Stables (Black Gulch Ranch #2)

16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Dixon barely closes the door behind him before Libby begins bouncing up and down next to me on the couch.

“Oh my god, Char! Did you see him? He’s like that guy from the show my dad used to watch.” Her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “It’s, um, the one with the mustache and the Hawaiian shirts.”

I look at her blankly. I didn’t watch a lot of shows growing up. If the TV was on in my house, it was always whatever my father wanted.

“Come on, you know, don’t you? There was a helicopter.” Her face scrunches as she concentrates, then shrugs. “Maybe I’ll remember later. But for now, he’s hot. How have you not done anything about that?”

“I’ve been a little, um, busy?” I point emphatically at my lower lip that’s still swollen from Matt’s grip last night, then sling my arm out to gesture at the giant piece of wood that covers half of my sliding door.

Libby raises one brow. “Yea, but if he had been in there with you, I bet Matt wouldn’t have laid a hand on you.” She nods triumphantly then turns to Paisley. “Tell your mommy you want Daddy Dixon. Can you say that? Daddy. Dixon.”

Paisley nods seriously. “Daddy. Dixon. Dixon. Daddy.” With a shriek, she sits on her heels and starts clapping her hands. “Da. Da. Da.”

“Great. Thanks for my future embarrassment.” My cheeks are scorching preemptively.

Libby giggles and pushes me lightly on the elbow. “Ah, it’s all in fun. Besides, you said there’s nothing going on, so it’s just teasing.”

Except the image of him reclining on this very same couch just a few hours ago with all of his humongous gloriousness hanging out is forever etched in my head.

And my lip burns with the memory of his thumb tracing it last night.

“You’re right. Nothing going on.” I parrot her words, but wonder if there’s any truth left in them.

He saved me, helped me, all while asking nothing in return.

For the first time in a long time, I feel valued.

I don’t know why he’s chosen me. There’s a piece of me that’s terrified because of it.

Mostly since I don’t deserve it.

I’ll never live up to whatever expectations he has.

Matt made it very clear that I was a bare minimum.

Worthless.

When my phone pings, it startles me out of my spiraling train of thought.

Dixon: Steak sound good for dinner?

Me: Sure, that would be amazing!

Dixon: Great, grab a few to thaw. Got a grill?

I don’t want to tell him I had to get rid of mine after Matt threw it off the porch because he couldn’t get it to light.

Me: No, but I can put them in the broiler?

It’s so rare I’ve had them, I’d be worried to screw them up.

Dixon: I got it. Libby staying to eat?

When I look up at her, her forehead looks like a Shar Pei butt, it’s so wrinkled.

“What is it? Is it the sheriff?” She glances up and down between me and my phone.

“Are you staying for supper? It sounds like Dixon is grilling steaks.” I unfold from the couch, but catch her expression of abject surprise before I turn away.

“Um. No thanks, I’m not infringing on a dinner date.” A smile dances over her lips. “Think he’ll go gentle on ya since you’re still gimped up?”

“Funny. He’ll make one for you too I think?” My knee doesn’t really hurt anymore, and my ribs only twinge if I try to pick up Paisley. Even the discoloration around my eye has faded.

The only real sore spot is where Matt pinched my cheek against my back teeth last night.

“I appreciate it, maybe another time. Did you buy them?” Her mouth pinches when I return with two white packages out of the freezer.

“No. He brought me a whole cooler of beef.” I purposefully picked the smallest one for myself.

The other weighs heavy in my hand. It’d be a twenty dollar cut if I bought it myself.

Maybe more.

She stands and meets me at the counter. “Char, he’s got it bad for you.” There isn’t any humor in Libby’s voice this time. “Is he pushing you? Do you feel safe around him?”

There was a moment like this three years ago, she asked almost identical questions about Matt.

I had answered with a nervous trill because there was doubt already tugging in the back of my mind.

My palm covers hers on the beige formica, then I take a deep breath to really focus. “I can honestly say, I do. He’s been a total gentleman. In fact, he almost acts like he’s afraid to touch me.”

Except last night, for that brief second when he caressed my face.

I swear that’s what it felt like.

And I want more.

She leans in and scrutinizes me. Her lips turn into a satisfied smirk. “That’s what I thought. You lied to my face about Matt, but zero falses detected.”

Twisting, she calls over her shoulder to Paisley. “Say ‘Daddy Dixon’!” Libby flashes me a wide grin before she winks and prances back to the couch.

“Daddy Dee.” Paisley falls backwards onto her playmat in exaggerated laughter.

My head shakes on its own. “You’re gonna cause all of kinds of chaos and won’t even be here to see it.”

“That’s the best kind.” Libby leans into the back of the seat and bats her eyes at me. “It leaves everyone guessing.”

With the waning sun, I hear gravel crunching outside and the slam of a truck door.

“It sounds like your chef has arrived. Time for me to skedaddle.” Libby tucks a loose lock of her blond hair behind her ear then drops a kiss to the top of Paisley’s head and slides on her boots. “I’ll be here tomorrow, you can tell me how it goes.”

