“I want you. I’ve been clear on that point.”
“Are you saying you’re pretending to hide information so you can get me in bed?”
“In a bed, on the kitchen table, against a wall…” I shrug. “Sounds like a plan.”
I’d rather her believe that than suspect me of murder.
“There’s more going on here than scratching an itch.” She huffs. “You can have any woman you want.”
“None as challenging as you.” I turn back to my work.
“So that’s it? Hard to get is your flavor of the week?” At my silence, she mumbles under her breath, “I should just fuck you and remove that from the equation.”
“That’s my call to make. I will fuck you. You’ll get what you need. Then we’ll go our separate ways.”
That night, I sit beside Maybe on the back porch. The outdoor couch we share feels like heaven beneath my tired muscles. The drizzle of rain beyond the overhang reduces the evening heat. Jake and Conor recline across from us, quiet and content.
Evenings like this center me. If Lorne were here, it would be perfect.
We grilled T-bones and potatoes for dinner. Maybe sliced a cauliflower head into steaks, brushed olive and steak seasoning over the tops, and tossed them on the grill like meat. We teased her about it, but she shrugged it off with a smile.
I love that about her. She might’ve come here to wheedle information out of us, but not at the risk of losing her self-identity. As gorgeous as she is, she could resort to seduction to get what she wants. She hasn’t, and I respect the hell out of her for it.
“I want to hear you play before I pass out.” She motions at the harmonica in my hand.
Her hair, still wet from the shower, winds down her chest and around her hips. Pink colors her cheeks—from a sunburn, the warmth of the evening, or something else… I’m not sure. Her blue eyes glimmer in the dim porch light, her dense lashes dipping lower and lower with each blink. She’s fading quickly.
I lean back, resting my shoulder against hers. “I wore you out today.”
“You, Chicken, Ginny, the whole menagerie.” She yawns. “I’m not cut out to be a ranch hand.”
Conor and Jake heard all about Chicken during dinner. What I didn’t tell them is how impressed I am with Maybe’s work ethic.
“You did really good out there.” I angle toward her. “I didn’t go easy on you, yet you caught on quickly and never complained.”
She groans. “Flattery isn’t necessary. I know I slowed you down.”
“Jarret might have a charming smile.” Conor reaches for the guitar beside her. “But he doesn’t give a compliment unless he means it.”
“Good to know.” Maybe arranges her lips in a tired smile. “I’m glad I could help.”
I gave her one of my t-shirts to sleep in, and it swallows the little shorts she wears for modesty. Seeing her in my things today—my boots, my hat, my shirt… It stirs something indescribable inside me.
I’ve never shared my clothes with anyone. I don’t do overnights. I’ve never slept beside a woman. But before she returns to Chicago, I intend to do all that and more.
Because she’s different. She’s not desperate or clingy like the women I’ve been with. She doesn’t bend at my every command. She has convictions, and she stands up for them with fire in her eyes.
It doesn’t help that I get hard every time I look at her. She’s easily the sexiest woman I’ve ever encountered. Those perky tits, long legs, and fuck me, that smile… She’s a goddamn knockout.
“What made you decide to play the harmonica?” She twitches her fingers where they rest beside my leg.
“Conor and Lorne play guitar. Jake sings. I wanted to jam with them when we were kids, but I don’t have a musical bone in my body. The harmonica seemed like the easiest to learn.”
“He’s being humble.” Jake props a boot on the coffee table between us. “Play something by The Wild Feathers.”
“Which song?” I ask.
“You have to do the harmonica piece in Wine & Vinegar.” Conor plucks the strings, already rolling into the intro.
I cup the instrument against my lips and direct air in and out, vibrating the notes. When Jake begins the vocals, Maybe’s chest rises and falls with a happy sigh.
Conor leads us through the country rock song, singing along with Jake and tapping her foot. We flow together without effort, the music rushing in and around the back porch until my sore muscles give way to a comfortable purr in my chest.
It’s not the beats that assuage my heart and pump liquid energy through my veins. It’s us. My family. Our togetherness. I lose all sense of everything except for my connection with the people who mean the most to me.
And the woman at my side.
Maybe might be an intruder, but I can’t stop myself from soaking in her reactions and savoring the lift of her cheeks. She feels it—the elevation of spirits, the harmony between us, and the rightness in simply enjoying one another’s company.