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CHAPTER TEN

FREYA

I’m so disappointed and conflicted.

During the day, I’m disgusted that I couldn’t keep my legs closed. At night, I toss and turn, my body hot like I have a fever. In the morning, I wonder if this is what got Lady Hatfield into her horrible marriage or made my mother think Aiden was safe. He probably seemed so charming, just the way Deacon is, at first.

I know all these things in my head.

But my body is a traitor.

I go into work, and it feels like somebody’s watching me all over again. People pass by on the street, in their flannels and cowboy hats. Customers come and go. Tracy arrives during the afternoon and asks me to go to the farmer’s market to get pumpkin for the pastries.

I go, but I can’t keep from looking over my shoulder every step of the way.

When I return, Tracy takes the pumpkins to boil them down at her house, leaving me to close up. It’s late in the afternoon by that time. Everything is soaked, but the rain has let up. I clean up and drag the trash out the back.

I’m putting it in the bin when I freeze.

Something squeaks. No, it’s more of a whine .

Turning, I run my eyes over the narrow alley. There’s a furry black puppy tied to the air conditioning unit with a string. Horrified, I drop the bin lid and run to it, holding out my hand. It yaps, rolling its head in a circle at me.

It looks well fed. I frown, staring down at it. It licks my hand and yaps twice.

Who would just dump their puppy like that?

Angrily, I untie the puppy and carry it back into the café. It fits in one of Tracy’s tote bags, its little head poking over the edge. Then, I put on my coat and lock up, stepping out onto the street.

“You got a dog in that?”

I jump out of my skin. There’s a tall man wearing a Carhartt and a cowboy hat standing at the curb.

“It’s not mine,” I say, glancing around. The street is still populated, so I’m not alone. “Somebody abandoned him in the alley.”

He steps closer, leaning in to look. He’s got a nice face, rough like the rest of the men in Knifley. I can’t get a good look at it because he’s focused on the puppy, but he doesn't give me a bad feeling.

“You gonna keep him?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I can’t. I’ll take it to the shelter.”

“There’s no shelter,” he says. “Take him to one of the local ranches. They’ve always got space for one more.”

He touches the brim of his hat, and then he’s gone, crossing the street. I stare after him, realizing that’s not a bad idea. The other night, Deacon said he wanted one, he just hadn’t found the right dog yet.

Maybe this is too perfect not to be a sign.

Bittern picks me up and promises not to say a word about the puppy. I feed it and put it in the barn. The next morning, I don’t have work, but he doesn’t know that. I ask him to take me to the bottom of the road that leads to Ryder Ranch, spinning a story about Tracy needing me to pick something up. His eyes are dull, as usual, and he doesn’t ask questions. He just gives me a pale smile and drives off .

I’m in one of my moods where I don’t regret what I did with Deacon. When the night comes, I’ll probably sink into depression, but for now, I feel fine as I head up the hill and around the corner to the gate of Ryder Ranch.

I pick up the puppy, letting it sit on my shoulder. It yaps all the way up the driveway to the front porch.

The yard is empty, but I can hear a commotion in the barn. Quietly, I walk over the driveway to the attached paddock.

Through the open end, a big, dark gray stallion, likely Bones And All, enters the paddock with Deacon astride him, riding at an easy posting trot. The puppy whips its head around and starts yapping again.

The stallion spins on a dime and pricks his ears forward. Deacon’s dark gaze settles on me, and his brows rise. He comes to the fence, looming overhead. Suddenly, I feel incredibly small.

He clears his throat. “What’re you doing here, sweetheart?”

Right away, my knees go weak. I’m not sure I remember why I’m here in the first place. Am I delivering a dog or wanting something else?

“I found a puppy,” I say, but it comes out in a whisper.

He dismounts, steel tipped boots hitting the ground in a spray of mud. His horse shakes its head, bridle jingling. He comes to the fence, leaning his inked forearms over it.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s a dog,” I say.

The side of his mouth jerks up. “I mean, any idea what the breed is?”

I shake my head, feeling silly. He drags his eyes from the dog to me, and they linger there, hotter than fire. My neck is burning up, and all I can think about is how he felt inside me. Big, overwhelming, intensely perfect.

“You walk here alone?” he asks.

I shake my head, then nod. “Bittern dropped me a few miles back on his way to work. ”

A crease appears on his forehead. “I’ll bring you back. Don’t be walking on the roads alone. It’s not safe. Come on into the barn for a minute, sweetheart.”

That word is like a hook in my heart. I circle the barn, and he heads through the paddock entrance. We meet inside, and he takes the dog from my arms, flipping it on its back and holding it up.

