“You do if you want to get laid again.”
He fists a handful of her fire-red hair and drags her to his mouth. “We both know the opposite is true.”
A slow smile builds on her face, at odds with her sharp whisper. “Let go.”
His lips bounce, and he releases her, draping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her against his side. His flinty gaze drifts to me, to Maybe, and returns to Conor. “At least she’s not a vegetarian.”
Maybe extends her middle finger without looking at him.
“You’re not, are you?” He squints at me. “A vegetarian?”
“No.” I can’t tell if he’s seriously concerned about this. “Why?”
As he opens his mouth, Maybe says, “Swear to God, if I hear another sausage joke…”
“We all know you put out for a seven-inch zucchini.” He arches a brow.
“Ten inches.” Jarret traces the hem of her shorts. “Whenever I give it to her, she gushes all over it. Guess you could call her a non-dairy creamer.”
Conor bursts into laughter, and I press my fingers against my smile.
Maybe twists on his lap to face him. “Have you had that one holstered a while?”
“Maybe.” He circles an arm around her waist and pulls her to lean back against his chest. His mouth dips to her neck, and she instantly liquefies beneath his nuzzling bites. I think I even hear a moan.
These people are so obnoxiously hot for each other it makes me squirm in the chair. If I sit here much longer, I might blush, which is ridiculous considering the things I’ve done for money.
“No one around here’s going to buy what you’re used to selling.” Jake rubs his whiskers, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “What else can you do?”
“Like…other skills?”
“Yes, other skills. You’re not staying here unless you pull your weight like everyone else.”
Sex is one way to a cowboy’s heart, but it’s not the only way.
“I can cook.” I push my shoulders back. “Native American cuisine mostly, but I can grill and—”
“You’re hired.” Jarret claps a hand on his thigh. “We eat breakfast at six.”
“Really?” My cheeks lift. “You want me to prepare your meals?”
“We don’t have the funds to hire a chef.” Jake leans back, a hint of boredom in his tone.
“But we need one,” Conor says. “Desperately.”
“I’ll gladly cook in exchange for food and a bed.” I shift to the edge of the chair and give Jake strong eye contact. “And shooting practice.”
“So you can kill the bastard who raised me.” He taps a finger on his knee.
“Yes.”
He heard my story, and if I read his reactions correctly, he sympathizes with my need for revenge.
“All right.” His attention slips to the dark landscape behind me, and a grim twist steals across his lips.
I follow his line of sight over my shoulder, anticipating Lorne’s presence, but no one’s there.
“I’m going to check on him.” I stand, searching the field.
Where did he go?
“He’s probably in the stable.” Jarret rises and adjusts his hat. “I’ll go.”
“I don’t know where I’m sleeping, and…” An inexplainable urge to see if Lorne’s okay pulls at me. “I want to talk to him.”
After a moment of consideration, Jarret nods. “I’ll walk with you.”
He turns back to Maybe and puts his mouth at her ear, whispering something I can’t hear. Whatever he says causes her legs to squeeze together, and her fingernails dig into his arms.
He should just fuck her already and get it over with.
I step off the porch and wait with my back to them.
The all-watching eye of the moon shines its glow over the sleeping countryside, casting the tall grass in a shimmering hue of silver. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls for its mate.
My ancestors believed that all nature is alive with spirit. Animals, plants, rocks, water, humans—everything has a soul, and we’re all connected in one unified whole.
My grandmother taught me the old ways, but I was thirteen when she died. I’ve forgotten many of the stories. The teaching that sticks with me the most is to always pay attention. Listen to the wind. Listen to the silence. Listen to my gut. The universe speaks, and it knows.
Right now it’s telling me to help Lorne find his way. To lead him to his soul. In turn, he’ll protect me so I can walk the earth unharmed.
Footsteps sound behind me, and Jarret strides past. “Don’t wander around alone. Not until this shit with John is over. Understood?”
“Yes.” I hurry after him, matching his long-legged gait. “Where’s Lorne been sleeping?”
“If he slept last night, it was in his truck. He spent the first night out there.” He gestures at a bare spot in the field between the clumps of trees.
“Outside?” My stomach cramps with guilt. “Why didn’t he kick me out of his bed?”
“He said the house felt like a prison and ran off with a sleeping bag.” His voice roughens. “We tried to stop him.”