The Babysitter Page 14

  Not particularly knowing if I could call him without the others running around too, and comfortable enough with the path to feel safe enough without him - after grabbing a big stick - I walked on.

  I didn't even need anything from the greenhouse. Everything was petering out, and I wondered how long it would take for the other garden to get going enough to start producing a harvest.

  Maybe that was why drying and bottling everything up as soups was a part of his schedule. To hold him over in the in-between.

  But it wasn't just him now. It was us. Well, it was for now. But if we worked things out and I got to stay, it would definitely be a we. And two mouths to feed meant a lot more food than he was used to. Then again, he also had to prepare for possible clients. Ranger was too careful with all of his homesteading to possibly run out of food.

  Not needing to do any picking, I spent my time tidying up, brushing dirt and fallen leaves off the shelves, sweeping them off the floor and into a bucket Ranger would likely use for compost at some point. From there, I rearranged some of the trays, moving the empty ones to the shelves below the prep table, then, finished, not wanting to go back to the cabin yet, always finding peace in this warm place, I hopped myself up on the table, taking a deep breath, steadying my soul for the awkwardness that was sure to happen when Ranger was back, when we were alone in the cabin without Finn as a buffer.

  If I were to be honest, I was feeling lonely. I hated that, hated how weak it made me sound. Me, who had spent so much time alone in her old life, never sinking into the pit that people wrote poems about, sang songs about.

  But there was no denying the weird hollow place inside, something swirling and uncomfortable.

  I missed him.

  Even though he had been right there.

  Close, yet unreachable.

  And I missed the talks, the teaching, the learning, the camaraderie, the friendship.

  It was new, but I had begun to cherish it, need it, crave more of it.

  And without it, I oddly felt less like myself. I felt frazzled, uncertain, second-guessing myself, restless, and - what's more - the space, the emptiness, left room inside for other things to creep in. Uglier things. Things that made my skin feel itchy and foreign, that made my belly twist and turn, made food hard to swallow, made my sleep more restless.

  So, yeah, I missed him.

  And I missed the me I was around him.

  Maybe it wasn't healthy to lean on someone so much. Especially someone so new to me. But I didn't want to stop either. Stopping meant, what, going back to my old life? My old self?

  Suddenly, that person felt so irrelevant, so detached. All she did was work. And escape her reality with mindless television. She wasn't really living. She was filling up moments in anticipation of sleep, then doing it all over again.

  Whereas the woman I was becoming now was always in the moment, was entirely conscious of the touch, the smell, the feel of everything. Even in quiet moments when there was nothing else to focus on, the old anxieties of my old life didn't come up. Like wondering if I was living up to my potential, if I should take some night classes, if I should attempt to do more with my life, travel, date more.

  There was no pondering the big questions in life that I had yet to even try to tackle. Like if I should attempt to by a home. If so, where? Should I be more serious about relationships, put my eyes toward marriage? Did I want children or not? If so, to adopt or to have biological ones. If not, then how would I spend the rest of my life, my free time? Volunteering? Taking up golf?

  There wasn't any of that chatter here in the woods where the furthest I needed to think into the future was what to plant for the next crop, what winters would be like, if Red and I would ever find a common ground.

  There were no pressures save for the concern about survival. And with Ranger so set up, that worry was minuscule at best.

  I liked this life more.

  With my makeshift shoes and dog hair covered clothes and food I helped grow myself and goat soap.

  And, well, Ranger.

  As if I'd summoned him, suddenly the greenhouse door burst open, making my air gasp inward, making my heart leap up into my throat.

  And there he was, his hulking figure taking up the whole doorway, chest heaving like he'd been running, his dark eyes wild.

  "Scared the fucking shit out of me," he barked, the sound of it loud enough to make me jolt back.

  "W... why?"

  "Left Gadget, left Captain. And you're fucking gone again."

  Oh.

  Again.

