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“That’s me helping you pull your head out of your ass, Holt. I told you what you need to worry about,” he says.
I fold my arms, quirking an eyebrow, waiting for him to enlighten me.
“Libby, Libby, and also Libby. You know your shit, man. You’ve been through active service and busted a few heads like everybody else. Protecting her from bodily harm ain’t the hard part.” He pauses, glancing up at the stars. “You’ve gotta do her heart right, too. If it were me, I wouldn’t be wasting another second here while she’s in bed waiting. So go tuck her in. Take her on a real date, too.”
I start to open my mouth and fling something back, but it’s in his smile. He’s being serious.
It’s like he’s speaking from experience with Peace, and I can actually believe him.
I just nod, mutter another thanks and goodnight, giving my brother a parting handshake.
They say good help’s hard to find, and maybe it’s true.
Here in Heart’s Edge, it’s closer than I ever thought, and only a royal pain in the ass about half the time.
17
Dark Horse (Libby)
By the time the weekend rolls around, I’m almost ready to chase his ass away.
Listen.
Otherworldly gravity defying monkey-sex every night is cool.
But you try functioning like a normal human being less than eight hours after you’ve been cored out like a freaking apple, left sore and sated and not remembering how to curse the man who did it?
Yeah.
It’s a little much.
It’s even more disgusting when, come Saturday morning, he’s bouncing out of bed with that same endless energy while I’m just dead in the covers.
Well, he can run the farm today.
I’m sleeping in.
“What do you want for breakfast?” he asks, nudging my side and leaning over to gently bite the back of my shoulder.
“Solitude,” I mumble, reaching back to swat him. “Are you an incubus or what? Where do you get the energy?”
“You. So maybe I am.” Snickering, his beard scrapes against my oversensitive skin, he nips down over my shoulder, toward my shoulder blade, while I push my face into a pillow. “You make me happy, Libby. Guess that gives me all the pep I need.”
I push myself up on my elbows and give Holt a disgusted look through the mess of hair falling in my face. “It’s way too early in the morning for sweet talk.”
“Not sweet talk. Truth.” He brushes my hair aside, tracing his lips over mine gently. “Get some more shut-eye. I’ll cook and then start on what needs doin’.”
“You’re gonna work? On my ranch?” I arch a skeptical brow.
“Why not? The crew’s out for the weekend, the site’s packed away, and I’m not looking to sit in the house and do nothing while you slave your butt off.” Holt steals another kiss and nearly gets bitten for his trouble when I snap my teeth at him, making him laugh. “No fussing, lady. If I help, you can finish early, and then maybe we can go on another date.”
That sparks my interest. “Where?”
“Anywhere you want.” He raises his brows. “Is the old drive-in still open?”
“Only sometimes. But we can see if they’re showing anything tonight.” I sit up, yawning and stretching, enjoying the way his eyes fall over my naked body.
He’s gonna make a girl vain at this rate.
Can’t really complain.
But I fish around until I find the shirt I ripped off of him last night, stealing it to wrap myself up, the warm flannel saturated in his scent. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I flick his arm as I stand—and bite back a wince as my thighs protest.
Nope, I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“I’m up now,” I say. “I’ll help you with breakfast, then we can let the sheep out.”
Seems like I’m in for an easy day.
Or so I think.
I swear to God, if I didn’t know it, I wouldn’t believe Holt grew up in Heart’s Edge.
I’ve never seen a clumsier man on a ranch in my life.
All that confidence I’d seen at the construction site?
Gone.
He’s hopeless. Dropping stuff, tripping over everything, almost ending up ass-first in the ditch again. It’s cute as hell but also slows me down.
I give up around the time he manages to spook the sheep into nearly breaking out of their pen.
You’d think sheep couldn’t stampede.
You’d be wrong.
I don’t even know how he did it.
Next thing I know, Plath’s pitched him off and gone charging off on her lonesome to cut the sheep off, tossing her mane with something almost like annoyance.
A good horse is as awesome as a sheepdog, if you train her right.
Turns out, horses train way easier than men.
I leave Holt rolling in the dirt for a few while I kick my heels and send Frost charging forward with a challenging snort. He moves at an angle to Plath so we can stop the sheep from ramming the fence. It’s all upset baa-ing and stomping and clouds of dust.
