Page 48 of The Butcher

“I don’t think you’ll need this, not with the layers you already have on.” Nash appears across from me again, a frown on his face. “Are you coming?”

Straightening my spine, I step out of the room I’ve spent weeks hiding in, looking back and forth down the hall before I bridge the gap between spaces.

“Yeah,” he says as he looks at me then the puffy coat in his hands. “I told Nan this was going to be too heavy.”

Ignoring everything he’s saying because he’s not talking to me anyway, I slowly walk further into the room, passing Nash before I stop and slowly turn in a circle.

The only reason I have any knowledge of what these rooms are for is from my time spent at the main house of the ranch for those parties, but this is nothing like the one I’ve been in before.

I can’t say this is necessarily a dining room, not in the sense that it’s separated from everything else with a long, imposing table and chairs, and filled with objects I can’t touch and food I’m not allowed to eat. It’s actually attached to the kitchen, nothing more than a walkway in between spaces with a door going outside to the left, and one that leads to the rest of the house to the right.

There’s a wood burning stove in the corner—I know what that is because we had them in the stables—a quaint table with four chairs in the center, and a cabinet looking thing by the entrance to the next room. That makes this a dining room area in my book. Especially attached to the kitchen, which isn’t sprawling and busy, not like the one at the ranch, but I find that I like the coziness to it a lot more than if it were a huge, echoey room.

“Nan said she measured your foot.”

Frowning, I turn to Nash and blink. “What?”

He clears his throat and fiddles with the box in his hands. “To get your size.” He nods toward my sock-covered feet and I look down. “So I could buy you boots.”

My cheeks heat as another of those involuntary smiles take over my face, and I lift my head in time to see Nash’s do the same behind his beard.

It’s really hard to be afraid of someone who’s so shy, and definitely more awkward than me.

“You bought those for me?” He nods and opens his mouth to clearly respond with something silly, like how he canreturn them if I don’t like them, or any number of similar things because he’s been saying them every time he brings me something new, but I quickly grab the box out of his hands and move to one of the chairs at the table. “I love them.”

Nash chews the inside of his cheek as he fights a smile. “You haven’t even seen them yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I shrug one shoulder as I lift the lid and set it on the table before peeling back the paper to reveal boots that look sort of like the ones he’s wearing, only smaller. “It was thoughtful.”

Without a word, or seemingly any thought at all, Nash walks over and stops next to me, motions for me to sit, then drops to his knees as soon as I do. My eyes widen as he reaches into the box and removes one boot, pulling off the tag and loosening the laces before he glances up at me. Nash maintains eye contact as he gently grabs my foot, carefully sliding it into the thick lining before placing the sole against his thigh, tightening and tying it after checking to make sure my toes are where they should be.

He does the same with my other foot, watching my face intently while doing such a minor task but it doesn’t stop my heart from racing while I keep myself from breaking his stare.

I have absolutely no idea why Nash is doing this for me, or why I’m not terrified that he’s touching me, but those are both fleeting thoughts as he fixes the cuffs of my sweatpants, tugging, and folding then tucking so they aren’t bunched up in the top of my boots.

This is stupid. Men have touched me before, more times than I could ever count but something about his gentleness, how there’s almost a reverence in the way Nash is handling me, how I can tell how badly he wants to do this for me? It’s more intimate than anything I’ve ever experienced before, and it has my stomach flipping while my cheeks flame.

“They feel ok?” He asks, his eyes never leaving mine.

I nod as I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Yes.”

“I didn’t tie them too tight?”

“No.”

Nash smiles a little as his stare drops to my mouth. “Good.”

Oh my goodness, I feel like I’m on fire.

No sooner does that thought run through my head before Nash is quickly getting to his feet and taking a step back as he blows out a breath.

“I bought this for you.” I watch as he walks into the hallway, getting to my feet as I hear a door open and close before he comes back holding something colored in reds, white, and black. “It’ll be better over what you’re wearing on a day like today.”

A flannel coat.

Nash bought me a flannel coat that matches his and Clayton’s, I’ve seen both men wearing them, and he’s kind enough to help me into it before he actually buttons the front.

Blinking quickly, I fight the tears that want to form along my lashes, and try to bury the way my nose stings but when he reaches into the pocket and takes out a black beanie then gently pulls it down over my head, it’s useless.

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