Page 15 of Tattered and Torn
We’re back at the lodge in no time. John parks near the front doors, and I hop out. He meets me at the back of the truck and retrieves my grocery bags.
“Do you need help carrying those in?” he asks.
“No, I’ve got it. Thanks. And thanks for the ride.”
He nods. “No problem. I guess I’ll see you in the mornin’ if you still want a ride to the farmers market.”
Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that. I’m surprised he even brought it up. “I do, thanks. If you don’t mind taking me.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”
I watch as he walks toward the barn. His limp is more pronounced now.
“What happened to you, John Burke?” I murmur to myself.
Chapter 6 – John
I’m restless when I step into the barn. After I see to the horses, I decide to clean all the tack. All of it. Because that’ll take me hours and I need somethin’ to do. Somethin’ besides fixating on the hot redhead.
I knew I was in trouble when I wanted to flatten Ryan Emerson for calling Gabrielle hot. I was jealous and angry at a teenager when I had no right to be. First of all, it’s a free country, and he’s allowed to think what he wants. And secondly, it’s none of my damn business what Ryan—or any other guy for that matter—thinks of Gabrielle. As long as they’re respectful of her, of course. I’d never stand for any disrespect.
But that’s where it ends. She’s none of my business. Not one damn bit.
I shouldn’t have had that beer at Ruth’s, because now I want another one. And then another. Or maybe something stronger. I remember what it felt like to drink myself into oblivion. God knows I did that often enough when I got out of rehab, once my burns had started to heal.
But burns like these—no matter how many reconstruction surgeries I had, the evidence remains, visible to anyone with eyesight.
And now I’ve got Gabrielle looking at my scars. I’m sure she wonders what the hell happened to me.
I shake myself mentally. “Stop whining.”
No more alcohol.
Clean the damn tack.
Then clean it again.
Then muck all these stalls and lay down fresh straw. Change out the water buckets in the stalls, then change the water in the troughs. Maybe if there’s time before dark, I’ll saddle Zeus and ride up to the Murray Trailhead—just to inspect the path. I’m takin’ a group up that way next week. We had a lot of rain earlier in the week, so I should make sure none of the trail has been washed out. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll take Zeus out.
Six-thirty p.m. rolls around, and I’m starving. I’ve been working hard nonstop since getting back from town, and now my stomach is eating a hole in itself. That slice of pie at Jennie’s didn’t hold me for long. I should go to the lodge for dinner, but I don’t want to face Gabrielle.
Most women I meet avoid my gaze. Hell, they avoid looking at me altogether. But not Gabrielle. She looks. Sometimes she stares. And the unsettling thing is, it doesn’t seem to be out of morbid curiosity or disgust. No, she looks at me like a woman looks at a man she thinks she might be interested in. And that scares the shit out of me because, honestly, I’d give my left nut for her to be interested in me.
As I’m mucking one of the stalls, I hear a brisk knock and turn to see Killian standing behind me.
“How’s it goin’?” he asks.
“Fine. Just muckin’ some stalls.”
“Gabrielle made fettuccine Alfredo with grilled chicken for dinner tonight.”
“So I heard.”
“Word’s gettin’ around fast, so you’d better get in there before it’s all gone.”
The temptation is great, but mostly because I want to see the chef again. “Thanks, but I’ll grab something in my cabin. I was thinking of taking Zeus up the Murray trail a bit, to make sure none of it’s washed out.”
“Seriously, Burke, it’s fettuccine Alfredo. She made garlic bread, too.”