Alive and Wells (Wells Ranch, #1)

by Bailey Hannah

Great. The first time I’m alone with her and it’s gone from me fighting not to get an erection at the sight of her to talking about her ex.

From the moment she arrived at the ranch, I assumed she was running from something.

There’s an unspoken rule about minding our own business when it comes to the reasons people are here. But fuck me, I’m curious.

My fingers rashly reach toward her, settling on top of her shaky hand to steady it. The scorching burn of our skin touching lasts for less than a second before she pulls away. It’s enough to leave a lasting impression, though. I want to touch her again.

“Okay, City Girl.” “Thanks, Not-A-Cowboy.”

“I’ll stay here and wait for your phone. You wanted to go into the girly store down the street, so go.” Excuse me? “Who are you and what have you done with Austin Wells? Are you feeling okay?” “You need to do your errands, right? Caught me in a rare good mood—don’t make me regret it, darlin’.”

This one,”—I hand him a leather-scented candle from my basket, enraptured by the way our fingertips graze—“actually smells amazing. Now let’s go before the old biddy up front boots us out.” Taking a cautious sniff, he nods thoughtfully before grabbing a duplicate from the shelf and heading to the counter. To be fair, I don’t know much about Austin Wells. But owning a candle or any décor—other than dead animals hung on the wall—isn’t something I expected.

Even though I have the number memorized, adding Beryl as a proper contact is exhilarating. My fingers tap on the screen, shocked to find there’s already a contact profile there. “D-did you add your number to my phone?” “Mhm,” he murmurs, clearly not seeing what’s so strange about this situation.

Austin’s hand grips my headrest as he turns to back out of the stall.

Hot

“You know you need to actually speak—using words—to talk to somebody on the phone, right?”

The corner of his lip pulls into a strikingly adorable smile. Considering how hot he is with a scowl, I’d be in serious trouble if he smiled like this all the time.

“Not if we text, darlin’.” Am I having a stroke? “Text?” I croak. “I didn’t peg you for a texter.” His nostrils flare as he maintains focus on the road ahead. “I could start if you’d like.”

I’m definitely dead because there’s no way this grizzly bear of a man who seems to like looking at me, but isn’t interested in talking to me, wants me to text him.

I want to understand why he’s so hot and cold. He says he doesn’t hate me, and got visibly nervous when I suggested that he doesn’t like me. Austin doesn’t exactly exude Casanova energy, so I don’t think he’s trying to toy with me.

By the time I’ve made my selection, Austin’s too busy arguing with Tate, the store owner, about horse supplements to potentially intervene and pay for my boots.

Before now, I wasn’t sure whether Austin was capable of saying more than half a dozen words in a row. I also didn’t know I would find it as attractive as I do. Although, maybe it’s not the discussion so much as the ass-hugging Wranglers, cowboy boots, and plaid long-sleeve that’s tight across his broad shoulders.

Call it trauma, call it feminism, call it stupidity. His offer forms a knotted ball in my throat, that I’m forced to speak around to politely decline.

“Dr. Pepper and cream soda slushies. Take whichever one you like. I’ll drink either.” Bizarre. Austin outside of the ranch is simply bizarre.

I bought new towels for the cabin. For my cabin.

“I won’t survive him next time.” My revelation is enough to make Beryl feel the need to place a small hand on my shoulder as water brims my eyes.

“Honey, you came in from a heck of a storm. You can’t expect to immediately be warm and dry. All you can do is strip the wet clothing, wrap yourself in a blanket, and allow yourself the time it takes to weather it.

“Y’know, you keep saying ‘should’. I think that word does nothing except lead to regrets. Whether you’re talking about something you should be doing now or something you should’ve done in the past, it’ll only bog you down. Forgetting about that silly word, what are you actually feeling? Focus on that.”

And I really do enjoy being around the cowboys. It’s what I imagine having twenty brothers might be like. Without all the horror that would come with having that many brothers.

“I don’t hate you guys—although, the nickname isn’t my favourite. Who would want to be named after a horse? Oh, right…. Sorry, Colt.” I smile over at him. “Rude.” Colt shoots me a joking stink eye and I silently mouth him an apology. “A young horse though, Filly. Could be worse.”

“No way, Filly. You helped brand 5,000 head. You’re a cowgirl now and you need a nickname if you want to be part of the crew,”

“Bullshit. Only, like, half of you guys even have nicknames. But I guess if I have to have one, I’d rather Filly over Sundial.” “God, she’s ruthless. Maybe she should be called heifer, after all. Coming after a man who’s trying to mind my own business over here,”

He apparently earned his nickname by “doing so much standing around on the job, you can tell the time by the shadow he casts”.

