Maisey Yates - Wild Ride Cowboy

If there was one thing that life had taught her at this point, it was that people didn’t stay forever. And the increased attention you got after you lost someone didn’t last.

Heck, there was a stipulation in the will that made it clear it wouldn’t last.

She swallowed around the prickly feeling in her throat, then picked up her bowl of stew. She wrinkled her nose and dumped the remaining contents back into the Crock-Pot. Then she took a can of SpaghettiOs out of one of the cabinets and set about fixing herself some dinner.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN ALEX PULLED UP to Clara’s farmhouse—his farmhouse, technically—the next morning, he did not expect to see Clara standing on the front porch.

But there she was, blond hair fashioned into a long braid that was slung over her shoulder, a blue speckled mug in her hand. She was wearing a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans that he thought might be too tight for doing effective outdoor work in. But they did a damn fine job of showing off her long, shapely legs.

Who knew that Clara Campbell had the kind of thighs a man wanted to lick? Get his face between. Get his body between.

You can stop that right now. She’s Jason’s sister, not some woman you want to pick up at a bar.

That thought shamed him, because the real issue was he was too used to thinking of women as a collection of beautiful body parts he might want to touch. Not that he didn’t care about the woman herself, he did. It was just that he didn’t have relationships.

Which meant that the shape of a woman’s thighs and the size of her breasts became essentially the sum total of his requirements. It made it too easy to look at a body first, and think about who she was second.

Which was why he had thought of Clara’s thighs that way. Not because he was attracted to her specifically. Because he was attracted to women.

He had seen Clara a handful of times when she’d been a kid, but not much since. And that meant it was difficult to reconcile the woman he was dealing with in the present with the child he remembered from the past.

The woman she was now...

He found her way too attractive, and that was just wrong.

He gritted his teeth and put the truck in Park, killing the engine and getting out. He might have slammed the door shut with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. It rattled the whole truck, and he hoped it would rattle some damn sense into his brain.

“Good morning,” he said, finding that smile of his easily.

Never let them see you sweat. Not when they were pointing a gun at your face. Not when they were saying you should’ve never been born. Never.

It was something Liam had always told him. In fact, it was the last thing his older brother had told him before he’d left home at eighteen.

Keep your smile, Alex. Even if it’s just to say screw ’em. Keep your smile.

She made a huffing sound. “Is it?”

He looked around, looked up at the unseasonably clear sky, the brilliant green of the pine trees that closed in around them, then he took a deep breath. “The sun is shining and we’re still standing. Constitutes a good morning as far as I’m concerned.”

“Well, seeing as it’s my day off, my requirements for a good morning centered around a cozy blanket and a soft mattress.”

He was suddenly overtaken by the strangest, strongest desire. To see her sleep. Her face neutral, peaceful even. That pale blond hair spread over her face, her dark lashes fanned out over her cheeks.

He strode toward her, reached out and took the travel mug out of her hand. “For me?”

Before she could answer, he took a long sip of the hot beverage. Then he grimaced. “What the hell is that?” he asked as the sickly sweet, borderline syrupy concoction slid down his throat.

It was her turn to grin. “Hot chocolate.”

“That’s not hot chocolate. That’s a cup of hot sugar.”

“It’s four packets and a handful of marshmallows.”

He handed the mug back to her. “That’s disgusting, Clara.”

She sniffed and treated him to a very haughty look. “I assume you were hoping for coffee? Because I think that’s disgusting.”

He snapped his fingers. “I knew it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“You like hipster boy. You don’t like coffee.”

Without deigning to answer, she stomped down the steps, heading toward the path to the barn. “Are we going to stand around talking about boys or are we going to go work? I’ve already braided my hair, Alex, so I don’t need your help there.”

He chuckled and followed her, forcing himself to find amusement in the determined set of her shoulders, and to keep his eyes off her ass.

He collected all of his tools, then opened the barn up. While Clara waited, he went back and got his truck, bringing it in so he could load it up with fencing supplies.

The whole time Clara watched, mute.

“You want to help me with this fencing?”

He knew she wouldn’t say anything about being a lady and not doing heavy lifting. Because if there was one thing he had figured out about Clara in the short time he’d been here, it was that she had that same stubborn streak her brother had.

Though, there weren’t really any other similarities between them. Jason had been bold, brash. Quick with a joke, and quick to run toward danger if he thought someone was in need of help. Alex had liked the guy on sight.

Jason had had it rough, there was no doubt about that. By the time Alex had met him, his mother had been sick for most of his life. They’d both enlisted in the military at eighteen. And when they were twenty-two Jason’s mother had passed away.

When Jason’s father died, he’d left the military for a year, returning home to take care of his sister. But once Clara had reached age, he’d enlisted again. Ultimately, Alex and Jason had found themselves on the same base over in Afghanistan. At first, he had imagined it would be a good thing to be out there with his buddy. A guy who had his back.

Of course, now he would give a hell of a lot to make sure that Jason was never there. Or to take his place if it were possible.

Jason had more than had his back. Jason had been a friend, a brother Alex had never deserved.

On summers spent in Copper Ridge Jason had been the one to bring him into a group of friends. To treat him like he belonged. His own father hadn’t had an interest in him. A group of strangers actually wanting to spend time with him had been healing in a way he hadn’t known he needed.

And it had been because of Jason.

He stopped thinking about his friend then. About the differences between him and his sister. Jason with his dark hair and gray eyes, and Clara with her pale beauty and sparkling baby blues.

He had to focus on the present. Focus on this fence.

“I suppose I could help,” Clara said, looking stubborn.

“Better get some work gloves. You don’t want to tear up your hands.”

She rolled her eyes. “I do know how to do basic ranch work, Alex. I grew up here.” She walked to a wooden box that was up against the wall and opened it, taking out a pair of leather gloves and smacking them against the edge of the box. “I do not need to put my hand in there and grab a spider,” she muttered, smacking them a few more times.

Then she put them on, curling her fingers as if to signal her readiness.

“No spider?” he asked.

“Am I fetal and weeping on the floor and threatening to amputate my own hand?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Then no.”

“Excellent,” he said.

He walked over to one end of coiled-up fence length and picked it up. She grabbed the other. Granted, she wasn’t contributing a whole lot, but there was something he enjoyed about goading her into helping out. They lifted the fencing into the back of the truck, then repeated the process with the next roll of metal. When they finished with the fencing, they began to move the posts. They worked in silence, and there was something oddly companionable about it.