Page 63 of Almost Ravaged

“I’m so sorry about that.” I look up at Sawyer, but only after I’ve ensured that I still have a firm grip on Shiloh. My stomach drops. “Oh shit.”

The woman before me stands with her arms held several inches from her sides, eyes wide and mouth agape. The stiffness in her limbs indicates she already knows what I’m seeing.

She’s absolutely covered in muddy paw prints.

Her sweater is littered with them. Most are indistinguishable, though the two on her chest possess far more definition. And they’re perfectly centered on each of her breasts.

I will not stare. I will not stare. I will not stare…

“What’s all the ruckus?” Bella says as she emerges from the storefront. “Oh shit.” She races back into the store and returns quickly with Shiloh’s leash in hand.

I take it from her, and as I fasten it to her collar, I say, “What has gotten into you?” Once it’s secure, I stand, grunting as I get to my feet. Shiloh, suddenly happy to stand at my side, licks my fingers expectantly, like she’s ready to go for a walk.

“Bella, take her. Please.” I pass off the dog, and the young woman not covered in mud takes her inside.

When the door shuts behind her, I turn to Sawyer.

Sawyer, who hasn’t moved.

Sawyer, who hasn’t made so much as a peep.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I don’t know what possessed her—”

She emits a throaty hiccup, then bursts into a fit of laughter. “Oh my god. Oh mygod.”

She doubles over, practically cackling, the move bringing more mud stains into view.

I grimace. Shit. It’s everywhere, the fabric of her cardigan more mud-colored than not.

Her sweater is so far gone that I’m not sure even dry-cleaning could salvage it.

“I’m so sorry.” A laugh escapes me. Not because any of this is funny, but because I’m horrified and I don’t know what to fucking do.

“I don’t think anyone’s gotten that fresh with me in a while,” she quips, eyeing the paw prints on her tits.

Breasts, I mentally correct. Breasts are anatomical body parts. Tits… Tits are for sucking. And fucking. And…

Goddamn. This woman has great tits.

“You don’t—you don’t happen to have anything I can change into, do you?”

Shit. I should have thought of that before she asked.

“Of course. Come with me.” I jog down the steps and lead her toward the house. “I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning. I really am sorry.”

When she doesn’t respond, I peer over my shoulder to confirm she’s following.

She’s several steps behind me, scanning the orchard and barn with a glint of curiosity in her eye.

I slow my pace to allow her to catch up. When she finally falls into step with me, she smiles.

“This place is special, isn’t it?”

The question slams into me at the speed of a freight train.

She’s not wrong, though I strongly believe that the people here were what made Evercrisp Orchard special. And most of those people are gone.

“It was,” I murmur, looking out toward the vista. This place is my home and it always will be. But it hasn’t felt right for a long time.