Page 37 of Live for Me

Those were my painting shorts.

They used to be jeans until one day, I was in the middle of painting a huge canvas in the middle of the field in front of the barn. The heat was unbearable, but I couldn’t step away. Beau came to me with a pair of rusty kitchen scissors and cut them as I continued dabbing my paint brush, perfecting the clouds above. That was a good day, one of my favorites.

Without a word, Beau reached over my lap and turned me before bending down and slipping the shorts over my feet and up my calves. He muttered a curse under his breath before rising back up and grabbing my boots.

I opened my mouth to protest as he slipped the first one on, then the second. “Beau—ahh!”

He yanked me out of the truck by my hips, setting me on my feet as I stared up at him. Our gaze didn’t break as hishands drifted down from my hips to the shorts, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops and pulling them up. When they got caught underneath the swell of my ass, his eyes flared, and mine dropped down to his lips. Suddenly, his minty breath and pine-scented cologne were overwhelming my senses, and I felt my nipples harden as he yanked the shorts over my butt. Those lips I’d been focused on curled into a small snarl as his hands drifted to my front, zipping the shorts and buttoning them underneath the hem of my sleep shirt. The heat of his hands against my soft stomach threatened to send me into the next level of insanity.

Then, his hands—his touch—were gone, and he took a step back, anger painting his features in a way that made him look even more beautiful.

It was devastating, and I hated it.

I hated how gorgeous this cowboy was.

I hated how much he still cared about me.

I hated how much he was willing to do for me.

I hated how good his soul was, how pure his heart was.

I hated that, after all these years, he was taking care of me like he never stopped.

I hated how I didn’t deserve any of it.

I hated myself for letting this cowboy love me.

He cleared his throat, looking out at the trees to my right, his jaw tight as he readjusted his hat. “Alright, let’s get you in the bunkhouse,” he said gruffly.

And just like that, the spell was broken, and reality rained down on me.This was crazy.I shook my head, trying to regain my bearings. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be curious about Beau’s life, be worried about his father, feel guilty for seeing Caleb nearly grown, hoping Denver and Mason Langston worked out their shit.

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I wasn’t supposed to feel the way I was right now.

Hallow Ranch wasn’t my home.

And Beau Marks wasn’t supposed to be in my life.

He was in the past, with no place in my future.

“I’m going to call my friends,” I declared. “They should be here this afternoon.”

Beau clicked his tongue. “I see you’re choosing option B.”

Before I could ask what option B was, he moved, charging me for the third time in twelve hours. I was in the air and over his shoulder within the next second and we were moving, rounding the back of his truck, heading up the side of the bunkhouse.

“Beau Marks, put me down this instant!” I cried out, my voice echoing off the red painted barn as we walked between the two buildings.

“I gave you a damn choice, Abbie,” he clipped.

I bucked up, pressing my handcuffed hands against his lower back as I tried to look at him. My hair was everywhere and my t-shirt was sliding down. “Dammit, let me go! You fucking asshole!”

He turned, and we were in the sun once again, the gravel crunching underneath his boots.

“Quiet,” he ordered, moving his hands to rest just above my ass. “I don’t make empty threats. Test me, Abbie.”

My arms gave out, and I began kicking my legs. “This is kidnapping, you stupid, stubborn, arrogant cowboy!” I yelled out.

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