Down to You (The Bad Boys #1)(41)
Author: M. Leighton

I think back to Nash telling me about his father being in prison for murder. We never got to talk more about it, so I didn’t know his mother was dead and his father was to blame.

I want to know more, of course. I have a thousand questions, but I don’t want to push.

“Do you…feel like talking about it?”

His smile is polite and sad. “Not really. If you don’t mind. I hate to ruin a day that has started out this perfectly.” His grin widens when he reaches down to cup my butt. I feel him getting hard against my belly where I’m half lying on him.

I grin, too. “Well, you’re just gonna have to cool your jets. My dad will be up soon and I may not have mentioned that he’s a crack shot with a pistol.”

“In that case, how about breakfast instead?”

I giggle. “Wise choice, braveheart.”

“Don’t tease. How much good would I be to you if I let your dad blow my dick off?”

I say nothing, only smile. But inside, I feel my heart plummet. Already I’m thinking that there’s so much more to Cash than the fact that he’s great between the sheets. He’s charming and witty, he’s considerate and passionate. He’s smart and resourceful. He’s all sorts of wonderful things that have nothing to do with his prowess in the bedroom.

And in a public bathroom. And against the shower wall.

Those thoughts have me feeling lighthearted again in no time.

After Cash sneaks back to his bedroom, I head for the shower. Again. I need to actually bathe this time.

I smile the entire time. There’s not a place on my body that doesn’t seem to be marked with Cash as I rub over it with the soap. And it’s a decidedly nice feeling. For the moment anyway.

The reality of my situation threatens to intrude once more. And once more, I brush it back. Ruthlessly. Relentlessly. I’ll deal with it on Monday. But I’m taking this weekend and calling a time out. Time out from wisdom and responsibility and all the voices in my head. This weekend is only about Cash and me and all the mad attraction between us.

After dressing in cut-off jean shorts and a Boys Over Books t-shirt, I head downstairs. I’m a little surprised by what I find.

My father is sitting at the kitchen table. His casted leg is propped up on a stool, his crutches are against the wall behind him, and there’s a day’s growth of stubble in place. The most surprising thing, however, is that he’s chatting up a storm with Cash, who appears to be making breakfast.

A thousand different feelings bubble in my chest as I watch the scene. Not one of them is welcome. Each of them means trouble for me. And for my heart.

If only you were more like Nash, I think as I watch Cash add spices to beaten eggs as my father directs him.

“Good morning,” I say brightly, trying to hide the sinking feeling that’s dragging my heart into a pit of despair.

They both turn to greet me with light and happy smiles. Cash winks at me from in front of the stove and pure lust twitches in my lower belly. There’s no denying this man is hot. Effing hot. Probably hotter than the stove he’s cooking on.

I jump in to help and let myself fall into a morning that is nothing short of surreal and Rockwellian in its charm and appeal. As I sit scarfing down eggs, bacon, pancakes and coffee, I know that every other morning for the rest of my life will be measured against this one. And probably come up wanting. By an enormous margin.

Dammit.

After cleaning up the breakfast dishes, Cash helps get Dad settled back into his chair and we head for the barn. On the way, Cash peppers me with questions about raising sheep and what all it entails. I try to answer them as quickly and as succinctly as I can, although it’s hard to cram a lifetime of knowledge and experience into a few short minutes.

“So what is it we’re doing today then?”

“We are going out to look for the new lambs. The ewes separate themselves and have their babies out in the woods or field. We need to make sure the lambs are healthy, though, and not having any problems that we need to treat. I’ll record them and which ewe they belong to. That way, too, we know roughly how long to wait to bring them in to tag them, dock the female tails and band the male testicles.”

“Dock their tails? Band their testicles? Why?” Cash asks, looking fairly horrified at such a barbaric notion.

“We dock the female tails because it’s much easier and cleaner for the ewes when they give birth. It’s for the safety of both the mother and her offspring. Plus, it’s also a way to tell them apart from the young males.

“As for the males, we neuter them because…well, you know what they’d do if we didn’t.”

Over his shock over the procedure wears off, he grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Yeah, I do!”

Smiling at him, I throw my leg over the wide, padded seat of the four-wheeler and pat the spot behind me. “Now, it’s my turn to drive,” I inform him in my wickedest voice.

Cash cocks one eyebrow in that way that I love and very slowly slides onto the seat behind me. He scoots in close, grabbing my hips and pulling me snugly into the V of his legs, pressing his chest to my back. I can feel him along every inch of my posterior. He winds his arms around my waist, his hands settling perversely low on my stomach, making my insides twitch with desire.

I feel his lips against my ear when he whispers, “Ready when you are.”

With shaking fingers, I turn the key and crank the ignition. When I rev the engine, I figure there’s no way it’s running with more RPMs than my libido is at this very moment. If Cash doesn’t cool it, I’ll be sitting in a puddle within the hour.

I pull out of the barn and stop shortly after to open the first gate. One of our several herding dogs runs out to meet us. I reach down to pet his enormous white head. “Solomon! How are you boy?” I ask of the Great Pyrenees.

I bend down and he licks my cheek vigorously then moves back so I can push the gate wide and pull the four-wheeler through. Cash gets off to close the gate behind us and that becomes our routine through each gate of each field of the vast 170-acre farm of my childhood.

I drive us up and down and around the old familiar paths of my youth, pointing out along the way places and things I think Cash might find interesting. He asks several relevant and insightful questions, leaving me in no doubt that his intellectual aptitude is at least equal to Nash’s.

Smart and hot. Dammit.

Cash helps me look for ewes with new lambs. He points out several that are from the spring. Not having been around them his whole life, he can’t look at them and see the subtle differences that indicate they are older. But I see it immediately.