyone Trudy doesn’t get to first will know I brought you here. That we’re together.”

She turns in my grip to face me. “Is that what we are?”

The question makes me pull her closer, both hands on her hips now, eliminating the space between us. “Yeah. That’s what we are. Unless you’re going to tell me last night didn’t mean what I think it meant.”

“It meant everything.”

Her words hang between us. I dip my head until my mouth hovers near her ear, until my next words are more vibration than sound. “Because tonight, I’m going to make you say my name again. Louder this time.”

I tighten my grip on her hips. The small whimper she makes goes straight to my cock. “Eli—”

“That’s a start.” I graze my teeth over her earlobe. “I’m looking for more.”

Footsteps from the back room. We separate just as Rev emerges carrying two bags of feed like they weigh nothing. If he notices how flushed Jessie is, how my hands are fisted at my sides to keep from reaching for her again, he doesn’t comment. Just sets the bags by the door and rings up the order.

“You two be careful driving back,” Rev says as I pay. “Road gets slick after storms.”

“Will do, sir. You have a good day.” We head back to the truck, then I load the bags into the bed while Jessie stands on the sidewalk trying to recover. When I’m done, I take her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Home. The word settles between us with the weight of permanence.

I keep her hand in mine on the drive back, thumb tracing patterns on her skin that have become a language between us. She sits close, her shoulder nearly touching mine, and the ease of it makes my sternum ache. We chat with the kind of small talk that says we’re trying to cover the decades of our lives before the drive’s over. This is what I’ve been working on since I found her in the meadow: proximity without panic, touch without apology, the quiet knowing that I’m keeping her, that she’s all mine.

We’re five minutes from the ranch when her phone buzzes. She pulls it out, and her face changes when she sees the screen. Dr. Meekins. The hospital. The life she walked away from calling her back.

“You going to answer?” I ask.

“No.” She silences the call and shoves the phone back in her pocket. “Not right now.”

My hand tightens on hers. “You sure?”

She turns to me, this woman I found on the verge of breaking, who’s been learning about life without an emergency around every corner. Certainty moves across her face. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

The ranch appears around the bend. I park the truck, come around to her side, and lift her down with my hands spanning her waist. The flannel she’s wearing rides up with the movement, exposing a strip of pale skin above her jeans. My thumbs brush that softness before I can stop myself. She sighs. Her hands grip my shoulders, and the heat in her eyes makes my control fray.

I set her on the ground without releasing her. We stand there in the afternoon sun with my body blocking hers from view of the lodge. I map her face, the flush spreading down her throat, disappearing under her collar where I want to chase it with my mouth, the way her lips stay parted and kiss-swollen even though I haven’t kissed her yet.

“Tonight,” I tell her, both a promise and a command.

“Tonight,” she agrees.

I kiss her then, slow and deep and claiming. She kisses me back with everything she has. When we break apart, she’s breathless and aching and more settled than I’ve seen her since the meadow.

She’s staying. Not because she has nowhere else to go. Not because I’m offering her safety she doesn’t deserve.

She’s staying because this, us, the ranch, the life we’re building, is what choosing herself means.