But the folks here were still wary of him. I’m sure people who visited Deep River thought they’d stepped back in time. The people born in our isolated, backwater town generally lived and died here. And that’s the way they liked it. Anyone different from them…scared them. They didn’t like the way Elijah rarely spoke, the way he kept himself apart. Though plenty of the women liked the way he looked just fine. I’d seen the lust-filled glances cast his way. Still, they kept their distance, would never dream of approaching him, frightened by his dark past, the gossip that surrounded him. His size and strength were intimidating, not that I’d ever seen him use them against anyone in anger.
No, Elijah preferred his own company, and I didn’t blame him. Not when he’d only ever been subjected to the ugliest versions of everyone around him.
When he wasn’t busy with the ranch, he was reading, or giving the sand-filled bag he’d suspended in the corner of the barn a beating.
He was a mystery, and I hadn’t gotten any closer to him, learned any more about him, in the six months since my father passed away and I took over running the ranch. Because despite the way he watched me, he sent off unmistakable don’t-come-any-closer vibes that could be felt fifty yards away.
“Miss Abigail?”
I jolted in surprise, goose bumps popping up all over my skin like an icy breeze had washed over me at the sound of his low voice edged with that delicious growl. Elijah never initiated a conversation. Not when he didn’t have to. His voice sounded cautious, gritty, nothing like the tone he used on my horses.
My heart galloped faster as I turned on shaky legs. I plastered a smile on my face, forcing my eyes to stay above his shoulders. “Oh, hey, Eli,” I said, like I hadn’t been acutely aware of his quiet, dominating presence the whole time. Eli knew his job better than I did. The only time I sought him out was when I needed him to come to town and help me collect supplies. I usually just wrote what needed doing on a notepad in the barn, and he did it. I squinted against the sun, taking several steps closer, laundry basket resting on my hip. “Mare’s looking good.”
His brown eyes were locked on mine, making me squirm. He dipped his chin, dark hair that was darker from sweat falling forward across his brow.
Damn, the man had a way of looking at a person, direct, unwavering. Telling you without words that he didn’t care what you thought about him, that he didn’t care one whit if you believed all the talk about his past or what your opinion was about it, either. I didn’t know if that was true or not, or if it was a defense mechanism he’d built to protect himself, but it was unnerving as hell.
I retreated a step. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to it. I have to…ah, go get ready.” He didn’t say anything, just kept his steady gaze locked on mine, and as usual my mouth ran away with me, trying to fill the inevitable silences when we were alone. “I’ve got a date, you know, with Kyle, so I better…”
Something flickered behind his eyes, something that had the skin crinkling at the corners—not from a smile, no, he never did that—he looked tense, strained. That square, scruff-covered jaw was tight. His Adam’s apple slid up and down the front of his thick neck before his expression smoothed out, once again impassive. My eyes dipped, like someone else had control over their movement. His sudden discomfort made my thigh muscles clench, wanting to move me closer, to brush his hair back and search his gaze until I knew what caused that unease.
Then my brain registered what my eyes were looking at, and I sucked in a breath at the sight of his bare chest. Something about his size…his bulk… The brown hair that dusted his pecs, bisecting his deeply ridged abs, all the way down to the waistband of his jeans, made me lose my breath every damn time.
Those tight abs tightened further, and my eyes darted up. Color darkened his broad cheekbones, but that was the only sign that he’d caught me ogling him. His rugged features remained arranged in their usual inscrutable position.
The strong and sudden urge to force him to react, to tempt him past his control—to climb that massive, ripped body, wrap my thighs around his hips, and hang on while he bucked into me like an ornery bull, snarling and grunting until we were both spent—was near overwhelming.
Then I noticed the way his powerful fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. It wasn’t threatening. He was uncomfortable. Guilt swirled in my belly. He may watch me sometimes, but he’d never given any indication that he wanted more. He was happy with the horses, with his own company. I hated that I’d made him uneasy. He’d had enough of that his whole life, being stared at like a sideshow freak. I refused to be lumped in with the gossiping townsfolk whispering behind his back, speculating, judging. Eli wasn’t the kind of man you toyed with, and I’d been reminded six months ago, as my dad was lowered into the ground, that close ties, relationships…love, only ever caused pain.