Page 4 of Bull Rush

“What?” I manage to croak before I hurry over to the window.

“You mean it’s not part of the day’s entertainment? I thought things were finally getting interesting around here,” one of the women at the window teases.

A comment that might hurt if I weren’t too busy racing to figure out how there’s a naked man on my lawn. When I reach the glass and manage to elbow my way into a spot on the side, l lift the sheers to witness a sight that nearly makes me swallow my tongue.

They weren’t lying about any of it. The ass, the thighs, the shoulders, every single bit is sculpted perfection. He’s rivaling the tree next to him for height too, easily six foot five or taller, and the water that’s pouring out of the spigot mounted on the back of his RV is running over every single inch of his naked, glistening skin.

I’m distracted until he turns around, and then I have to close my eyes.

“Oh, wow…” One of the women mumbles in the kind of hushed tone of reverence people use for truly great works of art.

“Good lord in heaven. Can you imagine being on the receiving end of that?”

“Martha!” A gasp echoes against the walls.

“I feel like we should be paying extra for this.”

I feel like I haven’t had enough caffeine yet for this. I reach around for the edge of the drapes and pull it forward, covering the bay window until I run into a speed bump in the form of two gaping women refusing to budge.

“Excuse me.” I start to march forward with the drape,drawing it across the window to the sounds of disappointment. “I’m so sorry about this. I’ll get it taken care of right away.”

“Taken care of? Honey, ask him to come in and have some breakfast with us.”

I smile at her and shake my head. The last thing we need is him in here having breakfast. He might be pretty to look at from a distance, but up close? With that mouth? He’ll ruin any good reviews I might still be hoping to get.

“He’s not… He shouldn’t be here. Doing that. I apologize, and I promise it won’t happen again.” I use my best professional voice, but I can feel the burning gaze of several diners who aren’t loving the morning’s live entertainment.

“Well, tell him I’ll pay extra if it does.” One of the women at the window nudges her friend in the shoulder and laughs as she finally steps back.

“Betty!” another woman admonishes.

“We’re supposed to be having a girls’ weekend, Edna! Loosen up and have some fun,” Betty sasses back. At least I’m learning their names.

I’m satisfied that the blinds are thoroughly drawn, and a glimpse at the breakfast bar tells me Kit has everything under control this morning. The juice dispensers are all full, the breadbasket is overflowing, and the trays are filled with eggs, bacon, and blueberry pancakes. I look longingly at the pancakes as I make my way across the dining room. We’d just received a shipment of maple syrup from Canada and fresh butter from the Johnson’s farm down the street. I’d been looking forward to having a big stack of them with another massive mug of coffee to prepare me for the day.

Instead, I have to march outside and confront my impending nightmare. I didn’t think he was due out here for at least two more days, but here we are on what should have beena quiet Tuesday filled with morning bird-watching and a lunchtime talk with the local historian about quilting.

I’d carefully plotted the afternoon too, from the wine tasting in the afternoon, followed by a five-course dinner, pie and fresh whipped cream for dessert, and some time to read in the library. Itwasgoing to be the perfect day. One they’d write to friends about on the postcards they were going to get in the goodbye gift baskets in their rooms. Instead, it’s being interrupted by a giant dick out on the freshly mown lawn.

I excuse myself from the breakfast and politely let them know we’ll be heading out to meet the naturalist at 9 a.m. Not that anyone’s listening to me because every table in the inn is tittering and fluttering with news of the morning’s entertainment—the size, the shape, the general attitude of said diversion are all being discussed—at length.

One of the guests, a mother with two children who’s already complained about the lack of children’s videos in the library flashes me a look of disappointment as I pass her table and shakes her head. I could already see the review from her now; the lack of quality entertainment in the library and the pornographic one-man ensemble would be bolded highlights. I sigh. Another unforced error in theHazel gets this ship back on track tour.

I pause when I reach the side door, my hand already on the ornate, old-fashioned handle. I have to pull myself together, dig deep, and find a professional way to talk to the naked man because, in addition to being a paroled felon who only nearly missed murder charges, he’s also my husband. The one I haven’t seen outside a football field and TV screen for five years.

TWO

Ramsey

Nothing feels betterthan a shower after too many days on the road headed west with only truck-stop bathrooms, gas-station food, and a playlist on loop to keep me company. I’m exhausted, parts of my body hurt worse than they do post-game, and I feel like I’m covered in a thick layer of road dust and chip crumbs. A long outdoor shower under the wide-open Colorado sky, a decent home-cooked meal by one of my favorite cooks of all-time, and an even longer sleep under the stars without worrying about getting robbed by whatever’s rolled in off the highway for the night is going to do wonders for the state of my fucking mental health. A thing I’m going to need whenshefinds out I’m here early.

I turn the water off and grab the towel hanging off the ladder, wrapping it around my waist. I forgot how much I love it out here—how good it is to be out in the wild again, far away from the roar of crowds and the congestion of the city, whereI’m free as fuck to do whatever I want—within the bounds of my parole, anyway.

It’s not the first time I’ve set foot back in Colorado since I left, but it is the first time I’ve been in Purgatory Falls. Playing games against the Denver Rampage weren’t nearly the same as being up here in the mountains, and it’s been way too damn long since I’ve been home.

“I really need to ask you not to shower in the middle of the lawn where the guests can see.” The words cut through my thoughts, and I freeze. There’s a razor-sharp edge to her voice, and it’s unfortunate since it’s the first time I’ve heard it in years. The brief messages we exchanged about our situation are no substitute for the real thing. I turn around, looking past her to the inn.

I’m not ready to see her yet, not really, and this wasn’t exactly how I planned it going down. Not that I thought through this beyond wanting a shower as fast as possible. But I was hoping I could ease her into things slowly after a halfway decent first impression. Guess we’re doing it the hard way instead.

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