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11
AUSTIN
For two more days, Chance keeps Miles and me busy from fucking dawn to dinner. Fortunately, he had us riding the never-ending fence line on ATVs instead of horses. He knows our limits. The repair check is something that can be done in the winter when there are fewer chores, although the snow’s usually too deep, and it’s fucking freezing. It’s also something that can be done by ranch hands, not the property owners. But I’m thankful for the cowboy-warmup he’s given us. He could have had us turning bull calves into steers by castrating them, but instead chose something involving a hammer and nails.
He kept us so occupied that I haven’t seen Carly since our lunch break at the spring. Funny, we didn’t eat lunch. We just talked. Rather, I talked—while playing with her perfect tits—and she seemed content to listen. It could have also been the fact that I made her come on my fingers first and then got to play with her perfect tits.
It was heaven and hell rolled into one.
I have blisters on my hands—and not just from jerking off solo in the shower to the image of Carly—and my back aches. I may have lost five pounds from sweating. I still have the fading bruise on my jaw from Chance’s sucker punch the other night.
I need another opportunity to meet with Carly. Or an actual date. Anything where I can see her smile again. Watch her eyes go hazy with desire. Feel her nipples harden beneath my palms.
Neither Miles nor I pussied out with ranch work, so Chance seems to have some grumbling respect for us. Enough to invite us to head into town with him for supplies and a beer before another grueling round of fence repair.
We’re bumping down the dirt road toward Bayfield when my mom calls. Chance’s truck is new, shiny, and fucking huge. It’s a four-door dually, meaning it has double wheels in the back that help haul heavy shit. The windows are down, and some country singer on the radio is crooning about front porches and short skirts.
“Hey,” I say into my cell.
Chance gives me a glance from the driver’s seat and turns down the music. Miles is in the back, his blond hair—which only three days ago was styled like a city slicker—catches the breeze.
“Hi, sweetheart. How’s it going?” Mom asks.
“Good.”
“Is everyone nice?”
I laugh. “It’s not the first day of second grade. Don’t worry, I’ve only gotten into one fight.”
“What?”
I see Mom’s face in my mind’s eye. Her lips are parted into an O and her eyebrows have flown off her forehead. I took her looks instead of my father’s. We have the same dark hair and eyes.
Chance raises a brow at me and I ignore him, looking out the side window as the prairie rushes by. I doubt Chance has forgiven me for touching Carly—not that I’m going to tell him shit about our time at the secret spring—but he hasn’t thrown another punch either. He made his point and now I’m going to do what I fucking want. He might want to sucker punch me again, but I won’t let him land another.
Since our time together at the spring, I looked for Carly, cutting once through the stable like a teenager passing the cheerleader tryouts. She wasn’t there. I hope she hasn’t quit because of me. Probably not. I figure Chance would have said.
Since he hasn’t, and my nose isn’t broken, I figure he still likes me, or at least settled his issue with the punch. Hell, he’s taking Miles and me for beers, so I’d say he doesn’t hate me. For now.
Miles is cool and all, but I doubt we’ll be getting mani-pedis together when the year is up. There wasn’t much bonding at the bar the other night, and the workload Chance piled on us isn’t a get-to-know-you vacation.
“I’m kidding,” I say to Mom.
I’d rather she not worry. Besides, what kind of grown man tattles to Mommy about a bully on the playground?
Funny thing is, if our places were reversed? I’d have done the same thing as Chance. I’d protect a woman who’s been through what Carly has, just as he did. Which means I grudgingly have to like the guy.
“Really. How is it? I still can’t believe your father’s doing this to you. And the other boys.”
I mentally shrug because we’ve been over this before. “You know, you never talked much about him. Jonathan. In fact, not at all. I’m here now, so maybe you can give me some details.”
She pauses a second and then sighs. “He’s always been part of my past. Until now, so I guess you’re right. I was twenty-three and working at a bar to put myself through flight school. He came in and swept me off my feet.”
“Just like that? I mean, you married him.”
“I did. He was a nice man.” She pauses. “Until he wasn’t.”
I still. I never heard her say that before. “He hurt you?”
