Alive and Wells (Wells Ranch, #1)

by Bailey Hannah

He calls me names when he’s angry, but he doesn’t hit me. He screams in my face, but he doesn’t hit me. He smashes wine glasses, plates, and the drywall directly next to my head, but he doesn’t hit me.

Maybe KJ did kill me and this is heaven.

Because I can’t seem to stop myself from being a habitual asshole when it comes to her, I set the half-eaten cookie down on the swing’s armrest, and leave without another word.

This is easily the most pathetic I’ve ever felt—married and pining for my boss. Great, Cecily. You really are a whore.

Now I’m watching for purely selfish reasons, ignoring the voice telling me I shouldn’t. I’m nothing if not a simple man, no better than the rest.

Fuck, I do this every damn time. Something about her voice and her smile and her fucking earth-shattering gaze stops me in my tracks every time. I lose the ability to form words, let alone sentences. Leaving me with two default modes: asshole boss and silent douchebag.

Her eyes meet mine, her knowing smile sending my heart into erratic oblivion. I did like it. Too damn much for somebody not looking to have his heart broken again. And then she adds five words that send my head swimming, making me question every damn decision I’ve made since she got here. “I know I liked watching.”

She’s always unusually happy for five in the morning and, to my horror, I’ve grown to enjoy the cheeriness.

I don’t detest her. I don’t not like her.

Admittedly, I’ve thought about wanting to do bad things to her in a few moments of weakness, but the good things she’s making me do are terrifying.

It’s because of the dress. You’re being bamboozled by a short summer dress and tanned legs.

It’s official. 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. It’s

He’s probably offering because it’s the chivalrous thing to do, not because he has malicious intentions. But, like the towels and cuticle oil, it’s another thing he could potentially hold over my head.

I’m a pathetic liar. I’m so interested it’s pissing me off, to be honest.

The instant the final auction ends, he drops my hand like it’s red-hot metal. I naïvely thought that he’d been feeling the same sparks I had. But it’s never been more clear to me that I’m simply delusional.

If he wanted to, he would. And Austin doesn’t.

My body warms from the inside out, like I’m chugging Fireball on a cold night in the middle of calving season. I can practically feel my face glowing when I look over at Cecily.

If I want this girl, I need to stop being a closed-off dick.