Can't Hurry Love by Molly O'Keefe Page B

a woman’s desire to his advantage?
    Not the kind of man he wanted to be.
    “It was turning me into a man I didn’t like.”
    “Who the hell cares?” John cried, sounding a lot like Mark thirty years ago. “Poor you. This is your home. Our home. All the home you ever wanted, remember? Jesus Christ, son, what have we been working toward all these years? This is for you!”
    Eli shook his head, wounded by the look in his uncle’s eyes, by his words, by the injustice of his disappointment. “Not anymore it’s not. Even if I somehow could get my job back, no Baker will sell me the land. Not now. Between selling the herd and … this thing with Victoria …”
    Uncle John rubbed a hand over his red cheeks. “You force her?”
    It took him a second to catch on to what his uncle meant by “forced” and he instinctively recoiled, staring at John, wishing he could be offended, shocked at the thought.
    But how far had he been, really, from something like that?
    “No, but … I pushed … when I shouldn’t have.”
    “Some women like that sort of thing.”
    Jesus Christ, what kind of women was his uncle dating?
    Eli thought of the prim Victoria, the pride she wore like another ugly shirt. She might have wanted him, but she didn’t want him like that. A woman like Victoria wouldn’t want something so coarse. So raw.
    And she hadn’t.
    “Not her. Trust me.”
    “I thought we were a team, Eli.”
    “Yeah, well maybe it’s time to realize we’re the losing team.”
    “Bullshit.”
    Eli couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t be under one more person’s boot heel.
    “I don’t want all that land anymore, Uncle John. I’m done. If you can’t get behind me on this, then maybe you should leave.”
    “You kicking me off your land?”
    “Kicking you off? God, listen to you. No. But I don’t want to fight anymore.”
    “I’ve lost enough to the Bakers; I’m not losing you, too. I’m still fighting.” That gnarled finger of his uncle’s jabbed his chest, sunk into his skin like a barb.
    Uncle John pushed a six-pack of beer into Eli’s arms and then climbed back in his truck. Eli watched, shell-shocked, as the only man who’d been in his corner over the years drove away, leaving him to drink a six-pack all by himself.
    It was too dark to keep working on the barn, much to his regret. He had nothing else to do but walk back into the house and wait for the morning to come.
    And with it, Victoria.
    He turned, the beer in his arms, and was brought up short by the sight of his house in the moonlight. It seemed so much smaller somehow. A toy someone could pick up and take away. He’d added a porch a few summers ago, while Uncle John had shouted advice at him from his seat under the poplars. The summer he turned fifteen, he rebuilt the stone chimney by himself after it had been ruined by raccoons. When his father moved out, he finally fixed the sagging floor in the kitchen that his mother had always complained about.
    He’d lived alone in this house for fifteen years, systematically banishing the bad memories, and he’d never felt lonely.
    But tonight the sky was so big and the stars were so far away.
    Soda’s cold, wet nose touched his hand, urging him into action. He cradled the beer under his arm and practically ran up the porch, as if ghosts were after him. With a sigh of relief, he pushed open the door, letting the familiar golden light spill across his feet, welcoming him home.
    Soda, all the company he’d ever needed, followed him into the empty house.
    “You want this.” Eli’s breath skimmed over her skin, pulling her nipples into tight beads. She groaned, rolling her body against him, trying desperately to find relief, but her hands were tied over her head and he kept his skin away. His hardness just out of reach.
    “Say the words, Victoria,” he breathed, licking her lips. “Like a good girl.”
    His fingers toyed with the damp curls between her legs and she wanted to beg. She wanted to