AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I just wanted to go. Far away. Where no one spread lies about me, where no one refused to believe me, where no one looked at me as if I was insane or a creeper pervert. Where someone just appreciated me.
I wanted Beck. So that’s where I went.
To him.
I think Tess had been right. Well, about some parts. Not the love part, because, just…no. I couldn’t—I shouldn’t—love him. But I definitely did feel guilty about leaving him at Thanksgiving. I must’ve been so bummed out lately because I felt crappy about deserting Beckett when he’d needed me the most that I’d lost control over my own life.
So, if he needed me, then that’s where I was going to be.
Maybe it would benefit us both.
Chapter 31
BAILEY
My adrenaline high had worn off by the time I reached my dad’s farm, and the impact of my earlier actions was beginning to take root in my nerves, causing my hands to rattle around the steering wheel and the sweat to gather under my shirt.
Because what the hell had I just done?
Let’s see…
I’d quit school, one week before finals.
I’d disrespected a teacher and stood up in the middle of class before walking out.
I’d bitched out my boss and lost my job.
I’d pretty much threatened Melody Fairfield for getting me fired, hurting Beck, and turning the entire campus against me.
I’d left my friends a horrible note that was probably going to freak them out, reason number one why I’d turned off my phone.
And then I’d run here, straight to the one person who absolutely did not need any more problems or drama heaped on his shoulders.
I began to wonder if I could somehow backtrack and repair some of the damage, and then I experienced panic when the expression on Vivian’s face flashed across my memory. Yeah, there was no way I was getting my job back. But school and the professor I’d insulted…
Then again, did I even want to go back to that?
No, but what was I supposed to do with the rest of my life if I didn’t?
My anxiety returned until I spotted Beck’s truck sitting in the driveway by the barn, the severely scratched side making an ache of longing arc through me. He and my brother had come to Granton over a week ago to pick it up. I’d been in class at the time and had completely missed them. I’d moped through the entire evening, wishing I’d skipped classes that day.
Suddenly, nothing that had happened two hours away mattered anymore. Beck was here, and he needed me.
Parking by the house, I killed the engine and just sat there, staring at his truck. I wondered where he was even as a lone rider on one of my dad’s mares, Lula Bell, trotted into view from the south pasture.
My breathing stalled in my chest, and my lips parted in awe. I’d never seen Beck on a horse, but I knew it was him. I could feel it deep inside me. Besides, he wasn’t riding like my dad or any of my brothers did. This guy knew how to sit on a horse as if he were part of the animal under him. They moved in tandem, the mare turning toward the barn with barely a nudge from his reins.
When they disappeared inside, I drifted that way, drawn to see more but also not rushing, because I suddenly felt shy—a completely foreign concept to me. I was almost reluctant to approach him when he was like this. This was…well, it was too big for me to handle.
But Beck. My Bucket. He was…
I reached the opening of the barn and saw him poised at the other end as he brushed down Lula Bell from her exercise. She nickered gently and moved her face into his space, making him chuckle and nudge her away before he pulled a treat from his pocket. She snagged it from his fingers, and he gave her neck a loving stroke. Then he tied her to the door of the stall so he could heft a pitchfork and clean out the old hay inside it.
He didn’t wear cowboy boots but a pair of tan Wolverine work boots. His blue jeans weren’t even particularly tight, though they were nicely worn and faded in a couple of interesting places. No shiny belt buckle or pearl-snap buttons adorned him anywhere. His fleece-lined plaid jacket and ball cap which were fraying in certain spots, looked completely practical and comfortable instead of ostentatious. But holy hell, the cowboy groupie in me took immediate interest.
He was perfect. Beyond perfect. He wasn’t some decorated showpiece. He was the real deal. Sweat glistened on his face as he worked, the muscles in his back and thighs flexing and stretching with every jab he heaved the pitchfork into the hay and shoveled it up before pivoting to sling it into the wheelbarrow beside him. God, just watching him made me drool.
All the raw, masculine ruggedness contained inside one person seemed too much, too overwhelming. Everything female into me gravitated toward it, wanting to grip it tight and sink my fingers into it, then quiver into ecstasy as it consumed me.
