When I make love to her, I need her to be all in. And after a kiss like the one we had earlier today? What we do with our bodies is going to be nothing less than extraordinary. I can already tell.
I reach down, adjust what’s going on in the front of my pants, and deny myself the release I’m dying for. Every night this past week I have not denied myself.
Sighing, I roll over and wince as the bone on the outside of my wrist meets the corner of the nightstand. The startling pain makes me even happier I ordered a new bed earlier this evening. I have no idea how long I'll be staying with Jessie, but I can’t keep sleeping in a bed that’s too small for me. Soon I'll be back in a bed meant for a man my size. I push back the comforter and stand up. I pause, hovering beside the bed and contemplating my next move.
I want to go to Jessie. I like her soft hair and that sweet interior she hides behind her tough exterior.
Maybe I can just lie down with her. Hold her in my arms.
I leave my room and walk down the hall. I stop outside her closed door, take a deep breath, and push it open. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, and when they do, I frown. Her bed is still perfectly made, even though we said good night an hour ago.
I back out of her room and look for her in the rest of the cabin. I even flip on the outside lights and walk the perimeter. Her car is gone.
A ball of anxiety gnaws on my stomach. Jessie could have a hundred reasons why she left. She doesn't have to report to me.
Brea had a hundred reasons to be missing that day too. Nor did she have to report to me. But I've never been able to shake the feeling that if I'd reacted sooner to her absence, things would've turned out differently.
I turn off the lights, go back inside, and call Jessie. It goes to voice mail.
I could go to the homestead and tell them Jessie is missing, except she's not really missing. Her car is gone, which means shewentsomewhere. Late at night.
So I sit down on the front porch swing, bathed in utter darkness, and wait.
23
Jessie
"Hurry the fuck up,"I whisper, giving him my sternest look.
He pulls his head through his shirt and stands up straight, his mouth a hard line. "You showed up at my house late at night to help you hunt down people you never even saw. Chill the fuck out and let me get dressed."
“I didn’t need to see them. She was fresh, Wes. I bet every blade of dried out grass on this land that whoever did it is still out there, hunting on private property. HCC land. I'd hate what they did no matter where it was done, but I hate it even more because it happened on our property." Yeah, I saidour. My last name is Hayden, too.
I turn to look at Dakota and she shrugs apologetically. "I'm with Wes on this one," she says. "You scared the shit out of me when you knocked on the door."
Wes grumbles something unintelligible, shoving his feet into his boots. He leans over Dakota and kisses her. "I'll be back soon." She starts to hug him, but he shakes his head quickly and gently unwinds her arms.
What the fuck was that?
Dakota doesn't seem upset by his brush-off, so I don't make a thing of it either. I say goodbye to her and we set out on horseback. In hindsight, it was probably the fact that I showed up with Wes's horse, Ranger, that made him take me seriously.
"Tell me one more time what happened," Wes commands, Ranger's nose just a hairbreadth in front of Hester Prynne's. Of course my brother's horse would insist on being the leader.
"Sawyer and I were out for a ride," I begin, my cheeks heating as I remember Sawyer's lips on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth, the way I lost my mind when he ran his hand up my neck. Luckily my blush is hidden by the night. Wes is a lot of things, including observant. If the sun were shining, he'd pick up on my thoughts in an instant.
"Didn't know the guy could ride a horse," Wes remarks.
I roll my eyes. Another thing he can't see. I know Wes likes Sawyer, especially considering the time Sawyer is spending with Colt, but he gives him shit just like Wyatt. I’m starting to think my brothers are feeling protective of me.
"He used to live on a ranch," I remind Wes.
"I don't need the reminder,” Wes counters.
For Wes, tales of the Circle B where Sawyer lived isn't Sierra Grande lore, but real memories. I tend to forget that.
"Anyway," I say pointedly. "We heard this keening sound. And then I noticed horses moving behind some trees. We were out at the pond on the northwest edge of our property."
"The one with the blackberries?"
