Page 35 of Orphan Girl's Mountain Men

For months after she died, I barely felt any sexual desire at all. The little I did feel... I handled privately, quickly, with my own hands. Sure, sometimes I missed sex. But more than that, I missed intimacy—someone to hold, to be close to. Even so, it waseasy enough to ignore. No woman ever tempted me enough to risk breaking my vow.

Until now.

Now, staring at Hailey, I realize the overpowering need to possess someone, to make love to someone, is still alive inside me—but buried deep. I didn't think I would ever feel it again. And if I'm being honest, it's not Reed I want to see with her. It's me.

I want to be the one with my hand on her breast. I want to be the one kissing her. I want to be the one making her moan and roll her eyes back like that.

A growl rips out of me—deep, raw, and completely unconscious. Born from loneliness. From need.

Reed's eyes pop open. He stares straight at me. But he doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. He might at least pause—cuss me out, say something. But no. He keeps on kissing her, watching me with a low-lidded, almost lazy gaze, like he couldn't care less that I'm standing there. Or maybe it's a dare.

"Reed," she moans again, shifting in his lap. His eyes flutter shut, and just like that, he forgets I'm even there.

Another growl tears out of me—louder this time.

Her eyes snap open as she screams—a sharp, startled sound that finally jolts Reed into action. Hailey scrambles to her feet, yanking her shirt down like a teenager caught making out behind the bike sheds. Reed immediately steps in front of her, shielding her with his body—like he expects me to lunge at them or something.

Perhaps I should.

At the very least, I should demand to know what the hell they think they're doing—in our stable, in the middle of a workday, with Dean and all the hands only a few steps away. But for the life of me... I can't find a single word.

Don't stand there like an idiot. Say something.

"What the fuck do you two think you're doing?" Great. Good start. My voice is rough and hoarse—thick with anger. And with lust. Reed meets my glare with a defiant one of his own, his chest still heaving.

"What does it look like we're doing?" he pants. "Playing checkers?"

She looks mortified—cheeks blazing, trembling slightly.

Despite myself, I want to comfort her, tell her it's no big deal. Tell her not to do it during work hours next time, sure—but that it's not the end of the world. That would be the reasonable thing. The mature thing. But the painful, burning want inside me turns all that good sense to ash.

Instead, I lash out. "If this is what you came over to this ranch for, then you're wasting your time," I say, my voice now stable and cold. I feel a fiery storm raging inside. "You could have fucked him for free, without having to clean horse stalls."

Her face turns red as a tomato with embarrassment, then goes white with anger.

"I wasn't going to fuck him." She starts wiping her hands on her jeans frantically. "I mean I didn't mean to–"

"I don't care what you did and didn't mean to do. That's between you and him." I only spare Reed a momentary glance when I say, "Get back to work."

"Yes, boss." He says it sarcastically because I'm not his boss. He and I are equal partners in this ranch, both of us under Dean who originally bought the place with his own money.

There's a part of me that wants to stay and apologize to them. Start again, but less angrily, more considerate in my tone of voice and choice of words. Another part of me is itching to smack that stupid look off Reed's face, if I'm honest. But in the end I do neither. I leave, ignoring the fire still licking underneath my skin. I wonder if I should relay this whole episode to Dean. That would be the easiest way to get her out of here and out of myhair, but I recall what my daughter said about me being mean to Princess Ice Cream. No, it's not my place to tell Dean about this. It's not like they're not consenting adults. In any case, given how careless she and Reed seem to be about it, he's probably going to find out soon enough anyway.

I ignore the hard-on in my pants, the boiling feeling in my gut that tells me that even if she's gone, I'll still be haunted by the sight of her giving in to her ecstasy.

It's only much later that I remember why I'd gone to the stable in the first place. I'd meant to warn her about Buggy.

I sigh, put down what I'm doing, and head back to the stable. But when I get there, she's nowhere to be seen. Anxiety prickles at me as I head toward the small blue stable in the distance.

"Hailey," I call out when I get close. "Are you in there?"

There's no response. Just then, a loud, aggressive neighing tears through the air—and I break into a run. By the time I tear through the door, I find Hailey standing frozen, arms outstretched, trying to ward off the large black stallion rearing up in front of her. Buggy slams his front hooves against the door, trying to kick it open. He rears upwards, his front hooves high in the air.

A mighty crash, a second kick, and the stall door lies in splinters. Hailey is still frozen in place, her face a picture of fear and horror—and then, thankfully, she regains her senses enough to push herself against the wall as Buggy sweeps past her. Thank God! I think. But the danger isn't over. The bad-tempered beast aims a nasty kick as he flies past, that catches her in the thigh and sends her screaming to the ground. It looked like only a glancing blow from where I'm standing, but Buggy is a powerful stallion, and even a glancing blow from one of his hooves can be serious. Shit!

I don't think, I simply move. As her scream echoes through the stable, I dash forward, hands in the air, shouting at the topof my lungs in a frantic effort to force Buggy away from Hailey, who is now lying huddled on the ground practically beneath him. I manage to throw myself on top of her, shielding her with my body.

Thankfully, Buggy isn't interested anyway. Instead of trampling us, he seems to decide he's done enough mischief. Freedom is calling him. He spies the still-open stable entrance and in a few short strides he pushes himself past me and bolts into the yard, galloping straight for the easily jumped fence and the open fields beyond.

---