Stables (Black Gulch Ranch #2)

12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Char

Did I hear something?

Must be that darned branch rubbing against the house again. Sometimes it makes a cracking sound.

Snuggling Paisley, I’m just drifting back asleep when a rough hand clamps over my nose and mouth, but slips when I jerk.

Fear jolts me awake.

Matt’s silhouette stands over me between the bed and the bathroom, his face only inches from mine.

“Who the fuck is in my driveway?” he growls, pressing my head deeper into the pillows.

Dixon is.

Grabbing Matt’s wrist, I barely manage to free my lips long enough to let out the loudest scream I can muster. I’ve never cried out before when Matt has been rough, but I haven’t had someone nearby to help, either.

Please hear me Dixon.

“Fucking whore, calling your boyfriend?” Matt’s sweaty palm slips back over my sore mouth and he squeezes my cheeks hard enough to lift me closer to him. “He can’t protect you. You’re mine.”

The house shudders as the front door bounces against the living room wall.

“Char?” Dixon bellows, turning the corner and sprinting into my room.

Matt lets me drop just as Paisley starts crying, her high pitched wails filling the crowded space.

“Leave her the fuck alone!” Dixon veers around the foot of the bed and leaps towards Matt, his size easily knocking Matt to the floor.

“Get off me!” Matt shrieks, backing himself over the wood towards the hall. His boots fly up, keeping Dixon at bay until he’s through the frame, then kicks the door shut.

Paisley doubles her sobs, clinging to me with frantic clawing at my chest.

I can see Dixon’s nearly bare body in the dim glow from the nightlight in the bathroom. His broad shoulders and narrow waist twist as he rips through his obstacle and disappears towards the kitchen.

What the hell just happened?

My heart races, so I hold Paisley tightly and rock her, kissing the top of her head as the tears pour down my face.

Or is that blood making her hair damp?

Shit.

Tenderly, I explore my lip with my tongue. I think Matt tore the scab off, I can taste the metallic twinge, but it doesn’t feel like I’m bleeding badly.

I hate him more and more.

What was he thinking? How did he get past Dixon?

Is he okay? Did Matt hurt him?

Matt could have killed me.

If Dixon hadn’t been outside, I don’t know if I could have fought Matt off.

I think I’m going to be sick.

There’s a soft knock on the frame.

“Char? Are you hurt?” Dixon’s voice is hoarse. “Matt ran off, looks like he had his car parked down the road. Little shit outran me then took off.” He still sounds winded.

Paisley whimpers, burying her face against my shoulder.

“I think so. But he might have busted my lip open again.” It feels sore when I talk.

“Can I turn the light on to check?” He stays near the door, a pale shadow that fills the opening.

“Yea, that’s fine.” I tug the blanket up to cover Paisley’s eyes before the overhead bulb blinds us both.

Damn.

He’s a wall of muscle, and those blue boxer briefs aren’t hiding the substantial bulge he carries very well.

Watching him move closer, his crotch is at eye level from the mattress.

Jesus. Did he beat Matt off with that thing?

My cheeks feel like they’re on fire as he squats next to the bed.

The view of his wide, bare chest doesn’t make me feel any less…um…exposed.

And I’m under a comforter.

“Damn it,” he mutters as his dark gaze flicks over my face.

“That good?” I say ruefully. At least I can see out of both of my eyes.

All I can focus on is him.

The slant of his brows as he examines me, the warmth of his thumb as he brushes it over my cheek, the heat of his breath until he holds it and shifts away.

“It doesn’t look like he made it worse.” Dixon rolls back on his heels and turns his body. “Is she okay?” He glances down at my huddled daughter who’s watching him with wide eyes.

“She was on the other side. I don’t think he touched her.” I doubt Matt would willingly have any interaction with Paisley.

Dixon’s mustache twitches as he clenches his square jaw.

Without a word, he stands and walks into the bathroom, only to reappear a moment later with a washcloth.

He doesn’t pause before he’s squatting in front of me and reaching out to gently wipe my chin with the hot rag.

Tenderly, he brushes over my chin. The steamy fabric feels good on the fresh bruises that Matt left.

“He shouldn’t have done this,” Dixon whispers as his palm cups my cheek.

With a lingering stroke, the rough pad of his thumb wipes a lingering tear.

