The taste of forbidden

11. Antidote. [Part 2]

Becket approaches with fresh hay over his shoulder and tenses when he notices my presence, so I pretend not to see him and keep focusing on the horse.

"Where’s Wells?" Cass asks him.

"On his way," he replies.

Just from his voice, he sounds tired, exhausted. I allow myself to look at him for one more brief second, and the dark circles under his eyes are what I notice most. I swallow hard, trying to push away the knot in my throat caused by the pain I know he's still hiding.

"Did you decide to try again with him?" I realize he's asking about the horse.

"I wanted to give it one last shot. Seems like he likes Lia," Hank says.

"It’s her lavender scent."

I watch how his response seems to startle Hank, who looks at him in surprise. Cassidy, on the other hand, smiles in a strange way. I return to the horse, laughing when it nuzzles my neck with a soft coo.

After long moments of silence, Becket clears his throat and adds, "I’ll take the hay to his stall, and I’ll change his water for fresh one too."

Once he’s gone, I start walking with the horse, surprised and moved that he lets me lead him.

"I’m going to wait for Wells at the entrance!" Cass shouts, running off.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, because that’s a long walk.

"If he finds her on the way, he’ll pick her up in the truck," Hank explains.

I nod, understanding.

I suppose Wells must be someone trustworthy too.

"What do you think he has?" I ask Hank about the horse when he joins my walk, watching the animal closely.

"Probably just colic."

"And is it very painful for him?"

"Sometimes, yeah, but it’s more common than you’d think. A walk usually helps, but sometimes they need something stronger."

"A painkiller?" I guess.

"Exactly. Wells is bringing the cure."

What a relief. I exhale deeply.

"Did you grow up here?" I dare to ask, curious. He seems so familiar with everything. But at the same time, there’s this tension between him and Becket.

"Beck and I have known each other since we were in diapers," he says with a fond smile. "We even graduated school together. My parents worked on the ranch. I grew up here, on this land, with him."

A part of me wants to ask about Lucas. But I want to know little Lucas through his brother’s eyes, I want to know him only through Becket, not anyone else. So I bite my tongue and instead say,

"Was Becket always this grumpy?"

His laugh echoes across the open field, making me look at him, smiling.

"Oh, yeah," he nods, laughing again. "Though the years have made it worse."

"Hank," a harsh voice comes from behind us. "Wells is taking too long. Why don’t you call him?"

"Didn’t you already call him?"

"Yes, but I want you to call him again."

The tension in Becket’s voice makes Hank nod submissively, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes, like something amuses him.

"Alright," he raises his hands in peace, gives me a respectful nod, and disappears toward his truck. I assume his phone is there.

I flinch when a hat is placed on my head.

When I look at Becket, he’s already putting his hand back into his pocket, turning his gaze away from me.

I squint at him.

"I thought you hated it when I wore your hats."

"You could get heatstroke in this sun."

"How charitable," I tease.

I search his eyes, hoping he’ll look at me, but he still doesn’t.

Maybe he’s still feeling vulnerable from what happened last time. But there’s also this tension in his body, like he’s holding something back, like something’s making him angry and he’s fighting not to explode.

I adjust the hat on my head and return to the horse.

Becket matches my steps, then says the unthinkable, "Hank is married."

It takes me a second to understand what those words mean, but when I do, indignation floods my chest.

How…?

How the hell does he dare to imply something like that?

And right after ignoring me for over five days?

"I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer," I say angrily.

"You just… talk to him."

"Surprise, Becket, I have a mouth."

"I know, I’ve heard you curse me like a sailor over and over."

"And I’ll curse you again if you keep going down this path."

"You’re selective about who you talk to," he growls back. "I’m just warning you about his marital status, in case you’re considering something else."

Asshole.

"I talk to him because he’s one of the few people on this ranch who’s been kind to me since day one," I turn to look at him, increasingly angry. "Which I can’t say about others… asshole."

I say that last word under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear and make it clear that by "others," I mean him.

Besides, it’s not like I’ve had deep conversations with Hank. I asked about the horse because I was worried. And I asked about Becket because it seems I can’t help sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong when it comes to him.

I don’t know why, but a slow-burning anger and indignation start to grow inside me until I can’t stop myself.

I let go of the reins and walk toward him.

"You know what bothers me most about you?" I confront him, raising my eyes to his. The height difference is annoying, especially in moments like this when he drives me crazy. "It really pisses me off that you ignore me for as many days as you want, only to then speak to me with the intention of waving that damn war flag between us again."

"I’m not waving any flag," he says softly, pressing the hat back when it falls over my eyes.

I swat his hand away, which makes him curse and clench his jaw, catching my attention. My eyes fall to the cut on his lip, and damn my heart, I feel myself soften immediately.

Until he says, "I don’t get why it bothers you when I ignore you."

"So you were ignoring me."

"No, I wasn’t—" he curses again, rubbing his jaw, now covered with slightly more stubble. I’ve noticed he does that when he’s frustrated. "Why do you even care, damn it, Lia?"

I think about it for a moment.

Yeah, why do I care?

"I don’t care," I reply. "I just need your services."

That sparks his curiosity.

"What?"

"I have to go into town to do some shopping and I don’t want to go alone. I was thinking maybe you could drive me."

A rough laugh escapes him, a laugh that makes me want to strangle him like a baby chick.

Why do I keep trying?

"You want me to drive you to town?" he asks, incredulous.

I just nod, refusing to back down.

"Lia, you and me together in a car can only end in tragedy," he tells me. "And a trip of hours? We wouldn’t survive to tell the tale."

"I—" I start to argue.

But then all amusement disappears from his face, replaced by seriousness, even anger. When he steps toward me, almost invading my personal space, he whispers very softly, "Stop it, damn it."

The confusion must be visible in my eyes, because he clarifies, "Stop this." He gestures between him and me. "I’m not going to be your little experiment. I won’t become this project you want to fix. I don’t need your pity or your compassion. And most of all, I don’t want your company."

His gaze slowly studies every one of my features, with care and precision, until it settles on my eyes.

"Did you get that, Lia?"

I squint at him, reading the truth behind his façades.

"Then why are you holding my shirt like you don’t want to let go?"

His gaze searches mine, as if he hasn’t understood my question, as if my soft voice didn’t reach his ears.

But I know it did. He did hear me.

Slowly, we both look down at the edge of my shirt, where his fist is gripping the fabric tightly, almost pulling me toward him… like that grip is the only thing keeping him anchored to life, like he refuses to let me go despite his words and resistance.

He quickly takes a step back, cursing under his breath.

I see him try to respond to my words, but he finds nothing to say. His actions speak louder than his mouth.

I nod gently, reading his heart more than his words.

Seeing into him, the real him.

And, looking him in the eyes, without letting go of the intensity or the vulnerability in his gaze, I take off the hat. I stand on my tiptoes, lean in, and place it gently on his head, lowering the brim so it shields him well from the sun. I drop back to my heels while examining my work, and when I’m sure it’s set right, I say, "You need it more than I do."

Then I grab the reins of the horse and don’t give up on trying to ease his pain… even if the vet is already bringing the antidote.

[2/2]