Page 31 of Protecting Her Secrets

I avoid her gaze as I wipe the evidence of my mistake from her silky-smooth skin, wishing I could see if it’s as soft as it looks, but that’d just be another regret. Once she’s cleaned, I toss the cloth into the hamper and quickly dress.

“What’s wrong?” Skylar asks, the sheets rustling, but I still don’t look up.

“Nothing. I’m gonna go get the steaks on the grill. Medium rare okay?”

“Walker, look at me,” she demands.

Slowly, I glance over to where she’s standing next to the bed—T-shirt back on, thank god. “What?”

“Why are you acting this way?”

“What way?” I brace my hands on my hips. “Like we’re two strangers who got each other off before we go our separate ways? That’s what that was to you, right?”

“No. Of course not. I care about you, and if things were different. . . .”

With a frustrated shake of my head, my feet lead me out the bedroom door. “Dinner’s in twenty.”

I wakeup to sunshine on my face as I roll onto my stomach, the scent of Skylar’s sweetness still clinging to my sheets and sending me back to our uncomfortable dinner last night. Little was said, but words weren’t needed to convey the emotions felt. She was indignant that I dared to want her to leave her abusiveasshole of a fiancé, and I was pissed as hell that, once again, she wasn’t choosing me. Plus, I had the added bonus of wanting to kick my own ass for making myself vulnerable to her. . . again.

Fuck me, I need to change the sheets. I yank the pillow from under my head and toss it, pressing my cheek onto my forearms as I survey the scene outside. The icicles hanging from the eave slowly drip onto the sparkling blanket of snow below. The tinkling sound reminds me of a gentle rain shower, something that would normally relax me, but now, all it does is remind me how fleeting my time with Skylar is. I haven’t figured out if that’s a good or a bad thing yet. It’s quite the mind fuck to want her here with me, more than anything in the world, while also wanting nothing more than to have her gone.

Eventually, I peel myself out of bed and get my morning going. Skylar is nowhere to be found when I make it downstairs, so I change into work clothes and head outside to tend to my animals. The second they hear my front door shut, they start pitching fits, blaming me for their every discomfort, and I smile. Within minutes, I forget all about my house guest and focus on things that really matter. It’s the reminder I needed that my life is perfect the way it is. I don’t need the complication of a woman, especially not the one sleeping in my guest room right now.

An hour later, everyone is happy, and I’m back in the house, this time with a few eggs. It’s not as many as they produce in the summer when they have access to sunlight, but the artificial lights I have in there trick their systems enough so I can get an omelet once or twice a week.

The rich aroma of coffee and bacon has me stripping off my snow gear and in the kitchen in record time. All the mental progress I made while shoveling shit flies out the goddamn window when I see Skylar standing in front of the stove, dressed only in a pair of my boxers and the Henley she had on under her flannel when she got here. I forget to blink watching thehypnotic movement of her hips as she moves in time to the beat of the song playing from her phone.

Fuck, I want this. I want her. And no amount of time with my chickens will change that.

Turning to access the sink, she shrieks, her hand flying to her chest. “Shit. You scared me.”

“Sorry. I should’ve told you when I came in, but I didn’t want to interrupt your dance party.” I grin and set the four eggs on the counter.

She ignores me with a roll of her eyes. “Those came from your chickens?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s so cool!” She studies them as if they’re a rare gem, not just breakfast. “I know you’re used to it, but there had to be a time when it was strange to not have to go to the store to get eggs.”

I think back to when Rowan helped me build the coop and fill it with chickens. The first time they laid, I was shocked and strangely proud. “You’re right. Itispretty cool.”

“Can I cook them? Do you have to do anything to them first?”

An unexpected bark of laughter escapes me. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never used eggs fresh from a chicken’s butt.”

“You can give them a rinse if you want, but if you’re doing it right, you won’t be eating the shell.”

With a beaming smile, she rinses the eggs, dries them off with a kitchen towel, and then moves back to the pan she fried the bacon in. While she cooks, I walk over to her phone and, without permission, hold it up to her face to unlock it.

“What are you doing?” she asks, nervousness lacing her tone.

“Hooking your phone up to the Bluetooth so you can play your music through the speakers.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

Within seconds, the surround sound fills the space with her 90s grunge music. I close her settings and go to set her phone down again, but my eyes catch on a new text. I scan the words so quickly, I can’t say for sure what it’s about, but I get the gist. Klutch isn’t happy she’s not on her way home today, which he makes known through name-calling and a lot of cursing.

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