Stables (Black Gulch Ranch #2)

15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Dixon

I need something to do to keep me out of that house and away from her.

It was so damn hard not to want to pull her tightly against me and hold her close to comfort her.

She’s dealing with so fucking much it makes me feel…inadequate.

I should be doing more. Maybe Mason will set me straight.

He answers on the first ring.

“Dixon. How are you?” He always sounds so fucking happy now.

“Mason? How do you know when you’re in love?” My voice comes out strained. I hate to even ask.

He sighs. “I don’t know. You just can’t stop thinking about them. You would do anything for them, and you put their needs before your own. You’ll find yourself breaking your own rules to see them one more time…” He trails off.

“So, it’s when you lose control?” I say through my teeth.

“Yea, I guess you could say that.”

“Fuck. I was afraid of that.” I hit the button then stare at the black screen.

I don’t want his questions, but I hate that his answer hit so close to home.

Is this what it is?

Moving all of her hay bales closer to the drop chute seems like a good first step to doing more. They need to be aired occasionally anyway, and is a great way to burn off some of this excess energy that is boiling in my veins.

The heat of the sun catches up to the dusty loft in the barn almost faster than it bakes the back of my truck when I’m sleeping in it.

It isn’t long before my t-shirt is soaked through with sweat and starts binding my shoulders every time I move.

That’s gotta go.

There’s only another twenty or so bales left when I hear the crunch of gravel and a rough engine.

Shit. I bolt down the steep rough stairs and jog across the main yard.

The beat up old Chevy pickup is missing a rear quarter panel and looks worse for wear. When I see the faded letters of “Taylor Dairy” on the door, my steps slow.

It has to be her friend.

Faltering to a stop on the porch, I’m not sure if I should go in, knock, or just turn around and head back to the barn.

Damn it. My knuckles rap on the peeling paint that flings open before the second tap.

The tall gal with baggy overalls looks me up and down like I’m a slab of grade A beef.

“Well hello, doctor!” She grins before swinging herself back far enough for me to step in.

“Hi. Libby, right?” I seem to have forgotten my shirt, and the cooler air of the house prickles over my sweaty bare chest.

Char’s head swivels on the couch and she freezes when she sees me. Pink swirls up her cheeks as her eyes bounce between me and her friend.

“Dixon, you don’t have to knock.” Char breaks the silence.

Libby flashes me a broad smile. “Nope, you can barge in like that any time you want.” She sits cross-legged on the cushion next to Char.

When Paisley pops her head up between them, I feel like I’m on a stage with an audience.

Time for me to go.

“I’ll head to the house for a bit. Call if you have any troubles while I’m gone.” I pull the handle closed when I move outside, closing off the sea of blue eyes that followed me.

The rungs of the ladder seem to stretch on as I climb back into the top of the barn. I might as well finish moving the hay so I can shower at home.

I feel better knowing Char has some company. She needs all the help she can get. I can’t be there for her all of the time.

But the twinge in my gut tells me that I want to be.

That the burn of the ropes of these bales across my palms isn’t enough to erase the memory of grasping her arms when she nearly collapsed in front of me.

The prickly stems digging into my fingers do nothing to offset the smooth softness of her lip when I stroked it with my thumb last night.

Fuck.

Now my pants are getting tight.

Last chunk of alfalfa hits the stack, so I snag my shirt from the pile and head to my Toyota.

As I navigate the windy road to my place, the cold ac blows some sense into me.

Char is young, broken, and vulnerable right now.

The last thing I should do is put her in a position to make a decision she feels pressured into.

No matter how badly I want to throw her ankles over my shoulders and pound her until she shatters.

That escalated quickly.

My nuts ache by the time I pull into my driveway.

I’m better than this. I know how to control my thoughts, my reactions, my every movement.

Why does she make me lose that?

The heat of the sun is temporary until I push inside the cool, dark interior of my Spanish villa-style home.

For the first time since I built it, it feels foreign, empty.

Like I don’t want to be here.

What the hell is that about?

Two blue sets of eyes, and a set of green stare at me from the table in the hall.

Mason had gifted me a picture of Sawyer, Sophia, and his newest son, Jack.

It makes me think of the conversation we had on range the other day.

Would it be so bad to have my own kids?

Paisley’s photo would fit perfectly next to theirs, with plenty of room for more.

Seeing how much love and happiness Char exudes every time she sees her daughter sends a strange twitch through me.

I want to give her the peace to have that expression all of the time.

Even when she looks at me.

It might take a while. There’s a selfish part of me that hopes Matt comes back tonight so I can either teach him to stay away, or put him in the ground.

As long as the threat of him lingers, I don’t know if Char will ever be fully relaxed.

Maybe I should just whisk her away? Mom and Dad seem to like it back in Virginia.

Any place would work that the judge can’t reach.

Belize is nice this time of year.

The thought of Char in a bikini on a beach makes the zipper of my jeans nearly open on its own as my stiff cock pushes out, bulging behind the thin fabric of my boxer-briefs.

Damn things didn’t seem to want to hold me back this morning when Char got more than an eyeful.

Figures.

Her timing was impeccable.

What would she have done if I had just started stroking myself while she watched?

The chilly water helps to temper the fire coursing through me.

I’m half tempted to beat myself off, release some of this pressure that’s building.

But I’m not some teenager, whacking over a cheerleader.

Cranking the handle further over the “C”, the icy rivulets pour needles over my skin.

It’s what I deserve, thinking about her that way.

Her face still shows his marks. She can’t even lift her daughter because of the injuries he inflicted on her.

Yet I’m lusting over her like an animal.

Get it together.

The water doesn’t take away this insane drive to put my own claim on her. I could make her lips swollen and puffy from kissing her too hard. I could leave my teeth marks on her throat. My handprints on her round ass.

That piece of shit man doesn’t know how to mark his woman.

But I do.

I’ll do one better. I’ll help her gain the confidence to walk with her head held high. She’ll have the ability to go to town without fear, or pay her bills without worry.

One day, she can even choose to wear my ring, so every mother fucker out there knows I’ll be there to protect her.

Well, perhaps I should focus on getting her to not flinch when I move too close before I go marrying her.

I pull on a crisp pair of jeans and clean shirt, then stack folded sets into a fresh duffel.

Last, but not least, I stuff my Ruger into the side pocket.

Extra magazine for comfort.

Oddly, knowing I’m going to do everything I can to keep Char makes my step a little lighter.

Having a goal gives me purpose, and I can’t think of anything else in the world that would be more of an achievement than her happiness.