Page 41 of Country Contract

Harlow is unlike any other woman I’ve met. Maybe she’s a little like Cassidy, but not enough to make me feel like they’re kindred spirits or soul sisters or some weird shit like that. It’s their sarcasm, wit, and love for literature. Their no-bullshit, up-front attitude.

Her offer for no-strings companionship was unnerving. Her financial offer was shocking. It’s late and I stare up at my ceiling from bed. My chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths as I remember that ride with her earlier today.

She looked like something out of a magazine in her tight, black riding pants, black boots, athletic granite top, and black vest. She looked good. I’ve seen girls in English riding apparel before, mostly at shows, and not once did it give me a raging hard-on. Maybe some piqued interest in acurvy woman when those tight pants stretched across her ass, and she posted during a trot. Harlow just standing in that outfit had me readjusting myself.

I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but imagine her in a more relaxed style on the back of my horse. Black denim, worn black button-up and Stetson, a jade, or maybe even citrine bolo tie sitting on her flat chest in stark contrast. Harlow lacks curves, but I can’t get the idea of running my hands over her slender, toned body out of my head. My father has always told us, “A woman is more than just how she appears.” It has to be that unusual personality and aura of hers that draws me in.

Maybe this is what Cassidy and Hunter were talking about?

The fact that I always date a woman of a similar mold seems to only have brought me trouble. On the app, I tried women who may have looked different but, in the end, I put them in the position I wanted. A domestic one. I’m feeling misogynistic, and it doesn’t sit right with me.

Harlow isn’t like the rest of the women I pursue, in every aspect.

She offered me money. For my time.

That has to mean sex, it can’t mean anything else.

She said I didn’t have to sleep with her if I didn’t want to.

I pull my hands from behind my head and push the heels of them into my eyes. All I can think about is her.The worst part of it is, I want to fuck her.

I want to fuck her bad.

The money has nothing to do with it, but if I got some I could pay off the loans I took out for the bunkhouse and maybe even break land for the house.

I don’t even know how much she would be willing to pay.

I could do what everyone keeps suggesting and have my first fling. The erotic thoughts of Harlow plague me daily, and I have no doubt that getting it out of my system would help clear up the mental fog I’ve been feeling.

Working on the farm every day has been a struggle. Avoiding the bunkhouse when I know she’ll be outside is easy enough, but I’m always alert. Listening for the cadence of her light footsteps, listening for her voice, waiting for the chill that runs up my spine whenever she’s close. It all has me on edge.

My lack of experience regarding a fling has me nervous. Are there rules to an engagement like this? Does she stay the night? Do we hold hands as we walk the property? Do I have the liberty to kiss her as I please? None of it makes sense.

Sliding my hands behind my head again, I look around my room. I take in the simple bare walls save for a round, black-rimmed mirror and a half dozen hooks—one holding my cap, another my Stetson, and one more holding a flannel that has another day’s wear ahead.

The main house has so much more to it—pictures along the walls, seasonal decorations, art of some sort. I love art but haven’t put anything up. Especially nothing I’ve done myself. My mother would always hang up my sketches, and it was so embarrassing until I got comfortable in my own style. My main room’s most elaborate decor is three generic prints of plants, but that’s about it.

Would Harlow think my place is stale and uninviting? Would she care long enough to take in the lack of details at my place? Would I only visit her in the bunkhouse?

Letting out a heavy sigh, I will my eyes shut, waiting for sleep to block out the overflowing thoughts.

“Holy shit, you’ll be her pretty woman!” Hunter laughs.

“I will not. Will you take me seriously for a whole damn second?” I say, loading up my quad for the day.

“Okay, okay.” He pulls his beanie off his head and runs his hands through his hair, giving his head a scratch before sliding it back on. I know he hates knit hats, but he hates cold ears more. He’ll be scratching his head all day.

“So, she said you don’t have to sleep together, but she wants your company. She’ll pay you to what, be around her?”

“Yeah, that’s basically what she said. Something about our tension helping her be more creative.” I emphasize my last word.

“Bad idea. You’ll end up following her around like a puppy and begging to sleep with her. She will obviously say yes, then you’ll want more, and she’ll pack up and leave.” Hunter heaves supplies into the bed of his truck as he packs it up to run errands.

“I will not. I know that nothing can come of it. The cash could be good. I could pay off some stuff, ya know?” I watch my brother’s frame go still at my words. His hands grip the edge of the bed tightly.

“You in any kind of trouble?” he asks sternly. I fear for Blake as she gets older; that girl won’t get a chance to date. He’d make a body disappear with how fiercely he wants to protect us all.

“No, no, but I could just be further along in someplans.” He relaxes with my words and nods. I think he knows this feeling well, wanting to just have a little more.

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