  The only other time I had taken off, forcing Captain to stay behind was when, well, I thought I couldn't take it anymore. The knowledge of what had happened to me. At least a big chunk of it. There were still giant blanks from when I was on my way to work to when I somehow had drugs in my system, but I felt I likely knew the worst parts. And the worst parts hurt. Even held deep within, locked away tightly, a little aching, a little misery still leaked out in random moments.

  But tolerably.

  I had no intentions of trying to end it.

  "We're done with this," he said when I was trying to sort out my thoughts. The words landed like a gut punch. "You got me?" he asked, moving in, attempting to slam the door behind him, but it just made a paltry clicking noise as he stalked across the floor to stand at the side of the prep table, pelvis nearly pressing into my legs. "Done."

  Humiliatingly, I could feel the tears stinging at my eyes, threatening to pour over. "You're kicking me out?" My voice was small, choked.

  "What? No," he said, brows furrowing. "I told you that you can stay as long as you want."

  "But that was before..."

  I trailed off when his head shook, like he was demanding I not go there.

  "Gave my word. And I keep my word. But we're done with this. This not talking shit. Done. You got me?"

  "I, ah, yeah."

  "Why the fuck did you come all the way out here without Cap?"

  "I, um, well... with you gone, the dogs kind of looked to me for instructions. And I wanted them to stay behind to keep an eye on the animals. So I told them to stay. And Captain stayed. And I didn't want to take it back and have them all come..."

  "They'd have stayed if you had just asked Captain to come," he informed me, but there was a furrowing of his brow.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing. They just... they never take commands from anyone else."

  "Are you jealous?" I asked, feeling my lips tip up at the idea.

  "Haven't seen that in a while," he mumbled, so low I was sure I misheard him. "Not jealous. Just curious. Not a dog expert, but I think this means they are starting to see you as part of the pack."

  "I like that," I admitted, gaze dropping a little. "It's nice to fit in."

  "Meadow..." he started, voice a slow, low sound, something that shivered across my skin then down into my belly, a delicious sensation.

  My head rose, gaze finding his on me, waiting, expectant almost.

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm a fuck."

  "What?" I asked, surprised.

  "I'm a fuck. Back in the sawmill. Then after. I'm a fuck."

  "Ah, okay..." I said, unsure what he expected from me. To deny it? Because, well, I couldn't exactly do that. He'd been pretty hurtful.

  "I was a little over-emo..."

  "Nope," he cut me off, shaking his head. "Nope. You don't get to share the blame. You're a good person. Good people like to try to do that even if they had no part in it. And you didn't. Have any part in it," he clarified. "It was me. I was a fuck. Didn't know exactly what to say, so I said nothing. Then too much time was passing. It got..."

  "Awkward," I supplied.

  "Yeah," he agreed. "See, the thing is. The way I figure it, if you're going to stay, if we're going to still work side-by-side, we need to be able to communicate. Now, I can't claim it is a strong suit of mine."

  "It's not mine either," I confessed.

  "But I'm gonna try. And in
the interest of that, I think we need to talk. About the sawmill."

  "No, it's... we don't have..."

  "We have to talk about it," he cut me off. "You need to understand."

  "I think it was pretty clear."

  "No, see, that just proves it wasn't. Things like that, they can't just happen. There needs to be a discussion. It felt like I was taking advantage."

  "You weren't taking advantage."

  "It was too soon."

  "I think that is my place to decide. Was," I clarified. "It was my place."

  "I wasn't sure you were even ready, emotionally, to make that decision."

  "You could have asked me."

  "Think I explained my shitty communication skills," he told me, lips slipping up into a self-deprecating smirk. "But I will work on it. Asking instead of assuming."

  "That might make things easier," I agreed. "I'll try too," I added. My gaze fell, studying his hands planted on the tabletop to the sides of me, big, strong hands that had slipped up my thighs, sank into my bare ass, filled my body with promise. Right before he ripped it away, of course. "Ranger?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Was it just an impulse thing?" I heard myself ask, throat tightening uncomfortably. But if he was going to try, so was I too. Even if I was sure I was somehow choking on my own heart.

