Page 25 of Ronen (Sweet Alps Legacy #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Ronen

Mason pulled up next to my bike, and as he got out, I could see he was already searching for me. Stepping out of the shadows of his house, he nearly startled, but caught himself in time. Most people wouldn’t even notice the barely visible tightening of his muscles.

“Is it a family trait to move like a damn cat?” he asked, pocketing his keys.

“Something like that,” I told him, as we stood awkwardly with each other.

Pointing towards his barn, where an outside light illuminated the doorway and about three feet around it, I said, “Lead the way.”

Suddenly, a beast of undetermined origin ran from beside the barn, coming at us at full speed. Pink tongue lolling and ears flopping wildly, its huge paws pounded the earth loudly .

Mason whistled shrilly, then ordered in his deep baritone, “Oreo! Down!”

The brute paid him absolutely no attention, and barreled into me, jumping up and planting his paws on either side of my head.

Luckily, I braced myself, but the lug was still heavy, and I staggered back, grasping his thick fur to stay on my feet. The dog hugged me, hot breath flooding my face, as a wet tongue licked one cheek.

Mason made a valiant effort of trying to get the dog down, but the pup was determined to drown me in his slobbery kisses. Finally, Mason wrangled him off me, and the dog sat at my feet, panting and staring up at me adoringly.

Mason shook his head, “I should have never taught him that. I thought it was cute; he wanted to give hugs. I just forgot not everyone is my size.”

“Your size? Not everyone is his size. Is he a dog horse mix?”

Honestly, I couldn’t figure out what kind of dog he was. He was black with big white spots, long legs, a barrel chest and a dopey face that was somehow absolutely adorable. He was also the size of a small pony. Even sitting patiently, his head was at my mid-thigh.

Mason laughed, and I realized I loved the sound of his rumbly, deep laughter. It did something to my insides, made them go all gooshy and swirly. “He’s a Great Dane and Old English Mastiff mix.”

“Goddess, no wonder I can practically ride him.” Petting his head, I cooed, “Who's a good puppers? Are you a good puppers? ”

Oreo–who was perfectly named as desserts went–rubbed his head into my palm, looking like he was in heaven.

“He’s a big goober,” Mason rolled his eyes, “and a wonderful guard dog, as you can see. Didn’t even come out to greet you when you arrived or let you know that you are on his property.”

When I shook my head no, Mason said, “Bet your bike spooked him, which is why he was cowering over by the barn. He’s not great with loud noises.

Hates storms. Thankfully, I’m out far enough that I don't need to worry about fireworks on the fourth of July, or I’d probably have to give him a tranquilizer. ”

Squatting down on my haunches next to Oreo, I gave him more pets and coos. “You knew I wasn’t a threat, didn’t you, good boy. I’m sure he’d be terrifying when push came to shove.”

Mason snorted loudly, clearly not agreeing. “His size might intimidate most people, but that’s about it. He’s a softie.”

Mason patted his thigh, and Oreo came to attention, looking at his master with a tilted head and heart eyes. “Let’s go to the barn. Come on, boy.”

Oreo took off like a shot, running to the barn door and then waiting patiently for us to catch up.

“He’s good with the animals?” I asked, walking beside Mason.

“He is. I was a bit worried about what he would do with the chickens, but all it took was one time getting pecked and he learned to give them a wide berth. Chickens are evil sometimes. They look all cuddly, but they will peck the shit out of you, given the chance.”

He held the barn door open for me, after flipping on a light switch. Oreo trotted in front of us, prancing down the aisle, then leaned his head over a pen door. “He likes to watch the kids. Cinnamon tolerates him but makes sure he doesn’t get too close to her babies.”

Oreo turned to give us a look that said hurry up already.

The barn was tidy as barns went, I guessed. Really, I didn’t have much real-life experience hanging out in any barns, just what I read in books and saw on TV.

My low-heeled motorcycle boots echoed off the concrete floor, that was dusted with some stray pieces of hay or straw.

There were four stalls on each side of the wide walkway, all with the top part of the door open. A black horse stuck his snout out of the closest stall to me, curling its lip and giving a loud neigh at me.

Another horse, this one a dark sable, looked out with disinterest then went back to whatever they had been up to before we arrived.

“This is Blackberry,” Mason introduced me to the black beauty, as I reached a hand out flat for the horse to sniff.

When he or she–because who could tell with a name like Blackberry–deemed me worthy, I stroked up their soft nose.

