Alphas of Red Moon Ranch - Complete Series (3 page)

He was right. It wasn’t
any
picnic.

The classic red-and-white checkered picnic blanket lay strewn out on the ground. It was covered with food—a carton of berries (closed, to keep the ants out), a French baguette, a plate of Brie, spreadable chocolate. A bottle of white wine poked out of wicker basket.

“Oh my God.” Holly’s hand clasped her mouth, covering her wide smile.

“You like it?” Two minutes ago, Holly might’ve found that smug smirk on his face irritating, but right now, she had to hand it to him. He’d earned it.

“I feel like Yogi the Bear is about to appear any second.” She giggled.

“We better not stay long enough to attract him, then, huh?”

Jacob picked up a pillow and put it down on the blanket, patting it to motion for her to take a seat. She obliged, lifting the fabric of her skirt so she could fold her legs underneath her.

“Wine?” he asked.

“Please.” As he uncorked the wine and filled two plastic flutes, she hunted around in her purse and pulled out her yellow notepad. She dug out a pen and then flipped to the right page.

When she looked up, he was staring at her like she’d grown another head, holding a plastic flute in each hand. “This a job interview?” he asked.

“N-no,” she stammered, flushed, and then motioned awkwardly to her pad. “I like lists. They help me organize my thoughts. Is that annoying?”

The perplexed look didn’t leave his face, but now he broke into a smile. “No,” he said. “It’s adorable.” She tried not to blush and he took a swallow from his drink. “Alright, Miss Wright,” he said. “Fire away.”

She took her flute with a
thanks
and then lifted it in toast. “To new beginnings,” she said confidently.

“To you,” he said. His eyes never left hers. She put the glass to her lips and took a sip, hoping the fizzy champagne would distract her from the heat bubbling in her blood, making her lightheaded. She took a generous swallow and stole a glance at him. His eyes never left her. Made her feel naked and she set the glass down beside her, running her eyes over her questions.

“Uh…” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then asked, “Considering the unique situation we find ourselves in, I think it’s only appropriate that we review our personal histories—”

“Wait,” he said. He reached out and took her hand—she’d been so nervous, she hadn’t realized she was chewing the end of her pen. Gently, he guided it away from her mouth. “You don’t wanna be sucking on that pen around me,” he said and winked. “I might get ideas.”

She laughed (breathlessly) and then fidgeted with her pen, keeping it in her lap. “Sorry. Old habits.” She uncrossed and crossed her legs again. His ideas were giving
her
ideas—thoughts about peeling that flannel shirt off his shoulders and kissing down his chest, following the lines of his muscles with her lips, until she reached that one, bulging muscle and swallowed it down. Could she crack his hard demeanor? Did he moan or would he just growl her name? Would he warn her before he came down her throat or would he hold her hair tighter?

She could feel the heat from between her legs, pulsing, and it took everything in her not to start rocking vulgarly against her calf. Her whole body felt like it was throbbing.
What was this man doing to her
?

Questions.
Right
. She had her questions. She took a breath, reined herself in, and then grounded herself in the paper in front of her.

“Have you ever been married?” she asked, proud of herself for keeping any tremors out of her voice.

He shook his head. “No. No ex-wives. No kids.”

Well, at least that cut down on the drama factor
. “Why not?”

“I don’t let anyone close enough to burn me.”

She blinked. “Anyone?”

His gaze matched hers. “Not yet.” She blushed and averted her eyes. Felt there was more to the story than he was letting on. He casually changed the topic with, “You mentioned your ex.”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve been married. Once. For fifteen years. No kids. Which should’ve been my first sign that he wasn’t in it for the long haul.”

“What happened there?” he asked. His eyes were glued to hers. He looked genuinely interested, not that glazed-over, sympathetic look most people got when she told them about her divorce. Like she was reciting the details of a nasty car wreck she’d managed to crawl out of, barely holding onto life.

She shrugged. Broke apart a cracker. “Fifteen years happened. He got bored of me. Wanted something shiny and new, I guess.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I could never get bored of you.”

She laughed, but her guard was up now. Even talking about her divorce made her feel small and insignificant. She wanted checkered skin so she could blend in with the picnic blanket. “Say that in fifteen years,” she said. “When all we talk about is taxes and whose turn it is to take out the trash. When all of our fights start with
I’ve told you over and over
. When I stop shaving my legs and—”

He reached over and moved his hand to her leg. His touch—warm, surprisingly gentle—stilled her tongue and forced her eyes to meet his onyx gaze. “With the life I’ve had, that sounds positively
thrilling
.”

“Even if I stop shaving my legs?”

He grinned. “I like fur.”

She mulled over his answer, took another sip from her glass, and asked, “What kind of life
have
you had?”

“A long one.” He picked a cherry out of the bowl, popped it into his mouth, and then said, “I’ve made mistakes.”

“Me too,” she piped up, then added, “Well, you know. The whole…getting married to the wrong man thing. Not my brightest moment. What mistakes did you make?”

His eyes were patient, but his lips pressed into a thin line. “You talk about your ex a lot.”

“Do I?” She waved her pen and said, “I guess it was just…a large part of my life.”

His eyes darkened. At first, she thought she’d said something wrong.
Crap, she needed to shut up about Chris
. But then she tasted plastic and realized she had nervously stuck the end of her pen in her mouth. She plucked it out and went for the strawberries instead. She had to fill her oral fixation with
something other than pen
. She dipped a strawberry in the soft chocolate and took a bite. He looked pleased; the darkness lifted. “What’s your next question?”

“Um…” She picked her paper pad up again and scanned through it. “Faith is important to me,” she added.