“I’d say a Heinz fifty seven,” he says. “It’s a boy. You got a name for it?”

I shake my head. He turns over a milk crate and puts the dog in it. Then, before I can react, he picks me up and carries me to the tack room and kicks the door shut with his boot.

He doesn’t waste any time setting me on a wooden trunk and pushing between my knees. His mouth grazes below my ear. His hand slides up my waist and cups my breast. My palm comes up, pushing at his chest.

“Deacon, I just came to give you the dog,” I gasp.

“You gave me a boner too,” he murmurs. “Need to fix that before I take you home.”

His mouth is so hot, and it feels so good. I keep pushing but not very hard. He pulls the neckline of my sweater to the side. Teeth and hot tongue graze my shoulder. In my boots, my toes curl.

I need to say no.

I know better than to let this happen again.

“Deacon, please.”

He bites me again. My heart is going fast, unsure what’s happening. He reaches up and takes my face gently in his fingers, turning it to make me look into his eyes.

“What does please mean?” he asks, voice low. “Please stop? Please bend you over and fuck your pussy?”

My eyes widen. He kisses me, inked fingers still firm on my face. My body melts into him, my thighs tightening around his waist. Dimly, I feel him reach between us, and his belt clinks as he undoes it.

I’m in one of my woolen skirts, halfway down to my knees. His mouth moves over mine, giving me his tongue. My ears roar, desire surging in waves. Roughly, he pushes my skirt up over my hips. This morning, all my tights were dirty, so I put on a pair of winter socks.

He looks down. “Fuck.”

“What?” I gasp.

“Goddamn thigh highs,” he says.

He pushes the front of his pants open and pulls me to the edge of the trunk. My eyes widen as his cock comes free. Has it always been so big? And the piercings on the head fascinate me. Four silver bulbs on each side.

A desperate throb moves through my pussy.

He reaches between us and pushes inside me. I’m soaked, so he slides in, but not without a burning sensation that takes a few thrusts to turn to pleasure. My nails become claws and dig into his upper arms.

Our eyes meet. Fire crackles. I’m either terrified or the most aroused I’ve ever been.

He braces his boot and starts fucking. This is pure animal instinct, like we’ll both die if we don’t do it. I never imagined lust like this was possible. I’m just mindless with him, starving every time he looks at me.

He touches my clit with one hand, rubbing in quick circles with his thumb. The trunk hits the wall. The tack room is filled with the soaked sounds of him rutting into me, again and again, making the ceiling spin overhead.

My orgasm hits, spreading through me like hot water, blossoming from my pussy, washing through my thighs and lower belly.

“Oh God,” I whisper, shuddering hard.

He kisses my open mouth. “That’s right, sweetheart, you come on my cock.”

He gets harder, his pace picks up and his eyelids flicker.

“Pull out,” I gasp.

Too late. He looks me dead in the eyes and comes, jaw gritted. This time, I feel it better than I did last night. He jerks, deep inside. His lids flicker as he lets out a low moan. Then, he goes still, breathing hard .

I want to tell him he can’t just do that, but no words come.

“You want something to eat?” he asks.

“What?”

He pulls out of me and puts his cock back in his pants, fastening his belt. Then, he puts my panties over my pussy, covered in his cum, and lifts me to pat my skirt back down. The world spins. I grip his arm.

“You hungry?”

I shake my head. I ate breakfast before I left the house. He picks his hat up off the trunk and puts it back on, winding his fingers through mine. I follow him, confused and still panting.

He leads me back out into the barn. My eyes adjust to the bright light coming from outside, and when they do, I realize there’s a wiry man with gray hair walking toward us. I tug my hand out of Deacon’s and tuck it behind my back.

The man looks up. Then, he looks at Bones, still standing with his saddle and bridle on, and at the swinging door to the tack room.

“Who’s this?” His voice is gruff but pleasant. He takes his hat off and offers his hand.

“Freya Hatfield,” Deacon says. “This is Andy.”

I shake his hand, giving him a shy smile.

“You’re one of Aiden Hatfield’s kids?” Andy asks, eyes narrowing but a smile still on his face.

“He’s my stepfather,” I say.

“Huh,” says Andy. “Well, I see.”

Deacon’s hand settles on my lower back, like he’s saying something without words.

“You mind if I take Bones out to check that gate? He’s already saddled up,” Andy says.

“Fine by me,” says Deacon. “Take this puppy with you. When you get back, put him in a kennel in the living room.”

“Puppy?”

Deacon points to the milk crate. “Freya found a stray.”