I roll my eyes, but give her a hug. “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

Libby doesn’t let go. “I’m so glad you have someone else watching out for you too. It makes me feel better when I’m not here.”

She backs away, glancing through the window when Dixon’s large silhouette passes. Her fingers cup around her mouth. “Find a sock or something for the door, ‘kay?”

Her tongue pops out as she giggles and runs outside.

Oh my god. I love her and hate her. She’s gone too fast to see the fire take over my face.

There’s a few more heavy sounds from the porch. Dixon seems busy out there.

Should I check on him?

No. Yes?

Damn it. I have no idea what to do.

But when the smell of smoke begins to leak in through the drafty cracks around the windows, I decide to investigate.

He has his truck pulled in backwards and the tailgate dropped with some sort of half-sized hibachi on it.

Leaning against the frame, I stand where Paisley can see me. “That’s fancy.” The one I used to have was just a cheap charcoal grill, barely more than a cone of metal.

This one has a place for briquets, gas, and even an electric rotisserie.

Dixon’s broad shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. “I guess. Let’s see how well it cooks up a couple of steaks though.” He pivots and leans the swell of his ass against the edge, crossing his thick arms.

I swear he finds shirts he has to paint on.

And he’s got his cowboy hat low over his eyes. It makes my belly flip flop looking at him.

I think Libby may be wrong.

It might be me that has it hard.

“Is she going to be able to stay the next two days?” His clean shaven square chin gestures in the direction of Libby’s fading dust cloud.

“I think so. She said she regrets not shooting Matt in the knee the other day.” The thought makes me smile.

Maybe she could have aimed high enough for him to never be an issue again.

There’s something wrong with me, wishing for harm on him.

Dixon’s deep chuckle is like a heavy comforter straight out of the dryer. It heats up my bones and makes me want to snuggle in.

But I shouldn’t.

Instead, I turn towards the kitchen. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to do anything special for the steaks? I don’t know how you like them?”

The zucchini spears I cut earlier are ready on a pan, drizzled in oil and seasoning. Not knowing what time he’d be back, I’ve just had the oven on preheat until he got here.

A wave of steam makes me blink rapidly as I feed the tray in.

When I turn around, I almost bounce off of his broad back where he stands unwrapping the ribeyes.

“Salt and pepper?” He raises one of his dark brows, crumpling the white butcher paper between his palms.

“Um.” I’m lost watching the cords on his forearms flex and bunch as he works the tightening ball.

Jesus, Char.

Focus.

The small ceramic black and white horse heads clink together when I hand them to him.

“These are cute.” One side of his mouth twitches up, then he flips them over to sprinkle liberal amounts of their contents over the glistening meat.

Even the small steak looks huge.

“They were my grandma’s. Came with the house.” And they’re still warm from his grasp when I take them back.

“Ah, your grandparent’s.” The caramel of his eyes flicks around the room. “So no Belize.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Huh?”

The broad brim of his hat shifts as he shakes his head. “Nothing. Let me toss these on the grill.”

He disappears outside, which is fine, I have a few extra veggies to process for the freezer anyways.

“Mommy, hungry.” Paisley pads into the kitchen, one bare foot slapping against the linoleum, the socked one nearly silent.

“Let me get your high chair ready, baby girl. I hope Dixon doesn’t mind lifting you into it again.” I don’t see any mess from lunch. Libby was in charge today.

“Daddy Dixon.” Paisley stands on her tiptoes and taps the white plastic tray with the flat of her hand.

Crap. “No, just Dixon.”

“Just Dixon, what?” he asks, carrying a sizzling plate with two seared steaks. Tossing down a leather glove, he sets the food onto the counter.

“Um, I was wondering if you minded putting her in her seat again?” I hope he didn’t hear what she really said.

“Of course.” He squats so he’s closer to her level. “Paisley, can I lift you up?”

Why is it when he spreads his hands, I want to rush between them myself?

Stop it.

Paisley takes my moment, running to jump into his waiting arms.

He swings her up, making her giggle.

I swear my heart double beats.

“A throne for a princess.” He deftly threads her legs through the holes and sits her down.

“Uh huh, Princess Paisley.” She holds out her pudgy arms as if she’s calming a raging crowd.

When he turns back, there’s a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Doesn’t that make you the queen?” A smile traces its way over his full lips before he ducks beneath the brim of his hat.

Fire races through my body. There is nothing regal about the thoughts going through my head.

So many sentences sit on the tip of my tongue.

But none spill out.

The zucchini is done. It’s easy to busy myself with pulling it out of the stove.

I have to look away from him. It’s so hard not to want to stare and try to absorb every feature.

An even stronger temptation is to follow every contour with my fingertips.

Explore every muscle.

Every bulge.

Is he really as big as he looked in the pale morning light?

I want to know.

“Mommy!” Paisley rattles my concentration.