I’ve been yearning for slow, relaxed lake days ever since my last visit there at sixteen. At this moment, it feels like I’ve finally found it. There’s that emotion again. Relief.

“You’ve kept us in the dark long enough. If you’re staying there, I want frequent updates. Even if it’s a darn thumbs up via email. Please. I’m tired of worrying about you, Cecily.”

And Beryl never delivers coffee. If I had a dollar for every time she’s told me “you have two feet and a heartbeat” when asked to bring me something I need, I’d be able to hire somebody to bring me coffee daily.

“Oh, honey.” She leans over to rub my forearm. “Either you’re blind or you’re a fool.”

“Wrong or not, I’m not interested.” I’m a pathetic liar. I’m so interested it’s pissing me off, to be honest.

“And the pain of falling is worth it because riding makes you feel alive.” “Or because it’s my livelihood and I have no choice.”

“I’m thirty-seven. Not that young.” “Oh, honey. If you truly believe that, you’re definitely a fool.”

somebody. I must have come down with heat stroke. It’s the only logical reason why I agreed to have a beer at the river. Denny asked while I was hosing down my mare, Jubilee, after a long morning checking heifers, and I was simply too hot and tired to argue. The rare times I say yes—like today—are enough to keep Denny always inviting me. You’d think I agreed to give him $1,000 by the smile on his face. Almost makes me wish I said yes more often. Following behind the pack, I listen to talk about the past weekend’s rodeo. Sundial, appropriately nicknamed because he’s basically useless—always standing around casting a damn shadow

Then we crest the bank down to the swimming hole, and I spot her. Tan line questions answered. Goddamn, now I’m really regretting all the invites I’ve turned down. I’m aware she’s been down here with the guys a few times. Honestly, it hasn’t bothered me. At least, it didn’t before now. My brain hadn’t considered the fact she’d be wearing a tiny bikini around them. But she is.

A thin string tied in a dainty bow on her upper back and bottoms that are nearly a thong, exposing most of her ass. Her white bikini leaves little to the imagination, but I’m definitely fucking imagining. She looks up from the book to accept a beer from Denny, and her feet giddily kick behind her. Fuck. Why haven’t I been coming here?

“How was your day cowboying, Not-A-Cowboy?”

But what’s not to like about a whale attack and cannibalism?”

Now we share something. Finally, there’s a topic I can talk to her about. She’s held and read and loved—hopefully—the same books I have. If only I could fucking talk, or simply act like a normal human around her.

Apparently, I am a total pervert because I can’t help myself from looking when her knees spread slightly apart.

She smiles and stands in front of me, running her thumbs under the waist of her bottoms to adjust the fit. Sharing a little peek at the deep tan line running across her hip bones. My cock begins to harden and I’m thankful my jeans are thick and fitted enough to hide it.

can’t fathom why the guys aren’t as enthralled as I am. I suppose they’ve become desensitized—although I don’t think it would matter how many times I watch her walk by in a bikini; I’m always going to fucking look.

Letting the sun warm her face like she doesn’t have a care in the world. I might be wearing denim, but I’m strongly considering going in there. Except I wouldn’t know what to say or do once I was next to her. Because I’m overwhelmed with the urge to hold her in my ...

Still, though, I act like a numbskull around Cecily because every muscle in my chest, and every tendon in my body, are aching to have her. And my brain is screaming at me to stay away.

A thin slice of material begging to be shifted slightly. One wrong move and it might end up wedged between her pussy lips, and I would be a complete goner. Okay, that’s my cue to leave before I have to walk away from here with a raging hard-on instead of the semi I’m already needing to tuck away before I go. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she bent over and lingered as long as she did on purpose.

The thin bikini top barely contained the swell of her stunning tits, and those hard nipples needed my warm hands. Or mouth.

Would she let me have my way with her right there in the open? I imagine her kneeling down and taking me in her mouth, deep enough she’d start to choke on it.

Those pretty, painted nails would dig into my thighs as I held her hair, shoving my cock deeper down her throat.

unashamedly pretending it’s her wet pussy I’m fucking instead of my hand. My grip becomes vise-like, tugging aggressively as I picture teasing her clit until Cecily begs me to take her right there. And I would. I’d bend her over the boulder by t...