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Peace out,
Adele (Drops mic and rummages through her closet for that pair of chaps she bought for Halloween.)
One
Ellie
I straighten my back and feel the vertebrae from the base of my
skull to the top of my tailbone pop into place. Maybe riding the fence wasn’t a great idea after months of being out of the saddle, but I couldn’t help myself. Cooper Jackson was on our land, and I refused to miss any opportunity to see him, even though hours in the saddle netted me not one glimpse of the tall cowboy who stole my heart years ago.
I drag my body through the front door and head straight for the sweet tea on the kitchen counter. Mom is prepping for what looks like a big dinner and a thrill races through me knowing I’ll get to see the man of my dreams tonight.
“I love you, Mom.” After I slide into a stool at the island, I pour a full glass of tea and gulp it straight down, letting the liquid wet my dry throat and the ice cool the heat swimming through my veins after hours of thinking about Cooper.
Mom sprinkles ample amounts of cheese on top of the lasagna she’s making for dinner. “Admit it, Ellie. You only love me right now because I made tea.” A sign hangs on the wall behind her that says Kiss the Cook. “Tell me how much you love me when I send you to the tack room to get the inventory sheet I left behind.” Mom gives me a smile—the smile that says, do-you-love-me-now?
My gravelly groan fills the air as I plop from the stool to my booted feet. “You could have called me, and I would have brought it with me.”
I’d just hung my saddle and worked my way back to the main house from the tack room. It’s not like it’s at the end of the driveway. Our tack room is at least a twenty-minute walk across the field.
“I called. Your phone is dead.” She covers the casserole dish with foil and slides it into the oven.
With the speed of a ninja, I whip my phone out of my back pocket ready to argue, but she’s right. A lifeless black screen stares back at me. The empty glass is a reminder of how blank I feel at not having seen Cooper today. I pour another helping of sweet tea into a plastic cup and steal a few tomatoes from the veggie tray Mom’s preparing.
“I thought Cooper and Brent would be back by now.” Despite my attempt to temper my excitement, my voice pitches an octave higher when I say his name.
Mom lifts a brow and gives me a knowing smile. “They finished running cattle between the ranches about an hour before you lumbered in. I think they went to grab a beer at Dixie’s.”
“You’d think they would have invited me.” My tone is similar to a spoiled kid who’s been denied.
Mom rounds the island. “I’m sure it was an oversight. When your brother and Cooper look at you, they still see an underage girl.”
“I’m long past underage. I’ve been drinking legally for two years.” I want to bang my head against the counter. Would Cooper still see me as the little girl I was or the woman I am?
“Go get my list. The boys will be back soon enough. I know you’re dying to see Cooper, and I’m sure he’s thrilled to see you too. How long has it been?”
“A little over four years.” Four years, three month, six days and a handful of hours to be exact. “See you in a few.” I walk out the back door and head for the outbuildings with my head full of thoughts about a certain tall muscular cowboy who recently came back from his grandfather’s ranch in Brazil to take over his father’s ranch here in Wyoming.
The last time I saw him I was almost eighteen and in love with everything about the man from the top of his dark haired head, to the tip of his cowboy boots. I spent hours leaning over the fence watching him ride. Spent days staring at him shirtless as he lifted heavy hay bales over his head to stack them high against the barn.
I longed to run my fingers over his rippling muscles, my tongue along the scruff on his jaw. By the time I'd left for college, I’d doodled his name a thousand times and imagined what our children would look like when he married me.
The grass is high with yellow flowers that skim the tops of my red boots as I trudge back toward the tack house. In the distance a truck sits alone next to the field house nearby. A home that is no longer used by the foreman since my brother lives in a cabin on the other side of the ranch. That truck has to be Cooper’s, and it matches him. All dark and brooding with its onyx paint and tinted windows—a mystery like the man.
My pace quickens as if getting close to his truck brings me closer to him. The smell of leather fills my nose when I enter the tack room. It’s a masculine scent that reminds me of the true essence of a cowboy. A salt of the earth kind of man who’s not afraid of getting dirty. The kind of man who minces no words or actions. The smell reminds me of Cooper.
I search the shelves for Mom’s inventory list and find it sitting on a freshly oiled saddle. Once it’s tucked into my back pocket, I close the door and slip around the front of the building to look at Cooper’s truck. The sound of water draws my attention to the outside showers. When the ranch housed a dozen hands, Dad built a bank of showers outside so the wranglers could rid themselves of the day’s dust before they entered the house.
Like a cat hunting mice, I tiptoe to the edge of the rough-hewn barn wood screen. The sound of water mixed with the smell of pure masculinity entices me to inch closer. Knowing it must be Cooper, I breathe in his scent and let it soak into every cell of my body. Looking for a knot in the wood, I’m forced to travel down the fence to get a peek of the man I’ve fantasized about since I was sixteen.
Mist floats in the air and lands heavy in my hair. I swipe my damp bangs from my forehead and kneel to take a peek.
What if it’s not Cooper? Mom said he was with Brent. After a second of deliberation, I have to know. Through a hole the size of a dime I spy on the only man for me, but a dime-sized hole doesn’t provide enough of a view, so I crawl to the end of the fence where an open gate leads into the showers.
I peek around the edge and my breath leaves me. He’s there, standing under a stream of water like a porn star in a fetish flick. His face looking up into the shower head as the water sluices down his body.
Mesmerized, I stare at him like a stalker. I've never looked at a man’s naked form before and thought, he’s beautiful, but there is no other way to describe this man. With his back turned, his broad shoulders taper down to narrow hips and the finest ass I’ve ever laid eyes on—not that I’ve seen many naked man asses, but this one looks carved from stone. Perfect globes of muscle that flare into strong thighs and defined calves.
