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Have I gone crazy?
And then there’s my bio dad, Hank, who I wish could just simply like me.
I really want Hank to accept me but how? How can I do that when he’s so stoic and hard to read? It’s impossible.
At a knock at the door, we all look up. It’s as if a collective out-breath of relief makes sound.
“I bet that’s Chasen,” I announce.
“Make him take you to Hattie’s,” Sophie calls out as I go to the door.
Liz snorts a laugh. “Like that man would eat out anyplace else.”
“You two have fun,” Marjorie waves me off.
“Thank you, I’m sure we—” My breath punches out of my lungs when I see Chasen, looking one hundred percent like the hunky, brooding, roguish cowboy he was yesterday. “Hi.”
“Mornin’, ma’am,” he says gentlemanly. My eyes grow round and hungry as they rove all of that raw, roughhewn, corded physique. I can’t even hide it—I am totally smitten.
The moment my tongue peeks out to wet my lips, there’s Hank walking up behind Chasen. The younger man is looking at me in a way that sends ropes of sensation all the way down between my thighs, and I squeeze them together to snuff out the heat.
It barely does anything.
“Mornin’, Hazel,” Hank offers, gruffly. A big hand lands on Chasen’s shoulder, but if Chasen is caught off guard, his expression nor his swaggered stance betray his surprise. “Chasen, you finish with that paddock fencing this morn’?”
“Yes, sir. Queenie and Rex are back out there now.”
I tilt a look up at Chasen. “Queenie and Rex?”
“The Hardins’ two horses. I can show you?” he says like a question directed at Hank. His pseudo father-figure. His boss. On that note I gulp; my throat is scratchy and tight.
“Let me take a look at that fence first. Y’all get goin’,” Hank says, calmly insistent.
Chasen tips his brim at the man. “We’re gone, sir.”
He walks me down to his pickup and opens the passenger door for me. It opens with a rusty squeak. I climb up into the seat with great exertion, and he reaches out at the last second in case I fall. That might’ve been nice, actually.
“Thank you,” I exhale, winded.
“You all in? Watch your legs.” He closes the door.
“The girls said something about Hattie’s?” I ask when he hops into his side with ease. “Is that where we’re going?”
“Only the best, Hattie’s.” Chasen grins like he has no idea what that grin does, all up in my girly parts.
Or he has every idea.
On the drive over, I learn that he has been up for hours doing chores. He must’ve gone back home to wash up, he smells so good. Like Cadbury eggs and cardamom mixed with some clean, male sweat.
Chasen obviously has an amazing work ethic. Callused hands gripping the steering wheel are indication of that. A deep tan gets even darker and richer at the nape of his thick, sinewy neck. I learn that there is endless work on the farm, things I didn’t know I didn’t know have to be done every day, and that being the Hardins’ most loyal farmhand doesn’t come without its…pressures.
The aroma of comfort food, coffee, and melty sugary goodness assail me as we step into the diner.
“Hattie makes the best peach cobbler,” Chasen says, ushering me over to a booth by the windows.
“Is that that smell?”
“Only if you think it’s smellin’ good,” I hear a buoyant feminine voice call out. I bet that is Hattie. She appears at our table and immediately sidles in next to me. Scootching her hip all the way flush against mine. “Good to finally see you, sugar,” she says like she knows me, in a voice as sweet as the endearment she gave me.
