“So, um…” Dakota twists off the top to her water and takes a drink. She points back toward my bedroom. “Should we talk about that? Or act like it didn’t happen?”
“Neither.”
Her head tips to the side as she attempts to understand.
I set my water on the counter and take her free hand in mine. It’s cold from the bottle, so I rub my thumb over her skin to warm it. A deep breath fills my lungs as I search for a way to describe how I feel, but eventually I end up with the most basic of all things—the truth. “Something happened just now. When I was with you it felt like I could breathe again. And that’s a feeling I like. It’s been a long time since I felt anything other than pain and regret in my chest, and you took some of that away.” I let go of her hand and step closer, wrapping my arms around her body. She looks up at me, her palm running the length of my back. “The truth is, every time I’m with you I feel a little more like my old self. The person I haven’t allowed myself to be because I didn’t think I deserved it. But when I’m around you, Dakota, you look at me like I’m someone worth caring for.”
“Because you are, Wes. I wish I could take away what hurts you so deeply.”
“I don’t think anything can. But you’re the only thing I’ve ever found that makes me feel better.”
She smiles up at me, but her grin devolves into a yawn. She tries to cover it, but I’ve already seen it.
“Come on.” I lead her back to my bed, and she climbs in. Before I follow, I look down at her. She pulls off my shirt and pulls the sheet over her, tucking it under her arms.
“You look damn good in my bed.”
“If you like it so much, maybe I’ll do it again sometime.”
I lie down beside her. She rolls onto her side to face me. I tell her, “I’d like that,” when what I really want to say is, Stay here forever.
Her fingertips slide over my jawbone. “Penny for your thoughts?”
How can I say what I’m thinking? I want to cancel our agreement. I want you to love me and I think I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you five years ago. And the second I saw you again everything I’ve been working so hard to keep locked up began to shake and now I’m starting to not want to contain it anymore.
I reach between us, gripping the sheet and yanking it down. For the second time tonight, I cover her like a blanket, and talk with my body because words fail me.
I kiss her lips, slide inside her, and hope like hell she hears what I cannot seem to say.
I am broken. I am hurt. I am terrified. You make it all more bearable.
27
Dakota
My eyes blink open. A smile curves my lips. Unused muscles protest their soreness when I stretch.
Wes.
He’s responsible for my sore thighs. And my smile.
I reach out, sliding a hand over the flannel sheets. His side of the bed is empty, but still warm. He hasn’t been up long.
At the foot of the bed, I find the same T-shirt I donned in the middle of the night and pull it on. I lift the fabric to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells of Wes.
Slipping out of bed, I locate my pajama bottoms on the ground and slide them on. My nose picks up the scent of coffee and I follow it out to the percolating machine. Through the window I see Wes on the front porch, leaning against a beam. He wears pajama pants, no shirt, and the air of a man whose burdens recently got smaller.
Last night helped him. I don’t know how, specifically, other than taking his mind off his problems for a while. I don’t know what it means for our agreement.
I wait for the coffee to finish brewing, then pour two cups and join Wes outside. He watches me walk, and I’ll be damned if there isn’t the biggest smile on his face.
I hand him the coffee and blatantly take in his beautiful upper half. His corded, ropy muscles come from life, from his job, not arm day at the gym. His body is a testament to the work he does every day on this ranch, and I can’t help imagining what the scruff on his face would feel like scraping its way up my thighs. His smile hasn’t decreased, and I say, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you look like you got laid last night.”
Wes nods his thanks at the coffee and winks. “Twice, actually.”
“Wow, lucky guy.”
“I am.” He wraps an arm around my waist and kisses my temple. My heartbeat picks up pace, and I know I’m in dangerous territory. I have the urge to speak up right now, to force a conversation about what last night meant, but I don’t want to yet. I want to keep this good feeling going for a little longer. It’s as simple as that.
I look out at the trees. Now, in the morning light, I can see how high up we are. The clearing in front of Wes’s cabin, the mixture of tall pine and cottonwood trees, and to the left, the gently sloping hill leading to the backside of the homestead. Pine cones and pine needles dust the ground. I close my eyes and breathe in. The scent of earth, the sharp and sweet pine, combined with Wes’s manly smell, is heaven on Earth.
My eyes flutter open and I gaze out at the landscape. “Someone once told me that loving the ranch doesn’t come from the sight of the sunrise through the steam curling up from your morning coffee, but I think maybe that’s how she draws you in. Because I’ve got to tell you, I think I’m falling for the ranch right now.”
“Is that right?” Wes’s voice rumbles beside me.
“Oh, definitely. I can see why you’d do whatever you need to do to make it yours. This place is incredible.” I take another deep breath. “I wish I could bottle that up and take it back to the hotel with me.” The smell of stale carpet leaves a lot to be desired.
“That smell is what I missed most when I was overseas.” He crooks a smile at me. “Well, that and my mom, of course. Make sure you tell her I said that if she ever asks.”
I laugh. “I’ll be sure to.”
We fall quiet. I think we’re both thinking the same thing. Or maybe I’m just thinking it, and the thoughts are so loud it feels like I can’t possibly be alone in them.
“Do you want to talk about the dream, Wes?” I’m careful not to call it what it really was. Nightmare.
He tenses, his fingers curling tighter around his cup.
My fingertips press against his forearm. “You don’t owe me anything, Wes. Not a damn thing. But I do know how awful grief can be. And guilt. I was lucky enough to have my sister and my dad when my mom died. Their words didn’t erase my feelings, but at least they were there. I had people.” My voice drops down to a whisper. “Who are your people, Wes?”
His lips purse together and he stares out across the land. Land he loves so deeply he would marry a woman he doesn’t love to have it.
The longer he takes to respond, the more I already know the answer.
I raise my coffee to my lips, and before I take a sip I tell him, “There’s a meeting at the VFW every Wednesday afternoon at four. I saw a flyer for it at the Merc.”
Wes imitates me, talking with his coffee cup poised at his lips, as if they are props in our conversation. This is shaky territory for us to be in. “What’s the meeting for?”
My toes curl, as if I might need to spring away at a moment’s notice. And the truth is, I might. But if I don’t tell Wes a resource is available to him, right in his own town, just because I’m scared of his response? That would make me a coward.