“The one who couldn’t be bothered with us is Blueberry.

She believes she is better than most everyone, and unless we have brought treats for her, she can’t be bothered to care about us. ”

“So not just desserts but fruit too?” I asked Mason, who was moving around the horse’s stalls, doing who knew what.

“Huh?” he asked, clearly confused by my question.

“The names for your animals. You said they were all named after desserts, but you tossed in fruit,” waving a hand towards the dog, I said, “Oreo, Cinnamon Bun, Kruller, Fritter–all desserts. Then we have Blackberry and Blueberry here. Fruits. Were you hungry when you named them all? ”

He straightened, moving around the horses’ large bodies with confidence and ease, shutting the stall doors behind him. Dusting his hands off on the tight denim stretched over his thighs, I tried not to focus on where his hands were. Or how those thick thighs made my mouth water.

“Blackberry is short for Blackberry Cobbler, her official fancy name on her papers. And Blueberry is Blueberry Pie.”

He pointed to the next stall, and we moved in unison towards it.

A gray donkey, with the cutest pointed ears gave us a look like they were annoyed with the world. “This is Toffee. Officially Sticky Toffee Pudding, but that’s a mouthful.”

“I’m afraid to ask what the chickens' names are. I’m assuming they have names? I mean, they’re just chickens.”

He frowned at me. “Why wouldn’t they have names? I only have three of them. Strawberry Shortcake, Cherry Cheesecake, and Tiramisu. She’s the mean one. Never wants to give up her eggs. Shortcake and Cheesecake are sweethearts.”

I followed him over to where Cinnamon was, then gasped when I saw her two babies. They were the cutest little balls of black fur I had ever seen. Pointed ears and soft little eyes.

“Are those goats wearing pajamas?” I gasped, bouncing on my heels.

“It’s bedtime, of course they are,” Mason grinned at me, like I was the silly one.

The babies, seeing us, began yelling at the tops of their lungs, while they jumped onto bales of hay in the stall. They had on matching blue pajamas with little yellow cars on them, their tails and bellies out in the open.

We watched the energetic, vocal kids jumping around like crazy for a few minutes, while Cinnamon nibbled on some hay .

Turning to Mason, I observed, “Doesn’t seem like they know it’s bedtime.”

He shrugged, “They’ll settle down once we leave and turn the lights back off. Everyone is just excited to have a visitor. They’re showing off. The cows are out in the pasture, so you can see them some other time.”

“What makes you think there will be another time?”

His body blocked me in, my back against the hard wood of the stall door, as I looked up into his amber eyes.

His arms blocked me on both sides, his warmth and scent surrounding me, but I wasn’t scared of him. Beyond the fact that I knew I could handle myself in a fight–in human form or shifted–there was just something about Mason I inherently trusted not to hurt me.

One of his hands came up, and my eyes focused on his fingers as they moved towards my face, then gently brushed a lock of my wayward hair off my forehead.

“Because of this,” his words ghosted over my lips a second before his mouth covered mine in a tender kiss that left us both breathless when it was over.

Licking my lips, I stared up at him, his eyes dilated, the heat of him wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

Slick had me wet for him already, with just one kiss, but I wanted more. Grabbing him by the nape of his neck, I pulled him down, devouring his lips with mine.

“Want you,” Mason groaned against my mouth, grinding his hard cock against me.

This hadn’t been my intention coming here. I’d spent the last week trying to figure my shit out. Trying to decide what I wanted .

Finally, when I still had no definitive answers, I hopped on my bike. Letting the open road and speed of the machine relax me.

Speeding by the Bronco that had been sitting on the side of the road, lights off, hadn’t been in my plans. It wasn’t like it was the first ticket I had ever gotten–far from it–and I doubted it would be my last.

Seeing Mason exit his vehicle had my heart pounding in a way the bike never could. And when he had immediately yelled at me, for once my first instinct wasn’t to yell back at him.

Because I had seen the genuine fear in his eyes for my reckless behavior. Sure, he’d been angry too, but there had been more fear there. And fear often manifested itself into anger.

Mason had been pissed when he’d realized it was me, and that one wrong turn of the bike, one wrong move, and I could have laid it down and gotten seriously hurt.

Not that I feared that would have happened. I knew how to handle my bike.

It was in that instant that everything became crystal clear and I knew exactly what I wanted.

I wanted Mason.

Or at least I was willing to see if Fate had it right, and we might have something between us.