He nods and swings on Bones. Deacon hands him the puppy, and he tucks it in his front pocket. Its front paws and head hang out, eyes big. For a moment, I think Andy doesn’t like me, but then he gives me a grandfatherly wink as he turns Bones and heads out. Deacon’s hand tightens on my waist.

“Let’s go inside,” he says.

I turn, shaking my head. “I have to go home. Aiden will wonder where I went.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but he just nods and heads out the front side of the barn. I follow him as he heads to the truck, opening the passenger door. I can’t get in by myself, and my boot slips. He picks me up one handed and drops me into the passenger seat. The look he gives me from his heavy lidded eyes goes right to my pussy.

He gets in and the engine purrs. I forgot in the last few days how powerful his presence is—big and raw, openly sexual. My eyes are glued to his inked hand as he uses his flat palm to spin the wheel and back the truck around to head to the road.

We drive, both silent.

My entire body prickles. I swear, I can still feel him inside me. I twist my hands in my lap. I don’t know how he did it again. I came up here to give him a dog and, within minutes, he had my legs wide open.

I don't know what this is. Something real? Or another turn in the cycle of every woman before me?

The mountains rush by, the dark kind I don’t know. They aren’t the Appalachian Mountains, soft like a blanket pulled around me. It occurs to me that when I’m with him, I forget how unanchored I feel.

“I want to see you again,” he says.

I glance at him just as he reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. Heat erupts and pours through my body. I can’t stop staring at it, the scarred knuckles, the ink blurred from the sun. He’s moving his middle finger in slow circles, the way he does on my clit.

“Did you take my panties?” I burst out.

The corner of his mouth goes up.

“Yeah, I did,” he drawls. “You want them back, you can come get them from my room. ”

I gasp, staring straight ahead. I’m so flustered, it takes me a moment to realize he’s not heading back to my house—he’s turning off on a dirt road. He drives a few miles down, then pulls off.

“Come here,” he says, unlatching his seat and pushing it back.

I stare, heart pounding. “What are you doing?”

Unceremoniously, he picks me up and hauls me into his lap, wrapping my knees around his waist. His hand slides up my spine, and he pulls the band from the end of my braid and shakes my curls free.

“What are you doing?” I repeat.

“Just touching you, looking at you,” he says, voice dropping. I notice it gets husky when he’s turned on.

He digs his fingers in my hair, gathering it in his fist. Then, he leans in, curving my spine back, and kisses me. Arousal bursts out like water from a dam. We both moan, and my fingers dig into him.

He tastes so good, and he knows what he’s doing. The few kisses I’ve had before him weren’t very pleasant or skilled. Deacon takes his time with it, starting slow before kissing me with passion. One hand grips my hair while the other slides up under my skirt and digs into my ass. I kiss him back, unable to keep from grinding my pussy on the ridge of his cock under his pants.

The truck windows steam over. His hands are all over me. I’m dry humping, gasping against his lips every time his belt buckle hits my clit.

I know better.

I really do.

But I can’t fucking stop. I don’t know why, after all those years of promising myself I wouldn’t end up with a man like him, I fell right into his lap.

Time blurs. I forget where we are and that I need to get home. We make out, bodies grinding frantically, for what feels like a few minutes. But when we break apart, I glance at the clock on the dashboard; it’s been almost thirty minutes.

“You have to take me home,” I gasp .

“I want to see you overnight,” he says. “Had you in my bed once. I need it again.”

I open my mouth and words I didn’t approve come out.

“This weekend,” I say. “Pick me up on Friday. All the men are going into the city overnight, so you can come after seven.”

The corner of his mouth jerks up. “Good girl.”

I’m so turned around, I can’t respond. He lifts me out of his lap, adjusting himself before putting the truck in drive. I sit there, trying to get my curls under control, as he drives back out to the main road.

We pull up at the bottom of my driveway, out of sight of the front porch.

“I’ll see you at seven-thirty, Friday night,” he says.

I nod, pushing open the door and jumping out before he can confuse me again. I feel his eyes on me as I run up the driveway until I’m out of sight.

That night, I toss and turn. It’s hot, so I crack the window. Then, my feet get cold even though my pussy is so hot and restless, I can’t close my eyes. It doesn’t do any good to touch myself. My fingers don’t feel like his.

So, I sit at my desk, surrounded by all the remnants of my childhood, aware for the first time I’ve stepped out of the final threshold of it. I gaze down at the butterflies, the rare insects, the books, the flowers I painted on my bed frame. Part of me wants to go back to them, to sit in my usual state of disassociation and wish for the stars.

But for the first time in my life, something real makes me feel alive.

Maybe it’s not forever.

But it could be for now.