Page 1 of Bookworm
Chapter One
Ann
Just look at him. I can’t keep myself from staring at the man in the window.
He’s tall. Probably six and a half feet. Tall and inked. His tattoos strategically placed to tell a story of mystery and power. Plus, when he walks around the kitchen in his jeans after a long day, he does more than whet my appetite.
So, let’s summarize. Tall, inked, mysterious, hot… and totally uninterested in me.
Hemustbe my type.
Why do I do this to myself?This isn’t some sticky-sweet romance novel. It’s real life. The handsome rancher doesn’t fall for his curvy caregiver. That’s a trope. A trope that I’m not living in. In thereal worldtrope, people like me don’t end up with sexy men like Holt. People like me, do their job, then quietly disappear to their room at night to read books about love and romance they’ll never have. It’s reality. And as granny likes to say,‘The sooner I let reality in… the better.’
She’s an eloquent woman.
I check Earl one last time and splash some water on my face in the hall bathroom, then head toward the kitchen for a drink. Usually, I’m at the library part-time, but I’ve taken a break to help here. Granny says it’s a personal favor to her. She knows Earl from her rodeo queen days. I didn’t ask questions. She’s had more romances than a library, and I’m sure the details would depress me.
“You’re up late.” Holt’s deep voice knots in my stomach as he steps into the room. I’ve only been here for three nights, but I’ve tried to be out of his way by the time he comes in, so I haven’t seen him much more than a few minutes here and there. “Everything okay?” He takes off his Stetson and hangs it on the hook by the door before kicking off his boots.
What is it about a big, giant of a hard-working man that gets me all hot and bothered?I need help.
“Sorry, I was just heading to my room. There’s a plate for you in the fridge. I wasn’t sure when you’d be in. I can get it for you if you want.”
“You’re not my maid. You’re here for Earl. You didn’t even have to fix me dinner. Thank you.” His voice is low and graveled, and his big hands pull the cellophane off the fried chicken I made an hour before.
“Sorry. It’s probably soggy now. I can fr—”
“You can sit down and keep me company.” He pops open the door to the microwave and slides the plate inside. “Dinner smells great. How was Earl today? If he’s a pain in the ass, just tell me. I’ll put him back in line.” His tone is gruffer than it was a moment ago and I wonder what kind of connection the two have. I know a lot of fathers and sons have strained relationships, but Earl is living here, so it can’t be that bad. Maybe they had an argument recently.
“He’s not a pain at all.” I run my fingers back through my hair, suddenly nervous, as Holt pulls the dining room chair out to sit. He’s a massive man, but here in the house with normal people utensils, tables and chairs, he looks even bigger. “He’s getting around great with his walker. If I were comparing, I’d say he’s doing much better than my Granny was after her hip replacement. She was down for weeks.”
Holt grunts and bites into the fried chicken with a groan. “Don’t give him too much credit. He’s a stubborn old man. Stubborn old men can make themselves do just about anything.”
There’s an awkward silence for a moment where I’m not sure if I should ask what happened between them, or see if he needs another beer, but he beats me to it. “Do you want a glass of wine? I’m sure you need it after dealing with him all day. I should probably double your pay.”
“I’m good on the wine.” I fumble with a piece of paper on the table, folding the corner into an accordion. “You two really don’t get along, huh?”
He takes another bite of chicken and follows it with a gulp of beer. “The man doesn’t deserve to be here, let alone having a sweetheart like you taking care of him.”
Sweetheart?I try not to take the compliment personally. He’s comparing me to the father he hates. I’m sure anyone would be a sweetheart in his head.
“He’s really been very kind to me. He even told me a few stories about you. Good ones.” I look a glance toward Holt, then down at the paper again, unsure of how he’s going to respond.
“Well, I reckon I’m going to have to get you outside for some fresh air tomorrow, cause you’re starting to hear things. That man doesn’t have a good story in him. I know that for a fact.”
I smile. “He did, though. He said when you were young, you taught your horse to side pass.”
Holt wipes his hand on a paper towel and chuckles. “Yeah. He tell you what a sissy I was after that? That man hated that I wanted to teach my horses everything, even soft movements. He thought I was dimming the family line of big, strong, mountain men.” Holt’s arms tense as he puts his beer down. “His way of managing anything was… break something down until it’s obedient, run it into the ground, and then discard it when it’s no longer useful.” He clears his throat. “It was especially bad with the horses.”
“I guess he left that part out,” I say with a smile, “but I’d like to see all the things your horses can do, though. The only experience I have with horses is in books. I read this one novel that was this love story between two horses.” I grip my chest. “It was the most beautiful thing. They were separated by neighboring farms for years and they were depressed and sad when they were apart, but when they were brought back together, it was like magic. They remembered each other.”
He laughs. “I’m not sure what to address first. The fact that you live up here and you’ve never met a horse, or the fact that you read a romance starring two horses.”
“Is it that pathetic?” I pinch my lips to the side and look down at the solid oak table that looks like it’s been worn over time.
“That’s an easy fix. I’ll take you riding tomorrow.”
I shake my head. “I’ll pet one. But riding, that sounds dangerous and I’m not big on taking unnecessary risks with my life.” I get the feeling he’s going to ignore my apprehension.