Harriet wore multiple gold rings on her fingers—they switched out daily because that woman liked to accessorize—but there was a simple diamond on her left hand that never moved.
“We had a love that lasted,” Harriet continued. “Not because it was special or different to anyone else’s, but because we worked at it, because I understood that my husband loved me but he didn’t always know how to show it. It might be that Montana men are bred to be tough so being soft is a little harder. But I think it’s men in general. My Duke’s a romantic at heart underneath all of his macho, tough-guy crap. Just needed a little push in the right direction.” She winked at me.
“How did he die? Your husband?” I asked the question before I understood how invasive and rude it was.
Harriet didn’t look to be offended, thankfully. “Ah, I’d like to say my Hugo—yes, Harriet and Hugo—went out guns blazing in a manner befitting the man he was, but life doesn’t work out that way. Death is rarely spectacular or the crescendo we expect it to be. He had a heart attack.” Harriet went back to looking out the window. There was a strength and resignation in her voice; it had been years, after all. But the look in her eyes told me she was looking at it like it was yesterday. Or today.
“He was out in the fields repairing fences. Fell down, didn’t get back up. I’m not gonna say he would’ve wanted to go that way because he wouldn’t have wanted to go at all. He still had many years ahead of him. We had a whole life to live.” She shrugged, looking back to me. “Things didn’t work out the way I wanted, they rarely do. Well, the big things at least. That’s why I make sure I’m in control of all the little stuff, like helping my grandson woo his woman.”
I carried Harriet’s words with me. Carried them around until they grew bigger, louder, and I couldn’t sleep with them inside me. Not even wrapped up in Duke’s arms.
“What are you doin’ out here?” he demanded, his voice a low growl. “It’s fuckin’ freezing and you’re wearin’ nothing but that nightie.” His hands fastened around my middle and he pulled my back to his front.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so he wasn’t one to talk. Then again, his skin was like a furnace against my own cold.
“In sayin’ that,” he said against my neck, “I fuckin’ love the nightie, babe.”
My shiver had nothing to do with the cold.
“Well, I have plenty more where this came from,” I replied.
He squeezed me. “Lookin’ forward to seeing every one of them.”
I stilled. At his words. Because of that statement. That statement that reached into the future, beyond this moment.
“But,” he said, interrupting those thoughts. “When I see them, they’ll be worn in temperatures where you’re not likely to catch hypothermia. I highly doubt you’ll be wearing them for very long.” He rubbed my arms. “So, back to my original question. What the fuck are you doin’ out here in the cold?”
I smiled at him, at all his macho. It should’ve pissed the feminist in me off. It should’ve felt more uncomfortable than the bite in the air against my bare skin. No one had ever been mad at me because I was standing out in the cold. No one had ever wanted me to be warm, safe…not without wanting a slew of other things.
I told myself that’s how I liked it.
I didn’t know how good I was at lying until now.
Instead of answering, I looked up. “The stars,” I whispered. “I’m out here because of the stars. I’ve never seen them like this before, seen the sky so open, been in a world so quiet I can actually hear the stars. Experience their...resonance.” Slowly, I moved my gaze to Duke. “Thank you for taking me somewhere I can hear the stars.”
“Wait, why didn’t you tell me there was a gym here?” I demanded with my hands on my hips.
Talking with Duke last night, I’d told him how much I’d missed my workout sessions. Then he’d raised his brows, moved his fingers down my belly right to the place between my legs that was still recovering from the way he’d fucked me.
“I thought I’ve been working you out pretty good,” he murmured. “But if you want more...”
He made good on his promise and my body and mind forgot all about gyms and workouts.
We’d gotten up earlier than usual to drive to the homestead where he parked and took me to a side door leading down to a basement gym.
A kick-ass basement gym.
This was almost as nice as the one I’d had installed at my house in LA—a house I couldn’t even call a home after staying here.
Duke’s arms went around my waist with my accusation. I was totally pissed off that he’d hid it from me this long. It was true I was getting thoroughly worked out by Duke, not to mention the work I’d been doing on the ranch, but there was something I craved about a workout.
Music blaring. Muscles screaming. I didn’t do yoga or any of that crap. I didn’t want something soft, gentle, peaceful. That didn’t work for me.
Plus, I loved feeling strong. Loved lifting weights.
I’d seen barely any change in my body these past weeks eating whatever I wanted—my version at least—and doing all the outside work. If anything, my muscles were more sculpted and I looked less like the stick-thin movie star I’d thought I’d needed to be.
Before this, I’d danced on the edge of a sword when it came to how I looked. I had to be thin to be appealing to the world, but strong enough to carry that same world on my shoulders. I was starting to get why Hollywood and the fashion industry wanted to promote that sickly thin aesthetic. Because they wanted to convince women that looking weak, looking vulnerable, looking like the damsel that needed to be saved by the muscled hero was the only role for us.
The world was scared of strong women.
And as strong as I’d considered myself, I’d played into it.
It was strange what a huge change that had been made in my lifestyle and how little I cared about it—about the cameras following me everywhere, about the staff at my beck and call, the fucking celery juices, the massages, the bullshit. I’d been sure it was everything I’d ever dreamed of but in reality, dreams didn’t do anything.
“Are you kidding me?” Duke said in my ear. “No fuckin’ way was I showin’ you this place and having to torture myself watching you work out in those little shorts and not fuck you against that wall.”
My body flushed with need as I looked at the wall he was talking about, the mirrored wall. I got a flash of having Duke inside me and watching him fuck me from all angles. Once I entertained that thought, I found it really hard to think of anything else.
“How did you know I’d be wearing little shorts?” I breathed. “Did you go through my stuff?” It was meant as a joke but Duke’s pause helped me shelve the thought of him fucking me against that mirror.
I stepped out of his grasp and he let me, which was a bad sign. “Duke, did you go through my stuff?”
He didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. He eyed me carefully, likely gauging the way my irritation was rapidly turning into fury.
“I had to make sure you hadn’t snuck in a phone or computer or somethin’ like that,” he said.