  "Was what an impulse thing?"

  "Kissing me," I clarified, voice small enough to be hard to hear even to my own ears. "Did you actually, you know, want to? Or was it just a weird, spur of the moment, it's been too long kind of thing?"

  The sound that came from above me was suspiciously similar to a snort, a sound that raised my curiosity enough to overcome my sudden case of insecurity, making my head turn up.

  To find him looking down at me, eyes intense. "I wanted to," he told me, voice a little scratchy. "Thought about it a lot. More than I should have, given the situation."

  "You know what I realized?" I asked as my belly fluttered around in a way that was both uncomfortable, and yet intoxicating.

  "What's that?"

  "Maybe there aren't any 'shoulds' in this kind of situation. Maybe that kind of pressure on top of everything else isn't going to help anything. If it feels right, then it is right. I mean... that's what I decided anyway. I don't know what the textbooks on the topic would say."

  "Who the fuck cares what some stranger who isn't going through it says anyway?"

  "Exactly," I agreed, nodding. "So I am going to stick with my new motto."

  "If it feels right, it is right," he repeated.

  "Exactly." My smile slipped a bit as my gaze fell again, taking a deep breath, trying to find just a tiny bit more courage. "Hey, Ranger?"

  "Yeah?" he asked as my head lifted again.

  "Kissing you felt right," I told him, the words nearly tripping over one another in a rush to get out, but they did. They got out.

  "Thank fuck," Ranger rumbled just a second before his lips crashed down on mine.

  His arms left the tabletop, curling around me, dragging me closer until my legs had no choice but to slip open, slide around him. Then curling around his lower back, angling up my pelvis toward his, well, they did that all of their own volition.

  Just like my hands gliding up his strong arms, curling around his neck.

  My heart felt constricted in my chest as his teeth nipped gently at my lower lip, demanding entry, something I gave willingly, happily.

  There was no uncertainty, no hesitation.

  No.

  Nothing had ever felt more right.

  His tongue claimed mine as his body shifted, folding forward, bending me backward until my back hit the tabletop, his weight crushing down on me, braced as his arms pressed down at my sides.

  My nails sank into his short, soft hair as my hips ground upward, feeling his hardness pressing against me, stoking the need, dragging a low, throaty moan from deep inside me.

  His lips ripped from mine, and for one terrifying moment, I was worried he was going to stop, was going to try to make my decisions for me once again.

  But his head just slanted, lips - and beard - sliding down the side of my neck, a sensation that sent a shiver through me even though my body had never felt hotter. So hot, in fact, that the soft fabric of my clothing felt scratchy, uncomfortable. So much so that there was a tangible rush of relief when his hand lifted to grab the neck of my shirt, yanking it wide, hard enough that it promised the fabric would never shrink back down, no matter how many times I washed it. But I liked it. I liked that lack of control, that overwhelming need to feel more of my skin. And he did. With his lips, with his tongue, tracing down my throat, over my clavicle, before moving away once again.

  His head lifted, looking down at me, like he was making sure we were still on the same page, not wanting to push things, but giving me the say this time, not pausing because he thought I would want that.

  Which was good.

  Because I definitely didn't want to pause.

  My body was like a live wire, sparking, threatening a fire that might consume me, consume us both even.

  His hands moved downward, grabbing the hem of my shirt, slowly moving it upward, letting me fold up so he could free it from me before tossing it aside, his gaze moving down.

  There had been bras. In the pile of things Miller had given Finn to bring me. The right size even. But after a while without them, I hadn't felt like putting one back on again.

  So I was bare from the waist up, something he noticed immediately, gaze going to my breasts, a low rumble moving through him as he took a slow, deep breath, holding it for a long second before exhaling it with so much pressure behind that I could feel the warm breath on said breasts, something that made my nipples tweak harder.

