Authors: Natalie Frost
Hanes lowered his head, his hat tilting forward in response. Anger and resentment radiated through him. He wanted to hit something—wanted to shout. But he had done those things repeatedly over the past few weeks, and it hadn’t resulted in anything satisfying.
He didn’t want to go back to his trailer. It was too quiet. But the only other places he could go to was his parents’ estate or maybe some bar, and he was too worn to deal with the kind of trouble those places brought.
He needed another bull ride.
Cursing, Hanes stood and pushed back his hat. Even if he didn’t want to go back to his trailer, remaining still was just as painful as being at home. He needed to move—to forget.
He walked out of the stadium, his tall body weaving around people as they also exited the area. The parking lot was full of them—people chatting, kids laughing—and the noises soothed his restless psyche. Even as he headed for the patch of dirt next to the bleachers, the dirt where all the trailers were parked, he could still hear those distracting noises from the parking lot.
He stepped softly, craning his head back a bit. His trailer was mere feet away now. Reluctant, he glanced back at the parking lot.
The sun was lowering toward it. Evening would turn into night soon, though the heat in the air would not diminish much. As always, it will probably be hellish trying to sleep in his cramped trailer that night.
A choked, wet sound made Hanes stiffen. He turned back to his trailer and held his breath, his ears straining.
A hiccuped sob, then a sniffle, came from the other side of the trailer.
Weariness settled on Hanes’s chest. Quietly, he walked around the trailer. When he got to other side, his heart twisted at the sight before him.
A beautiful woman was sitting on the ground, her dark, curly hair hiding her face as she sobbed and trembled. Her hands were clenching and unclenching, as if they were trying to choke the life out of an invisible critter.
Hanes, being raised to be the respectful sort, removed his hat and held it by his side. “Ma’am? You alright?”
The woman jumped, but she didn’t look up. She rubbed the back of her wrist against her nose, sniffling and clearing her throat. “No. Sorry.”
His torso filled up with sorrow, empathetic in nature. “There’s no need to be sorry.” He lowered himself to a crouch in order to convey he was no threat or bother to her. His grip on his hat loosened. “Is there anything I can do? Anyone I can call?”
She chortled, then choked a bit. Wiping her face, she finally looked up at him. “No. There’s no one.”
Hanes’s eyebrows shot up. He had seen her earlier, walking about and looking for something. She had seemed fine then, just a little lost.
She was certainly beautiful. Dark eyes, glinting with emotion and thought…
Hanes stopped that train of thought. He liked a good time as much as the next guy, but there was a difference between having fun and being an ass. His father had taught him that, along with many other things.
“You know,” Hanes said, swallowing back his own wave of grief. It got trapped in his chest, aching, “I just lost someone, so I know how lonely you must be feeling right now.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I—”
“Now, now, none of that.” He smiled gently. When she calmed a bit, he glanced over at his trailer and placed his hand on it. “This is actually where I live, so if you want me to get you a bottle of water or something, it’s no trouble at all.”
Her eyes skittered back and forth between the trailer and him. Her expression contorted into self-consciousness, her shoulders hunching up as if trying to protect her face. “You got anything stronger.”
Hanes couldn’t help himself. He smirked. “A girl after my own heart.”
She smiled back at him.
Honest to God, he hadn’t meant for her to follow him inside the trailer when he went inside to get the bottle of bourbon. But once she was in there, it would have been considerably rude to kick her out. No longer crying, she still held a look of someone wounded—face puffy, eyes pinkish.
She stood as close to him as she could without completely pressing herself against him, and a pleased hum vibrated through Hanes’s form. God forgive him, he couldn’t push her away no matter how considerate the gesture would be. Besides, the trailer was cramped—walls and furniture practically pressing against them…she probably didn’t know where else to stand.
Hanes got out the bourbon from an upper cabinet, along with two small glasses, and then he poured their drinks. All the while, her flowery and salty scent wafted in the air. Hanes inhaled deeply before handing her the drink.
Their fingers brushed together as she took the beverage, her eyes locked with his.
They hadn’t said a word yet, not since entering the trailer. Not one damn word. And try as he might, Hanes couldn’t think of the right thing to say. She was so close, so pretty…
And then, after they each took a sip of their own drinks, she held her drink by her side before leaning forward and kissing his chin.
Hanes always tried to be a gentleman, but he was only human—only a red-blooded American male. Her soft lips on his chin sent a thrill through his flesh that he couldn’t ignore.
He kissed her proper, on those soft lips of hers, and she was quick to kiss back.
One thing led to another, and soon they let passion wash over them as they both looked for a feeling to displace their unspoken grief.
CHAPTER THREE
Frankie woke up warmed and covered. Though the air was a little stuffy, she felt as loose as melted butter. It had been ages since she felt so relaxed, so comfortable. She stretched and smiled, her eyes fluttering open.
The back of a man’s head was in front of her. His torso was bare, the blanket pooling in between his rear and her stomach.
Frankie snatched the blanket and pressed it over her breastbone. Her insides jumped a bit until memories of last night soothed her, albeit embarrassed her. Blushing, she sank a little bit beneath the blanket.
