Page 17 of Running to the Cowboy

I’ll figure it out.

But for now, I simply exhale in a beautiful cowboy’s arms.

Chapter Eight

Wylie

The next morning, I wake hours before my alarm.

I’m gonna be shit at work today with so little sleep. All I can think about is that hug. How right it felt.

Since I’m up so dang early, I decide to shave my face, taking the time to moisturize and everything. Women like a man who takes care of himself.

The aroma of fresh coffee, bacon, and baked bread beckons me out of my room.

Throwing on my jeans, I amble down the hall, conveniently “forgetting” to comb my hair and put on a shirt. I’ve seen the way Olivia blushes when I’m shirtless. Wrong or right, I like it.

I follow my nose to the kitchen, where Olivia is bent over the breakfast island, working. She wears a tee-shirt and leggings that Dani brought, and the outfit hugs every curve. Over hershirt, she wears one of the floral aprons left behind from two housekeepers ago, tied in a bow at the small of her back.

Olivia’s hips are thrust backward, and they jiggle as she slices something that smells like heaven on earth.

The sight of her round, bouncing butt as she works, her hair tied up in a knot on top of her head, reminds me of somebody’s wife.

It happens again. A hard-on, right in my own kitchen.

Bent over like that, Olivia looks exactly like the woman I would want to drag back to the bedroom for a quick early-morning rut from behind, while the rest of the house slumbers, oblivious.

I’m having trouble keeping my balance as I stand here staring at her ass, my hand gripping the door jamb. A soft moan escapes me, and it ain’t about breakfast.

Olivia spins around, and her pretty mouth gapes in surprise. “Oh! You’re awake.”

I can’t help but notice that her eyes travel down to my chest, then lower. Her cheeks bloom a deep pink.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” I joke.

She smiles and brushes a loose strand of hair from her eyes.

My cock jerks, and it’s all I can do to keep from adjusting the lead pipe that presses against the zipper of my jeans.

When she acted so relieved last night at finding out that Dani was not, in fact, my girlfriend, everything turned on its axis. I’m not ashamed of how she makes me feel. Not anymore.

Clearing my throat, I amble to the coffee maker and fill one of the waiting cups there.

She chatters nervously, filling the silence. After we hugged just a few hours ago, Olivia bolted away from me like a skittish colt. Probably had something to do with this seemingly permanent erection she felt pushing into her middle when it was supposed to be an innocent hug. “Curly said you all get up at dawn. I thought I’d be done making breakfast before you woke up,” she rambles.

Sipping my coffee, I notice something strange and herbal about it.

I stare down at my mug. “What’s in this?”

“I added some cardamom to the beans,” Olivia replies brightly, relieved that we have something trivial to talk about. “It tastes nice, especially with my world-famous coffee cake.”

Weird, but I keep an open mind.

As her boss, I should go put on a shirt. Then again, she should go put on some actual pants and not leggings that are so tight I can see the shadow between her ass cheeks. I guess we’ll call it even.

Then I remember we actually do have something important to talk about. “The town doctor is sending someone today to look you over,” I say, sipping my coffee.

“I’m fine,” she says as she moves between the breakfast island and the stove.

---