  His hands moved, pressing in just at the sides of my rib cage, thumbs moving out to stroke across the hardened nipples, the touch making me arch up off the table as the soft touch sent a stab of need to my core.

  But before he touched them again, his gaze slipped lower, toward my belly, gaze darkening for a short second as his hand slid down, traced a line down the side of my healed cut.

  "These need to come out," he told me, making my gaze go down to see the ugly, sharp little threads still sticking out of my skin. "Tomorrow," he added when I felt worry curl up in my stomach, like he was going to stop what we were doing to snip them, to pull them out. He was practical like that. It wouldn't exactly be out of character for him to do just that. Luckily, apparently, his desire to see more of me, feel more of me overpowered his practicality just this once, something I was incredibly grateful for.

  His hands slid back up my sides, closing over my breasts, squeezing softly for a second before he bent forward again, his lips closing over my right nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth.

  My hands curled, fingers sinking into the flesh above the collar of his flannel, something that made him make a humming noise around my nipple just before his teeth scraped over it, then his mouth left it as suddenly as it had claimed it, going across my chest to continue the torture on my other nipple until my body was writhing, until my hands were clawing at his shirt, trying to drag it up, all my thoughts focused on getting his bare skin pressed against mine, to feel his warmth, the hard lines of his muscles.

  But he wouldn't acquiesce.

  He endured the way I twisted and yanked at his clothes as his head moved between my breasts, the brush of his beard a new, exciting sensation as he slowly moved downward, making goosebumps rise up on the surface of my skin as he went.

  At the last second, he curved far out to my side, avoiding my stitches, so they didn't scratch at his skin. His tongue traced the line of my pants low at my hips. His teeth nipped into the hollow of my hipbone. Then his fingers snagged the waistbands of my pants and panties, pulling.

  My legs tightened around his back, anchoring me to him allowing me to lift up my hips so he could slide the material over my butt. Dropping back down, my legs slowly slipped down his sides as he kept removing the rest of my
clothing, pulling it over my thighs, my knees, calves. Taking a step back, he freed one ankle, then the other.

  He didn't immediately move back between my legs, instead held my ankles, pressed my knees upward and in toward my chest. His wide chest expanded further as he took a deep breath before his body bent again, his gaze going to the skin he had just exposed, his lips pressing into the inside of my ankle.

  The touch, so unexpected, so foreign, made my body jolt, my leg attempting to pull away, but his hand held on, keeping me still, allowing him to, well, worship me.

  There was no other way to describe it, was there?

  It sure as hell felt like worship as his lips moved over skin no man had ever paid attention to before.

  Up my ankle, my calf, over my kneecap.

  His hands moved then, grabbing me at the lowest part of my thighs, pressing, spreading my legs out against the table, exposing me completely.

  But he just continued his lazy exploration, his tongue tracing up the soft skin at the back of my knee, something that made my sex clench hard.

  He moved up my inner thigh, his tongue tracing the space where it met my hip.

  Then suddenly moving inward, mouth closing over my clit before I could even prepare for it, making my hips jolt upward, my hands slam down on his shoulders, my breath hiss out of me.

  "Oh, my God," I whimpered, hand moving up to grab the back of his neck, holding him to me as his tongue moved out, stroked over me, stoked the fire until it felt like it was burning me up, until everything in me seemed to liquify under the intensity of the flames.

  "No!" I whimpered when he suddenly pulled away, yanked out of my grip, standing up suddenly, looking down on me, eyes pure need as he watched me.

  His hands moved, seemingly in slow motion, going to the front of his shirt, slipping the first button free.

  It was then that I felt myself folding upward, not even thinking of it at first, but following my body on instinct as I sat upright, as my hands moved out to brush his out of the way, taking over the task myself.

  There was a moment of disappointment at realizing he had another layer on, but that was gone just as quickly as the top layer, leaving behind, well, him. In all of his beautiful, masculine glory.