“It’ll work.”
I park and she helps me unload the four-wheeler in no time. With its compartments filled, alongside the saddlebags attached to the front rack, we head out.
Willow sticks close behind me. I think I’d need a hammer to the head not to notice.
I can feel every inch of where her body touches my back, hips, and the backs of my thighs.
It takes focus I haven’t summoned up since my Army days to ignore the hot sensations every flick of her body against mine causes. To ignore how bad it hurts to suppress my raging hard-on.
“What did you do in the military?” she asks.
“Area reconnaissance in Iraq, mostly,” I answer. “Checking to make sure the coast was clear in caves and buildings. Then it was active combat. They couldn’t ignore the fact that I’m one hell of a shot and dropped me in a sniper unit.”
I say no more.
That was a long time ago, and like other jagged parts of my life, shit happened overseas that I really don’t want to remember. Some of those stories are still classified, too.
“Wow, that’s impressive! How long were you in?”
“Four years of active duty, two of non. I joined while I was still in high school for the post-secondary aid, and was sent overseas as soon as I was eligible. Didn’t reup after my parents died. Then I got married, the twins were born, and...” My voice fades away.
“Your wife got ill,” Willow urges softly.
“Yeah.” Thankful for the terrain ahead, I say, “Hold on, there’s a stream we have to cross. The water doesn’t look deep, but it’s gonna be rocky.”
I hold my breath just before we cross.
Nothing to do with the rocks in the stream.
I’m trying not to react to the way her body rubs against my back as her arms hug my waist. Her tits are so flush against my skin I can feel them, even the taut peaks of her nipples through her shirt and bra from the pressure.
Shit.
I haven’t been physically responsive to a woman in ages, and sure as hell don’t need it now.
“What was her illness? If it isn’t too personal, I mean...” Her breath is warm on the back of my neck.
“A rare, aggressive neurological disease. Something closely related to Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, or CJD, I think. It took her down quickly.” Too fast, I think to myself, biting my lip. “Within a few years, she was gone.”
“I’m so sorry, Grady. That must’ve been awful.”
“It wasn’t easy,” I snarl, pinching my lips together, wondering what’s gotten into me.
I don’t share Brittany’s illness with strangers.
The girls don’t even know the name of what killed her.
They’ve never asked, and I’ve never offered.
Am I really letting my mutinous dick loosen my tongue this much?
Am I really fucking having a heart-to-heart talk with a tiger thief?
“Life has a way of throwing hidden punches that just don’t seem fair...” she whispers again, her voice rubbed raw.
It’s almost worse that she isn’t faking sympathy, that she actually feels shredded over my clusterfuck situation.
“Sure does. All we can do is keep moving forward.” Steering down the small embankment to a creek, I add, “Hold onto your butt. This is gonna be steep.”
She hugs me even tighter and stays silent till well after we cross a second creek and climb up the other bank. “Don’t you wonder about that sometimes? Life. How things work out?”
“Don’t know. Do you?”
I think I’m done with question time today.
“I have to. My mother died of an aneurysm when I was just three. She and my father were eating in a restaurant. She suddenly got a headache, and before the waiter arrived with their check, she was gone. Right there at the table. My dad blamed himself for years.”
A shiver tickles my spine. “Why? Doesn’t sound like he could’ve done anything different.”
“No, he couldn’t have, but he felt like he should have done something. Get her to the hospital faster or maybe demand an ambulance. I don’t know, really. I just know it weighed heavy on him for years. When I was young, I was afraid he’d get remarried again, foolishly. But that’s how kids are. Now, I wish he had. He was so young when it happened and he deserved to be happy.”
Unsure why she’s spilling her guts to me, I just nod, holding my tongue.
“Sorry to make things awkward. That was...a lot. A load I didn’t even know I had,” she says. “Sorry. Must be because of all the talking I’ve done with Sawyer and Avery. Yesterday they had a lot of questions about my mom dying when I was young, and I’ve tried to be honest. You know, explain how everyone’s situation is different, yet there’s always comfort, especially for kids. Life isn’t over if they find people they can relate to.”
I nod again, sharply, having never thought about it in her terms.
The girls don’t remember Brittany, yet I’m sure they’ll have more questions coming the older they get.
“How’d you know your father shouldered so much guilt? Did he tell you?”
“No, not quite.” She lets out a shaky sigh. “My dad wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Especially me. He was my dad, my protector, my hero. But I just knew the way kids know sometimes.”
I stop the ATV so I can look over my shoulder at her.
“Did Avery and Sawyer say something? Do they think that I’m—”
“No! God, no. I didn’t mean it to sound like that, Grady. Not at all. They were just asking me about my mom. The illness—the one your wife had—was totally different. You took care of her, from what I understand. Remodeled your house and everything. There was nothing more you could’ve done.”
Now she sounds too much like Hank.
I grip the ATV tighter, trying not to grind my teeth.
This isn’t the time for heavy shit.
Also not the place to have this angel clinging to a ticking bomb.
“They haven’t said anything like that,” she whispers in my ear. “And...I’m sorry if it sounded that way. Like I said, I didn’t mean for all of that to come falling out. I’m sorry to have dumped on you. Must be my nerves. The stress with Bruce wearing on me because I...I never do deep talks with anyone.”
We stop for a second and I look back at her. The sincerity etched on her face makes me believe she’s telling the truth.
Hell, hadn’t I just admitted the same thing? Spilling secrets I’ve never told anyone.
“You’re right,” I growl back to her. “It’s the stress of this weird crap getting to us.” I turn around and shift our ride back into gear. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry,” she says, wearing a sad smile I can hear in her voice without seeing it. “Do you think we’re almost there?”
Glad to change the subject, I pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her.
“Check and see. I need both hands for the damn prairie dog town coming up. Keep holding on.”
I’m hardly exaggerating. The big-ass rodents out in these rural parts make their mounds in big clusters, what they call a town. Looks like the area ahead of us is covered with mounds and critters chirping warnings to each other.