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Take Me Home

Page 42

by Leah Brunner

“He’s good,” I say to myself, forgetting where I am. Hot coffee spills onto my fingertips, and I hiss.

“Don’t burn yourself,” Poppy warns in a cajoling tone. “And yes, he is good. He’s always been a natural on horseback. Wayne’s good too, but he misses practicing with Linc.” She shakes her head from side to side. “I wish Linc had more leisure time. I keep telling him to work less. But…”

She seems to remember herself and stops abruptly.

“But what?” I ask, wanting to learn more about Lincoln, as much as I hate to admit it. “Is it about Hank?”

Poppy sighs, taking a sip of coffee, then settling the mug on her knee. “Hank needs to hire more help. But he’s in no hurry to do so, and Lincoln feels like he can’t say no to the man because he’s helped us so much since losing our parents.” She looks down at her lap. “Hank’s always been a workaholic. My dad used to tease him about it, saying that’s why he’d be single forever.” She smiles to herself. “So, Linc’s work hours seem normal to him.”

I nod, understanding dawning on me. Lincoln is buried under a weight of duty and responsibility. He’s just a young man trapped beneath the pressure of caring for everyone around him. No wonder he’s so grumpy. The man is exhausted.

My mind whirs with all kinds of crazy ideas. What if I stayed longer? What if I could help Hank in some way?

I think about the rustic cabin with the squeaky bed frame and suddenly the idea doesn’t seem so enticing. But if it was temporary, just for a few months? Although Hank might not want me staying that long. Perhaps he wants his life to go back to normal, and I’m getting ahead of myself.

Lincoln’s work habits are none of my business, anyway. The man can work himself into the ground if he wants to. He’s been nothing but rude to me—the French toast being one exception…and the firewood he’s kept stocked for my cabin.

There’s a feeling in my gut, deep down, that once my visit is over…I still won’t want to leave this place. But that doesn’t make any sense.

“Your brain is working a thousand miles a minute over there, isn’t it?” Poppy asks, an amused smirk tugging on her lips.

“I feel like two weeks here isn’t enough,” I admit. “But my whole life is in California.”

She nods, slowly rocking her chair. “Well, you can always come visit, Hattie.”

My eyes find their way back to Lincoln, who’s now standing at Butch’s side and petting the stallion’s neck. He looks up and his gaze locks with mine. He doesn’t frown or smile. But he doesn’t look away, either.

The next morning, I wake up in my squeaky bed with a start. Squinting at the small windows on either side of the door, my foggy morning brain acknowledges that it’s barely dawn.

So, what on earth is that noise?

Crawling out of bed, I pull on my riding boots and Burberry trench coat before storming outside.

A gust of cold wind whips across my face as I scan the ranch in search of the banging sound. Finally, I see movement from the large corral beside the mare barn.

I spy the dark cowboy hat first, then the Carhartt coat and Wrangler-clad ass. Lincoln rests on his haunches with a hammer in hand. It’s not until I get right up to the fence that I notice the long, white poles in an assortment of different colors. Jumping poles.

Quickly, I climb through the fence and cross the distance between myself and the noisy cowboy in the middle of the corral.

“What the hell are you doing hammering at six in the morning, Sunshine?”

He whirls around to look at me, and I’m almost knocked off my feet by those golden-brown eyes shadowed by dark eyebrows. Even the thick beard adds a certain appeal. I wonder how his facial hair would feel if he pressed his mouth to mine. I’ve never been kissed by a man with a beard.

I blink, forcing the thoughts away.

“I’m working, Princess.”

“At six on a Sunday morning?”

His broad shoulders move with a heavy sigh. “I work when Hank needs me.”

“You could tell him no.”

He turns and looks at me like I have three heads.

“Take the weekends off. Create healthy workplace boundaries.”

A low sound comes from his throat. A growl or a groan. Whatever it is, the sound has me squeezing my thighs together. “You’ve been hanging out with my sister too much. Besides, this project is for your benefit. So, no complaining.”