Page 2 of Hard Bred

“Suit yourself,” I mutter, turning away before I do something stupid like smile back at her.

As I head over to the house, I can feel her eyes on me. It takes everything I have to not look back, to not let her see how much she affects me.

Inside, in my shower, I turn the water as hot as I can stand it, letting it pound against my tired muscles. Steam fills my bathroom as I scrub at my skin like I’m trying to wash away more than just the day’s work.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t rid myself of thoughts of Claire.

I close my eyes, and immediately I see her—kneeling in the dirt, that radiant smile directed at me. In my mind, I give in to the urge I’ve been fighting for months. I picture myself crossing the yard in long strides, pulling her to her feet, and crushing my mouth to hers. I imagine how she’d taste, how she’d feel pressed against me, the little sounds she’d make as I?—

“Fuck,” I growl, slamming my palm against the shower tiles. This has got to stop. I’ve got no business wanting her the way I do.

It was easier before she came along, back when it was just me and my son Logan running things. Then Logan reconnected with Sierra, his high school sweetheart, and everything changed. First, he was splitting his time between the ranch and Los Angeles for Sierra’s music career. Now they’re living on the ranch full-time, raising their twin babies.

I don’t begrudge my son his happiness. Hell, seeing him with his family fills me with pride like nothing else. But it meant Logan needed to lighten his load around here. That’s where Claire came in. She was supposed to be the perfect solution—hardworking, experienced, independent.

Except I hadn’t counted on how much she’d get under my skin.

Over the past year, it’s become harder and harder to keep my attraction at bay. I know it’s all wrong. Claire is a decade and a half younger than me, she’s my employee, and I’ve already had my chance at love. I lived it, savored it, lost it.

That door closed when I buried my wife, and I don’t see any reason to open it again.

I step out of the shower and wipe the steam from the mirror. The face that stares back at me is lined with years of sun and wind and hard work. What the hell would a vibrant woman like Claire want with an old rancher like me?

But then I remember the way she looks at me. The warmth in her eyes, her teasing smile. It makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe…

I shake my head, pushing away the dangerous thought. Even if she did want me, I can’t go down that road. I’ve worked too hard to build this life, this legacy. I can’t risk it all for a fling that’s bound to end in heartbreak.

I throw on some jeans and a fresh flannel shirt and step outside. The evening has cooled down, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of faraway pines. I’m relieved to see that Claire’s beat-up truck is gone, no longer parked in its usual spot by the fence.

But the sight of the empty space where it usually sits also leaves me unsettled, a quiet ache spreading through my chest.

Whenever she goes home, it’s like she takes a piece of the ranch with her—takes a piece of me.

I shake off the ridiculous feeling and make my way across the property to Logan and Sierra’s place for dinner. The lights are on in their two-story home, warm and inviting against the deepening twilight. The sound of the twins’ crying floats through an open window.

Logan answers the door, a baby tucked into each arm. Their chubby little legs kick with excitement when they see me, their cries melting into happy babbling. Something deep inside me softens, the tension of the day instantly melting away. I reach out to take them into my arms, marveling at how adorable they are.

“And just like that, peace descends,” says Logan, shaking his head. “You know, it’s not fair that you have this effect on them. I’m starting to feel a little betrayed.”

A low laugh escapes me as I walk further inside. “Don’t take it personally, son.”

“Dinner’s almost ready!” Sierra calls from the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans accompanying her words. The aroma of roasting chicken and herbs wafts through the air, making my stomach growl.

“Take your time,” I call back, settling into a well-worn leather armchair in the living room. The weight of the babies in my arms grounds me, their tiny hands grabbing at my shirt and beard. Toys are scattered across the floor, and a half-folded basket of laundry sits on the couch, evidence of the chaos that now rules my son’s life.

As I rock the babies, I tell myself this is enough. This is what matters—my family, the ranch, the life I’ve built. This is what I’ve worked for all these years. I should be content.

But it’s not that simple. Even as I breathe in the sweet scent of the babies, my traitorous mind conjures up images of Claire. I can’t stop myself from thinking of the way her eyes dance with amusement when she teases me. Or the kindhearted strength in her hands as she tends to the horses.

Or those damn curves of hers.

Each thought of her is a jolt to my system, a reminder of a hunger I thought was long buried. I close my eyes, trying to shut her out, trying to focus on the weight of the twins in my arms.

But Claire is there, always there, just beneath the surface. A possibility I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try.

And deep down, I know I’m fighting a losing battle.

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