To protect me.
Then I glance away and get to cleaning up. Because fantasizing about Beau Eaton isn’t a productive use of my time. Especially when he’s so much older, hot enough to turn every head in this town—to set my skin on fire—and a hell of a lot more experienced than I am.
Which, to be fair, isn’t hard to be.
To absolutely no one’s surprise, I’m too amped up to sleep.
Maybe it was the run-in at the bar. Maybe it’s the fact that every time I close my eyes, I see Beau’s bulging bicep held out across me, and the ripple of his back muscles through the strain of his T-shirt. I feel the heat and strength of his body, thrown up like a guard rail across mine.
Or maybe it’s the loud music blaring all the way from the main house.
Which means my brothers have brought their party home.
I stay away from the main house at the best of times, especially since my dad skipped bail and left town. Now my brothers rule the roost. My dad is a piece of shit, but at least he scared them enough to stay a little in line.
Without him? It’s like trailer park mayhem over there.
So I stay far away, living in a seventeen-foot Boler trailer I bought off the side of the road. It’s more or less an old shoe box, but I’ve put some work into it. What I haven’t put in is any type of cooling system. Which means it’s a sauna right now, even though it’s past two in the morning.
The door clangs shut behind me as I step out of the trailer into the hot, muggy night. The light breeze off the river caresses my skin and I sigh, reveling in the feel. Two suspended iron steps bow under my weight as I make my way down them. My flip-flops make that obnoxious slapping noise as I trudge across the grass toward the river.
The river that’s just beyond the barbwire fence. On Eaton land.
Not that the fence has ever stopped me. In the dead of night, it’s always peaceful and private.
I press down on the top wire, avoiding the barbs, and swing a leg over, clearing the line that separates my family land from Beau’s. I know I’m technically trespassing, but I also know that every single Eaton has been nothing but nice to me, even when they’ve had no reason to be.
Within a few moments, I’m at the top of the embankment, where I kick my shoes off and gingerly head down the steep path sideways. It’s easier barefoot. I learned the hard way that flip-flops just twist and turn and trip me up, and the bite of the occasional pebble on the bottoms of my feet doesn’t bother me all that much.
I hobble across the wobbly river rocks, shed my clothes, and slip into the darkened water, desperate to cool down. Is it the smartest thing that I do? Probably not. But it thrills me and soothes me all at once. Knowing I’m on a different piece of land than my brothers brings me an odd sort of peace.
“Hooo.” The mountain water is cold enough to suck the air right out of my lungs, and I blow out a breath as my feet scrape across the rocky bottom of the riverbed, carrying me further into the gentle flow.
The chilly water whips around every curve of my body. In the spring, the current can become much stronger, but by this point in the summer, it meanders lazily through the town before joining up with the Elbow River.
My arms cut through the water, the smell of silt and pine wafting up around me. That fresh, wet rock scent almost overpowers it all.
Immediately, my body temperature drops, and the internal alarm that can make you panicky when you’re overheated stops beeping at me.
After a busy night, it doesn’t matter if I’m checked out and lying in my quiet trailer. I dream about bartending. Like I’m stuck on some sort of fucking infinite loop.
Bar, drink, till.
Bar, drink, till.
Bar, drink, till.
My body knows the motions and the feelings and the pattern so damn well that I can’t escape it.
The river is my reset.
My palm wraps around an offshoot attached to the large log that lies halfway across the river. I grip it and let my body flow back with the icy water.
When I hear the crunching of shoes on pebbles coming from the opposite side of the river, I freeze. I’m fairly hidden, but my heart thunders in my chest at the prospect of being caught. Alone, and in the dark.
I’ve never encountered a single person down here, so, of course, it happens on a night when I’m already jumpy thanks to my shitty brothers.
The world is silent for a few beats as I try to hold my breath. It’s just the soft rush of cool water and the echo of crickets rubbing their legs together.
“Who the fuck is in my river?”
Relief courses through me, and I smile.