Dixon has already cut a piece from his steak and is slicing it into tiny bites.

“Sorry, baby girl.” I can’t admit I was distracted watching him. “Here, I’ll get some plates.”

He slides some juicy morsels onto her miniature dish, then pushes it closer to me and I add a few small chunks of veggie.

I’m surprised how easy this is.

Matt never helped with dinner, much less Paisley’s food.

It’s like a punch to the stomach seeing the difference of what was to how it could be.

Can it be?

Why not?

Dixon picks up her setting and puts the food in front of her. “Now, Paisley. Do you eat with your fingers, or are you a big girl and use a fork?”

Paisley’s big blue eyes dart between me and Dixon.

I know she usually uses her fingers except the messy stuff.

But I’m curious what she’ll say.

“Fork.” Her little chin juts up.

That’s my girl.

“Yes, ma’am.” Dixon tilts his head to watch me open the utensil drawer and hand him a toddler-sized one.

Paisley’s tongue pokes out as she slowly tries to stab a sliver of steak.

I wonder if Libby taught her that.

When she succeeds and tucks the first bite into her mouth, her entire face changes into a look of wonder.

“Mmm.” She wiggles in her chair and immediately aims for another chunk.

“That’s a good sign.” Dixon graces me with a quick smile before nodding towards the table. “Where do you want me to sit?”

I have this ridiculous urge to tell him wherever that lets me sit on his lap.

That’s a whole other slab of meat to think about, though.

I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that .

Yet.

“Anywhere.” I usually eat standing, only sitting long enough to feed Paisley.

He moves to the long side near Paisley and pulls out one of the heavy wooden chairs. “Here, sit.”

My mouth opens and closes soundlessly.

His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare subtly as he watches my lips.

With a tiny twitch under his left eye, he pulls the seat out further. “Go on, I’ll sit there.” He nods towards the other chair.

Neither of us taking the end.

Funny, that was Matt’s favorite place.

Dixon spins Paisley around so she’s facing us in a makeshift triangle.

It’s almost like we’re a little family. The realization makes my chest hurt.

This is how things are supposed to be.

Not fear, pain, and misery.

God, I hope this isn’t fleeting.

When he takes his hat off and sets it on the far side, then sits with his legs towards me, I can’t focus on anything else but how close he is.

But then the first taste hits my tongue. It’s the most delicious steak I’ve ever had.

He freezes, staring at me.

Shit, did I do something wrong?

Guiltily, I take another bite.

Oh my. It’s even better than the last.

Dixon groans a deep earthy rumble and drops his chin, shaking his head.

“What?” I mumble. “I’m sorry.”

His face snaps up. “Don’t apologize. I’ve never heard someone enjoy an old bull steak so much.” Flames lick through his irises. “I’ll bring you the finest cut off a finished steer if you promise to make that noise again.”

All I can do is nod, and swallow.

“More?” Paisley waves her fat fork in the air at me.

I’m thankful for the distraction.

All the ribeye is gone, only flattened pieces of zucchini remain.

I don’t think she’s eaten a single piece of the vegetable.

“I have plenty.” Dixon deftly slabs off another piece and disassembles it in no time.

“Thank you.” I feel bad that he’s the one feeding her, but when I glance down I’m surprised to see I’ve already eaten three quarters of my own portion.

I guess I was hungrier than I thought.

When everyone is finished, Dixon jumps up and starts gathering the dishes.

Is he for real?

“Does the dishwasher have clean or dirty?” he asks, balancing all of our plates easily in one hand.

“Um, it’s empty, but I, uh, I don’t have any detergent for it.” Heat courses up my cheeks and neck.

The soap is an expensive luxury I haven’t been able to buy for months.

Dixon pauses, staring down at the half-opened door, then turns and sets them next to the sink.

“I can get them, you cooked.” I feel like he’s done so much already, the least I can do is scrub a couple of plates.

His dark eyes narrow as they burn into me before he steps back. “Okay. I have to get the grill out of my bed anyway.” His mustache twitches. “The zucchini was a nice touch, thank you.”

Wait, he’s going to be outside again?

Matt made it to me so fast.

“Um. Dixon?” Nerves make my voice waver. “Can you…would you, um—” I don’t know how to do this.

He leans against the wall, hanging his thumb in the pocket of his jeans making the taut fabric snug against the line of his hip.

“Was the couch comfortable? Is that too much? I have extra blankets and pillows. With the door broken, I don’t know if Matt will try again, or—” All of the words come out in a rush.

I just know I’m scared to be alone.

He makes me feel safe.

Slowly, he nods. “I can sleep on the couch. I’ll be gone around seven.”

The fear of harm shifts to the worry of the unknown.

Am I pushing for too much?

What happens when he gets bored with being here?

His heavy duffel comes through the door first, then him, and I’m still frozen in some sort of over-analyzing paralysis.

“Char?” The soft tone draws my focus. “How about, you let me do those dishes while you round up the blankets?”

“Deal.”