She didn’t do one night stands. Was it okay that she had stayed the night, or was it presumptuous of her? It wasn’t like she could go back to the apartment where Jack and what’s-her-face were having their own good time, assuming they went back to the apartment.
Frankie pressed a hand to her moist forehead. A headache slowly bloomed beneath her light touch, the situation’s awkwardness seeping deeper and deeper into her conscience.
God, was she…she supposed to pay him or something? No, no, that was prostitution. Still, it seemed rude not to give this man something.
Frankie’s stomach dropped. Dear God, she didn’t even know his name. She had sex with a complete stranger.
She buried her face into the blanket and withheld a groan.
The man beside inhaled sharply—gasped and moaned a bit.
Frankie’s eyes widened. Hesitant, she peeked over the blanket.
The man stretched, his muscles tensing and moving accordingly. It was like watching a lion sprawl itself over a log—majestic in its sluggish way. And the light sheen of sweat on the man’s tan shoulders and back made something primal burn pleasantly within Frankie’s lower belly.
She was quick to shake it off. One sex-related mistake was more than enough for the week.
The man turned. The second he registered that she was awake, he beamed. “Morning, darling. You hungry?”
Frankie blinked and bit her lower lip. What was the polite response? Was she supposed to buy breakfast? She hadn’t brought her purse with her yesterday—it was in the apartment, presumably with Jack. Frankie lowered the blankets and opened her mouth, even though she still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say.
“Well, I’m hungry,” he said, winking at her. “I’ll cook breakfast, okay? You can stay for as long as you want. No pressure either way.” He stood up and let the blankets fall off of his naked body.
“Thanks,” Frankie squeaked, forcing her gaze away from his rear. Entire body flushed, she blurted, “Uh, I’m Frankie, by the way. Frankie Carmichael. I’m from New York.” Should she tell him more?
“Frankie Carmichael from New York,” the man said, opening his little fridge a foot away from the bed. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hanes Copper from Texas.” He took out a carton eggs and showed them to her. “You like eggs?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
As Hanes fried the eggs—naked all the while—Frankie slowly put her clothes back on. She was afraid to move too quickly in case he thought she was trying to run away from him. And he had been so nice and charming—and he was hot as hell—of course she wasn’t running from him. But she did have to get out of here. She had to go back to New York and straighten everything out.
They didn’t talk much as they did their own things. It made it all the more awkward, but necessarily uncomfortable. By the time she was dressed again, Hanes had set two plates of scrambled eggs on the little table across from the little oven.
“You just visiting?” he asked, walking over to a tall, slim door and opening it. It blocked him from view, but a second afterward, Frankie could see him take out a few items of clothing.
“Yeah,” Frankie said after a pause. She shook her head and tried to get a hold of her nerves. She sat in front of a plate of eggs and began eating. “I’m actually going home today.”
“Are you now?”
“Yeah. Last night…” Loss and betrayal singed her core. She breathed past it. “Let’s just say, there’s nothing here for me anymore.” She took a small bite of eggs and swallowed it down quickly.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He closed the little door, revealing his clothed-self now. “But New York’s gotta be an exciting place.”
“It is,” she said, smiling fondly. “Truth is I’ve been missing it.”
Hanes settled himself on the seat across from her. He scooped up a large bite of eggs and asked, “Do you need any help getting home?” He slid the fork into his mouth and chewed, green eyes watching her intently.
Frankie furrowed her brow. “Help?”
“You want me to pay for a cab or something to get you to the airport?”
“Oh!” That was thoughtful. Affection and appreciation bloomed within her heart. She was about to kindly refuse the offer, when she remembered her absent purse and absent ex-boyfriend. She cringed. “Um, if you could loan me some money for the bus, that would be wonderful. And I’ll pay you back before I leave tonight.”
He shook his head and waved his hand. “It’s no problem. You can keep it.”
“Thank you, Hanes.”
“And you don’t need to keep thanking me, darling. I’m just treating you right, is all.”
Damn straight, she thought fondly.
After a lovely breakfast, she left the trailer and headed for the closest bus stop Hanes had known about.
CHAPTER FOUR
Months later, Hanes found himself back in the one place he never wanted to return to: his parents’ estate.
In his defense, his baby sister Gina had called him for help. And while he could let his greedy brothers rot in Hell, he could never ignore sweet Gina.
“Not even mom would help you out with this?” Hanes asked, entering his father’s study.
What was once a tidy, gleaming room of modern technology and books was now a room full of boxes and dust bunnies. His father must be spinning in his coffin.
Gina walked past him and up to one of the bookshelves, half empty of books and half full of dust particles. The overly mature twelve year-old grabbed as many books as she could and pulled them out of their place before turning them over. She shrugged and walked to one of the boxes, where she put the pile of books in.
Hanes sighed, bowing his head. He watched Gina continue this pattern—take out books, put them in box, take out more books—before the tense silence urged him to copy her.
“How have you been doing?” he asked. “With…everything? And school? How has school been going?”
“You never cared about school,” she said, giving him the stink eye but not slowing in her movements.
He pursed out his lips. “True enough. But…” But dad always did. He had been furious when Hanes dropped out of college. The memory made Hanes smirk.
His father had been a relatively calm man, but when it came to his family—well, he was a different person entirely. At the funeral, people had told Hanes how similar he was to the old man in that regard.