14. King Ranch

KING RANCH

A small town of a few thousand, Peace Springs barely supports the need for a doctor. Which means, there isn't much to do in town on a Monday night.

"What do you have in mind for dinner?" I'm interested to find out what constitutes a good time in such a small town.

While growing up, my visits here were the adventures of a child. A night on the town included a burger, a shake at Eddie's Soda Shoppe, and being allowed to stay out past nine.

He holds my hand, supporting me as I take the steps leading off the porch. Sitting beside my Jeep, a black F250 heavy duty King Ranch chirps and flashes its lights.

"It's a surprise," he answers with a wink. "I'm thinking something special for a city girl."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that." Except, I love the way the words roll off his tongue and how his eyes simmer when he says them.

"I could call you pumpkin?"

"Pumpkin!" I turn to face him. "You're not serious?"

"Well, if I have to pick something else, that's what I'm going with."

"How about Abby? It is my name."

His head tilts to the side, and he pulls at his chin. "Everyone else will be calling you that. I want something that's all mine." He shrugs. "Your pick, pumpkin or city girl? "

"I'm not a pumpkin."

"I agree. You taste sweeter than a pumpkin."

"You haven't answered my question." I turn away, not wanting him to see me blush.

"About where we're going?"

"Yes."

"Because I'm planning on surprising you."

Well, it isn't going to be much of a surprise. There are really only two places to eat and a handful of bars.

He won't take me to Bar 21. It caters to a seedier crowd, which leaves Top Bar as the only other option. The only one I know that has music and anything resembling a dance floor is Top Bar.

My father took me there a few times after work when he wanted to relax with a beer. First, he would grab me a shake at Eddie's. Then I spent the afternoon reading or coloring, sipping my milkshake, while he talked with the men.

"There aren't that many places to go."

"How much do you trust me?"

That answer is way more complicated than it should be.

We reach his truck and, when he opens the passenger door, a length of black silk drapes across the seat.

"What's that for?" I claim to be open-minded, but when it comes to kinky sex games, I'm as vanilla as they come. Not to mention we barely know each other.

He laughs as I back away, but he stops me with the brace of his arm.

Reaching over my shoulder, he grabs the silky fabric. "It's a blindfold, silly." He gives another of his knee-knocking winks. "Let's get beyond the first kiss or two before we spice things up by tying you up."

My mouth gapes and heat rises to my cheeks. "That's not what I meant."

"Oh, if you could see the color of your cheeks. Hell, instead of pumpkin, I should've gone with sugar beet. Now those are sweet and beet red."

I punch him playfully in the arm and shake out my fist. "Ow!"

"Hey, don't be hollering at me. You punched me." Drake laughs. "I'm not planning on tying you up. It's just a blindfold. I have something special planned, and I don't want to spoil it."

I slow my breathing and blush again. This time for letting his teasing get under my skin.

"Promise you'll stop making fun of me?"

"Sorry, but I can't make a promise I know I won't keep." He lifts the silky fabric. "Now, do you trust me enough to play along?"

Trust shouldn't be such a complicated thing, but I hesitate. The look on his face is what finally has me saying yes. There's no malice in his expression. Instead, a desperate hope hungers in his gaze.

He saved me from wolves. Force marched me through the cold. I've gone over and over those few hours—how he refused to slow the pace and barely helped me through the worst spots. He did it on purpose to ensure I kept my body temperature up by keeping me moving.

The moment I was out of danger, he's been nothing but gentle. Teasing me more often than not, but he's never been gruff, and certainly not disinterested.

Scott and his physical abuse traumatized me, but I refuse to let him influence how I respond to every other man in my life.

"I trust you."

"Good." He twirls his finger in the air.

I dutifully spin and face away from him.

His strong fingers place the fabric over my eyes. The touch ignites a banked heat slumbering in my core, making me gasp.

"Here, hold this while I tie you up."

I hold the silk in place and laugh. "You said no tying me up."

"Well, not yet, but I have to warn you, I'm a rancher."

"And?"

"I'm good with rope."

"A llama rancher. I know."

"Bert raises llamas. I run cattle, which means I'm really good with rope."

"Oh!" My insides squirm with the promise laced in his words.