He gave a nod. “I pray all the time,” he said. There was a heavy tone to his voice and she had to wonder—

“For what?”
Holly! Your mouth!
Normally, she’d describe herself as
socially awkward
, but this was borderline
socially inept
. Sure, they were streamlining this whole dating process, but that was too invasive, not first-date material.

Gratefully, he released her from her cage of anxiety when he leaned over and caught her chin in his hand. He swiped a finger over her bottom lip, clearing off a smudge of chocolate and said, “For forgiveness. And for you.”

She was getting dangerously, dangerously lost in his eyes. He peeled his hand back and then sucked the chocolate off his thumb with an all-too-smug and boyish grin. “I like chocolate,” he said.

“Y—yeah,” she stammered. She felt very suddenly like a doe in the jaws of a wolf (
and she liked the way his teeth trapped her
). “Me too.”

“Anything else you wanna ask me?” He opened his palms. “Say it now or forever hold your peace.”

She buttoned her lip between her teeth and tried to remember the million and one questions she’d come up with on the train ride up. But the words on her page blurred. Her brain was hijacked by his touch and, to her surprise, she blurted out, “Are you a tit man or an ass man—?
Oh my God
.” She hadn’t meant to ask that one and now she was fumbling for a way to go back in time and retract that question.

A smile—a
real
smile, not that Dirty Prince Charming act—cracked over his face for the first time. It made her insides tighten, and her heart picked up an extra beat as she felt a blush threaten to consume her cheeks.

“I’m an ass man.” His eyes locked on hers and she could’ve jumped across the picnic blanket and kissed him right then and there.

“Oh,” she said and tried to get her heart to stop fluttering.

“More champagne?” He lifted the bottle to her.

“Please.”

They devoured as much of the picnic as they could (Holly found herself more ravenous than normal and nervously attacked the strawberries) and then Jacob packed up and drove to his place. What she expected was a quaint one-story house in the middle of nowhere. What she didn’t expect was to pass under a hanging sign that read: RED MOON RANCH.

“It’s family-run,” he told her, explaining what he did for a living. “We call it Westmore Works, technically, but we’ll do whatever needs doing. Knock down a wall, install a drainage system, fix the garden. People around town generally come to us for just about everything.”

“Do you all live on the ranch?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yep. Me, my brother, my sister, her whole family, and Mama Mae. This is us.”

The truck climbed to the top of a hill, where she could fully see the mountain range encircling them. An expanse of nothing but forest behind them. The nothingness was dizzying and refreshing. “C’mon, I’ll show you inside,” he said, getting out of the car.

Middle of nowhere
, Holly thought to herself.
With a man I just met. Where’s my pepper spray—?

It had all the makings of a good old-fashioned hunting cabin, complete with wood-paneled walls, a brick fireplace, and a pair of strong antlers that hung over the mantel. The living room was complete with a leather couch, a couple plush seats, and a brick fireplace in the center. A patterned rug lay sprawled out in the center with images of elks and a mountain range woven within the markings. The attached kitchen was attractive as well, lots of space,
clean
.

She half wanted to run, half wanted to stay here forever. While she could do without the antlers and the stench of
machismo
, Holly fell in love with wide windows that nearly swallowed the two flanking walls and the arched wood-beam ceiling.

Jacob pointed out the kitchen, the bathroom, and finally the bedroom, but didn’t go in it himself. Didn’t want to seem pushy, maybe, or just
couldn’t trust himself
alone in that room with her.

“This is my favorite part,” he said, beaming, as he took her back out onto the porch.

“I can see why,” she murmured. The view was breathtaking. She could see the full view of the ranch, the blue mountains in the distance, and sky. So much sky. Here, the stars weren’t dimmed by the overbearing city lights but roamed freely over the inky black instead. She felt awe wash over her, the kind of sensation she only got from losing herself in a truly good story.

“This is all yours,” he said. “I’ll be staying just down the road at my Ma’s while you get settled in. You’ve got my number if you need anything.”

She nodded and tried not to look disappointed that he wouldn’t be here with her. The view, the fireplace, it was all positively
romantic
. Then again, she had to appreciate the gentlemanly gesture to give her not only the bed, but also the whole damn
house.

“Thanks,” she said.

He walked to his truck, opening the door up again. “So where do we go from here?” she asked, hugging her camisole over her chest.

He leaned against the truck door. “Well. This place is yours for a week. At the end of the week, I’ll buy you a ticket back. Unless you decide you wanna stay.”

His eyes locked on hers. The way he proposed marriage—like it was something simple, an easy choice—made her blush. This was all moving so fast and yet he seemed completely unfazed. She nodded and then said, “I’d like to take all seven days to decide. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. He took a step forward, caught her chin in his hand, and tilted it up. The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt restless bird wings flutter around her chest. His kiss was rough, demanding,
stubborn,
and she found herself melting into it, the warmth from his mouth blossoming in her ribcage, her stomach, and
down
. She curled both hands in front of her, doing her best to keep them from wandering, and she felt his hand cup the side of her face. His breath pattered warm against her cheek as he sighed.

After what seemed like a decade and still not long enough, he peeled back with a smile. “For the record, I hope you say yes.”

She (somehow) managed to hold his gaze. Her hands still wrapped around her chest, fingers clinging. “Yes. Well. Seven days is a long time to hold your breath.”

“Tell me about it.” He smirked. “You want me to me to keep you company a little longer?” Cocky. How was he so cocky? She wanted to shake him, tell him this was an important decision and they were crazy for rushing into it…

And at the same time, she wanted to I do, do,
do
him in the back of his truck.

She kept her composure. Smiled. “I should rest. Shower. Thank you for the picnic.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He stepped back to his car, tipped his hat. “Probably a good idea. You need your energy for tomorrow.”

The smugness in his eyes made the back of her neck prickle. “Tomorrow?”

He nodded. “You think I’m bad? Wait till you meet the rest of the clan.”