Page 69 of Home Hearts Hooves

“I can help,” Dean says, shuffling forward, but Nial places a hand against his brother’s chest and glances at me briefly before squaring down with Dean.

“I said we’re good. We have his royal highness helping out. You go.”

Dean glances at where the eldest son from the neighboring farm is stacking chairs, then turns to me. “Looks like we’re not needed after all,” he says, and Nial jogs away. Dean takes a step, the walking stick slides on loose gravel, and he wobbles. Without thinking, I grab his arm.

“I got you,” I say, not letting go. I link my arm with his and let him lean on me for support as we slowly walk toward his house.

The traditional farmhouse sits proud, bathed in moonlight like it’s done for over a hundred years. With so many farms being bought up and turned into something else, it’s good to see the history of Bellerelle still standing strong. While my family moved out here only three generations ago, the Beakers have been a part of the town since it came to be, which is not really surprising when you look at a map and see not only Beaker Brother’s Ranch, but Beaker Creek, and Beaker Road. Funnily enough, Beaker Road doesn’t lead to the Beaker Brothers Ranch. Instead, it’s the road to the church where one of his distant relatives used to be a preacher. The Beakers helped build this town, and it brings warmth to my chest seeing how Dean is helping keep that tradition going.

“I always loved your house,” I say as we step up to the door.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’d come out with Dad when he was checking on the herd or called out for some emergency, and I always looked up at it thinking how amazing it must be to grow up here.”

Dean’s gaze moves around the space, the smile on his lips spread a little wider.

“I guess it was pretty great. Ummm, do you want to…maybe…come drink?”

His cheeks blush bright enough I can see them under the soft light, and I reach up slowly and brush the back of my fingers along his cheek.

“A drink would be great, but first, I’d like to do something I’ve been waiting to do since the start of the night.”

He meets my gaze.

“You mean when you walked in on me wearing a towel?”

“Yeah,” I reply, and I slide my fingers behind his neck, slipping into his hair. I pull him in close, our lips lightly brush, and then I’m kissing him.

He grabs my hips and holds me tight, my cock thickening with a desperate need for a repeat of the last time he held me like this.

As fast as it started, it stops. He pulls away and then takes a step back, chest heaving in time with mine.

“We should…” He begins looking past me, and I follow his gaze to the dim scattered lights of where the guys are still clearing up after tonight’s event.

I’m scared he’s going to say this was a mistake, that we can’t do this here, now, ever. A lump forms in my throat.

“It’s okay,” I say, but he takes the handle behind him with one hand and grabs mine with the other.

“We should go upstairs,” he says, and a swarm of butterflies swirl inside my gut as he pulls me into the house, and we rush up the stairs, his booted leg moving faster than I’ve seen him go in weeks. The second we’re behind his bedroom door, his mouth is on mine again, and he’s sliding his hands up the hem of my shirt, the rough calluses of his palms scratching in delightful sweeps over my skin.

He kisses me hard, greedily, and I love it. Pulling me toward the bed, we fall onto it together, his hard body blanketing mine before he breaks our kiss and lets out a painful moan.

“Fuck,” he says, lifting his body half up.

“Sorry.”

He chuckles. “What are you apologizing for, Doc? It’s this leg that ought to be sorry for getting in the way.”

“How about we try something different?” I ask, and I slide out from under him and climb from the bed.

“I’m good with different.” He chuckles.

“We’ll start with this,” I say, and I take his shoe off, leaving the boot on his fractured leg alone. “Scoot your ass up.”

He does, and when he’s resting his head on the pillow of his bed, I grab one of the other pillows and prop his injured leg up with it, slightly out to the side and away from where it can be easily knocked. “Now keep that there.”

I kick off my shoes and move around the four-poster bed, one of the old kinds, with ornately carved posts that finish with an acorn shape at the top, taller than me. Climbing onto the mattress, I’m careful not to jostle him too much as I move up between his legs, my gaze locked on him as I go.

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