Vanilla is good, but maybe a few chocolate sprinkles might be nice from time to time. While I focus on soothing my racing heart, his deft fingers tie the blindfold in place. He grips my shoulders and spins me around.

"Can you see anything?"

"Nope."

"You peeking?"

"No," I say with a laugh. "I'm not peeking. I can't see anything."

"Good."

The moment the word's out of his mouth, the searing heat of his kiss returns, all the hotter for how unexpected it is. I gasp. Then he lifts me up and settles me on the seat of the truck.

"Can you buckle in on your own, or do you need help?" He hands me the shoulder strap, and I feel at my left hip for the seatbelt latch.

"I've got it."

"Good, buckle up, city girl. I've got a treat for you."

The door shuts with a solid thunk, and I hear nothing but his boots on the ground as he rounds the truck. The driver's door opens, and the truck shifts under his weight.

"You a country, pop, or hard rock kind of gal?"

I take in a deep breath. "Your choice. I like them all."

The engine cranks over and classical music spills from the radio.

"Is that what you like?" I ask.

"Depends on my mood. I'm kind of in a Disturbed state of mind. Do you mind?"

I pause and then smile when I realize he means the rock group. "I love Disturbed."

"Well, settle in and get comfortable. Tell me if the music gets too loud." He cranks the sound as the first notes of a new song race out of the speakers.

Conversation comes to an end with the full-bodied sound, leaving me to wonder if Drake is headbanging or banging his hand on the steering wheel.

Either way, the music allows me to sink into my thoughts. And while his woodsy scent permeates the cab of the truck, at least I'm not subjected to his primal beauty during the drive.

I need time alone with my thoughts and to prepare for what might come next. I'm equally terrified of moving too slow as I am of moving too fast.

Keeping track of where he's driving proves impossible, although I try. My memory of Peace Springs is that of a kid riding a bicycle.

I follow the drive down the lane from my uncle's house, the turn left, which brings us past the elementary school. The rough road smooths out, telling me we've reached the center of town, but that's as far as my misguided directional sense goes.

"Where are you taking me?"

"What part of surprise do you not understand?"

"Just wondering how long we're going to be driving around. Surely we're on Main Street by now."

He huffs a laugh. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride. We'll get there when we get there."

Is he deliberately trying to get me lost?

I tap the armrest, my fingers drumming out my frustration. When I lift my hand to yank the blindfold off, his fingers curl around my wrist, tugging it down.

"Uh-uh, city girl. Just a bit longer and we'll be there."

"Where?"

"Dinner and dancing, of course."

Ugh. Maybe they built someplace new in town? It makes sense. A lot of small towns expand their borders by incorporating surrounding lands. Old farms are taken over and barns get turned into dance halls. Maybe that's what he has in mind?

Sure feels that way.

The truck moves from the easy ride over asphalt to a bumpier ride over an unpaved road. Rock and gravel grind beneath the tires, which means we moved onto one of the many unimproved roads surrounding town. A few minutes turn to ten, and then a few more.

"Almost there," he says. "Promise you'll sit tight for a second? I need to open the gate."

Open the gate? Must be a renovated farm. This town has more head of cattle than it does people. Cattle gates are as ubiquitous as blades of grass in the fields.

"I promise." And while the temptation to peek is overpowering, I don't want to ruin his surprise. Not after he went to so much trouble.

The driver's side door opens and the truck rocks as he exits. When he returns, he settles into his seat and grips my hand.

"Tell me," he says, "favorite movie genre."

"Um, I don't know."

The one thing about medical school, and the even more rigorous residency training, is a distinct lack of free time. I can't remember the last time I watched a movie, let alone saw one in a movie theater.

"I like a good science fiction piece."

" Star Wars geek or Trekkie?"

"Both I guess." Both franchises released movies recently. I'm not a complete mushroom and do manage to see some movies when they come out online. "I like the one with the mutants too."

"Ah, great. Perfect even." His long fingers stroke the back of my hand. "Do you have to be anywhere tomorrow? Need to check in with work?"

"Not yet. I'm still settling in." Not a complete lie, but the medical practice can wait another day.

"Good," he whispers. "I plan to have you out all night."

All night? My stomach flutters with what that might entail.