Broken Hero

I shake off the encounter as I bike back up to the ranch that afternoon. My client is a woman from Claremont who my aunt drinks tea with on occasion. She gives me a nervous smile when I greet her and tells me about her issues with back pain. An hour later I’ve tried to give her both pain relief, muscle adjustment and a tiny bit of life advice.

“Using a heating pad at night, when you’re watching TV, will help a lot with pain management. I recommend that you see a chiropractor or your doctor and see what can be done long-term if the pain persists. Massaging out the knots in the area will help, but it won’t solve the underlying issue.”

She grabs my hand and squeezes it once, a smile on her face. “Thank you, honey. Your aunt told me I should try this and I’m not disappointed. I’ll get a heating pad.”

“Let me know if it helps.”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“I will.”I’m folding towels when the door to the spa opens behind me. It’s exactly fifteen minutes past the end of my shift and I don’t even need to turn around to know who it is.

I smile. “You’re like clockwork.”

Strong arms wrap around my waist and the scent of man, grass, and leather overwhelms me. His hair tickles my temple. “Am I that predictable?”

I lean back against the hard chest, his closeness setting my heart off. I’ve longed for his touch. “Yes. You’re not mysterious at all, you know. An open book.”

“I should work on that.” His lips trace my neck, the scruff of his chin pleasurably rough against my skin. “Were the cookies in today’s delivery from you?”

“Mmm, maybe. Did you like them?”

“I’ve eaten about half.”

I grin. “High metabolic rate, huh?”

“Apparently.” His lips continue down my neck and make it hard for me to focus. “Have dinner with me at the farmhouse. We can cook, drink wine on the porch… I’ll be on my best behavior.”

I put my hand over his and trace the strength of his forearm. “Watch the sunset?”

“Yes.”His hands are gentle, but I can feel the tension in his body as he waits for my reply. It’s been over a week since the fair. We haven’t touched like this since… I can’t think of that night, or I’ll combust.

“I’ll have dinner with you.”

Oliver’s arm tightens around my waist before he lets me go. “Good.”

He’s a large and calm presence beside me as I finish up. He helps fold a few towels and waits patiently for me to get my things.

“This will be in full use when the wedding party is here next week.”

“I’ve already started working on the package for the bridesmaids,” I smile. “They can be in the hot tub, face masks on, while I give one-on-one massages.”

“You’re a natural at this.”

We walk close, closer than strictly necessary, all the way back up to the main house. His button-down is cuffed at the elbows and he’s not wearing a cap today. Thick, golden hair falls over his forehead. It’s truly ridiculous how attractive he is, how the rough-hewn aspects of his features only make him more so. He’s larger than any man I’ve ever been with-there’s just so much more of him.

I stop by the main house and glance at the reception. Oliver is still by my side, watching me. He can sense my hesitation.

“They don’t have to know.”

I nod. “I’d like that. Just let me fetch my bike.”

Oliver rolls his eyes at my precaution, but he doesn’t object, grabbing it for me. It rolls silently in the grass beside him as we walk towards his house. The house he lives in is smaller than the farmhouse, yes, but it has infinitely more charm. I love the wraparound porch.

“I’ll drive you home later.”

“I can bike, it’s not-”

“I’ll drive you home.”

Austin comes rushing out the back door and weaves between my legs. His coat is glossy under the blazing sun.

“Hi there, buddy. You’re a good boy. Yes… oh?” He flops down, belly up, and I grin. “Greedy, too.”

Oliver watches me, eyes unreadable. “I bought food from Ricky’s. Is that alright?”

“Of course. Am I finally going to get the Morris special?”

He snorts and heads into the kitchen. “Never.”

I hop onto one of the chairs by the kitchen counter. A vase of sunflowers stands in the middle and I smile. It has Sarah’s fingerprints all over. She does a lot to take care of him, I’ve realized.

“It must be exhausting, being such a figure in town.”

Oliver shuts the fridge and starts removing the tinfoil from two large platters with methodical precision. His shoulders are taut. “It can be.”

“Will you tell me more about yourself tonight?”

“What do you want to know?”

“This house. Is this where you lived with your parents?”

“No, we lived in the farmhouse.”

The big house, which is now the reception and the main hotel for the retreat. I can’t imagine what growing up in a house like that must have been like. Maybe he hears the question in my voice, because he continues, unprompted.

“My father died some years back. When Sarah and I looked through the books, it turned out the place was more or less insolvent. Turns out the ranch hadn’t been profitable for decades.”

“I’m sorry.”

He grabs the plates and nods to the porch. “Shall we?”

“Let’s. Should I get anything?”

“There’s a pitcher of tea in the fridge and glasses in the top left cabinet.”

The table on the porch overlooks the meadow, and the evening sun makes the high grass gleam golden. I could stay here forever.

“Was it your idea to convert the ranch to a bed and breakfast?”

“Yes. We didn’t have an option, really. It was either that or sell it.”