But he stills with his fingers feathered across my jaw and stares at my mouth.

When he pulls away, the air moves over my damp skin, chiling me.

Or, maybe it’s because I want his touch back.

Why did it feel so comforting?

And safe?

Dixon clears his throat and sits back on his heels. “I should call Wade to tell him what that ass—” The tiny crow’s feet deepen as his eyes narrow. “—I mean, tell Wade what Matt did.”

“You can say it. He’s an asshole. But I’m grateful you were here.” I can’t look at him anymore. His body is distracting. I’d like to memorize every cord of muscle on his muscular frame, yet I’m sure he’s seeing me with only pity.

Fidgeting with the corner of the blanket, I suddenly feel very vulnerable.

Weak.

Terrified.

Matt snuck in here so easily. What will he do next time?

“I’m glad I was, too.” Dixon spreads his hand on the edge of the bed and pushes himself up.

The bulge in his boxer-briefs…is it…bigger?

He turns too quickly to get a second glance.

“Matt broke one of the sides of the sliding glass door. I’ll get it boarded as soon as the hardware store opens.” Dixon stops before stepping into the hall. “In fact, I’d avoid the kitchen until I get all of the shards cleaned up.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Char.” He interrupts me. “Hug that little girl. I’ll take care of it.” His fingers tighten on the frame until his knuckles turn white.

The last thing I see is the dark blue of his taut ass before he’s gone.

I’m not sure what to think. I’ve never had someone treat me like this before.

Figuring out if I’m an inconvenience or some sort of charity work is frustrating.

His touch was so tender, it almost felt like he genuinely cared that I had been hurt. I guess he has empathy under that gruff exterior.

I just wish I knew what his final motives are. It can’t all be just for some past atonement, can it?

Lying here snuggling Paisley, the crazy thought of him wrapping himself around me flickers through.

What would it be like to be so secure against him?

He saved me. Is that why I have this insane urge to cling to him?

To see what kind of monster he barely kept contained in those thin cotton boxer-briefs.

My belly tightens and my breath rushes.

Until my rib twinges, reminding me of how fucking broken I really am.

I’m not fooling anyone. I’m a disaster leading a train of misery.

Dixon would be stupid to get tangled up with me.

But I want so badly to thank him. I’d offer myself, if he’d want damaged goods.

That’s all I am. Used and abused. No, I’ll save myself the embarrassment of his rejection.

I don’t know if I could handle that.

There has to be some other way I can at least show my gratitude.

Cooking? The irony is that all of the real food I have belongs to him.

I can’t afford it, but I’d give him one of my best horses.

Is that all I have?

It keeps me awake until the sun begins to fade in through the curtains.

With the morning light, I can see where the glass is. I think he left already. Guilt pushes me out of bed to tuck pillows around Paisley where she sleeps.

The least I can do is clean up the kitchen before he gets back.

I’m halfway down the hall when I hear soft snoring coming from the living room.

He’s sprawled on the couch with a checkered flannel blanket he must have brought in. Except it’s barely covering his legs.

The blue of his snug underwear is a hard contrast to the pale skin of his thick thighs. His flat abs show more tan than his legs. I bet he worked at his ranch with his shirt off a few times this summer.

Imagining him riding a horse bare chested beneath a blazing sun makes my belly quiver and my thighs clench.

That trail of dark curls that fans from the elastic up to his belly button would sit just above the saddle horn…

Oh my.

I have to stop staring.

Knowing he’s sleeping, I try my best to quiet my steps to slip on my sneakers before heading to the kitchen. This would be easier if my knee and side didn’t ache every time I moved.

Shit, I stepped on a shard of glass. I hope that didn’t wake him up.

After sweeping the brunt of the shattered pane into a pile, I think I’ll wait before trying to put it into the garbage can.

I know that part can be loud, and I’m betting Paisley will be up soon.

Peeling off my shoes, I put them back on the mat by the front door.

I just want to sneak one more look at him. I’m not quite brave enough to ogle him when I might get caught.

When I move around the end of the couch, I get more than I bargained for.

Through the slit in the front of his boxer-briefs, the girthy head of his dick is just poking through.

Oh fuck.

He’s huge. And he’s not even hard.

My god.

How does he even walk?

When his hand twitches, I find myself moving my gaze back up his defined body.

Until I get to his very open eyes watching me.

Shit.