Page 62 of Catching Sparks

My fault.

“No, I am most certainly not coming on to you, Garrison Beckett. But maybe if you hadn’t been ignoring my texts for the past week, I’d be giving you a different answer.”

The snark has me shrinking back, too weak to stand up for myself. I’m too tired to try and argue my piece. I should have texted her back. Should have spent every night with her this week fucking her on every surface in her tiny home instead of ignoring my urges.

But I don’t just want to sleep with her anymore. Not completely. Riding with her broke something inside of me. I crossed some boundary that I hadn’t realized I’d been toeing. Space was supposed to force me back over it. But no matter how far I push, I can’t move. She has me in shackles.

“I’m sure you’ve kept yourself busy,” I reply weakly.

Poppy’s warm vanilla scent settles over me, and I breathe in deeply. She palms my cheek, the stubble I couldn’t bring myself to shave this morning. “Would you be upset if I did?”

“No.” It’s a brutal lie that I wish was the truth.

“Liar.”

“It’s rude to call a sick man names.”

A soft, breathy laugh. It warms my cold, flushed skin. “Can you stand?”

“Can try.”

Her hand falls from my cheek, and I swallow my complaint. A steady arm slips around my back, fingers threading through the belt loop of my jeans, and then we’re moving. I sway, my knees still too damn weak to carry all my weight as she heaves me into a standing position.

“Why are you here?” I croak, the world too bright when I force my eyes open.

She leads us through the stable, taking too much of my weight but refusing to let me try and walk by myself. “Eliza called me.”

“Why?”

“Johnny cares about you more than you realize. He’s been keeping tabs on you today, reporting to Eliza. You must have looked bad enough during his last check that he decided to intervene,” she explains.

“He shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t care about you?”

“He has no reason to.”

No clouds cover the sun as it blasts down on us, making my eyes burn. Poppy leads us out of the stable and toward the small red car parked on the dirt road. I risk a look further down the road and see Johnny standing with another ranch hand, both of them watching me. Johnny doesn’t hide his concern the way he should. Concern is a weakness he should avoid while he can.

“You’re too bitter for thirty years old,” Poppy states.

I don’t have it in me to ask how she knows how old I am. Knowing Johnny, he probably told everyone himself.

“Just let me help you into the car so we can get you in bed. You shouldn’t have even been working today. You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself,” she scolds and leads me toward the car.

I keep my mouth shut as she settles me against the back door and quickly opens the front one. Moving before she has a chance to shoulder my weight again, I fold my body into the car. It’s a tight fit. I have to pull my knees up to keep from jamming them into the dusty dash.

She glares disapprovingly at me, reaching for my seat belt. I lift a weak arm and lay my hand over hers, shaking my head.

“I got it.”

“Are you always this stubborn when someone is trying to help you?”

“I don’t know. Can’t say I’ve had this type of help in a long time, honey,” I answer far too honestly.

Poppy’s glare softens. My first instinct is to tell her to drop it, but when she curls her fingers around mine and squeezes, I shut my mouth. The pain in my body fades as she takes our joined hands and uses them to pull the seat belt over my body and click it into place.

“That changes today. You’re coming home with me, and as long as you allow me to, I’ll take care of you.”

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