"Damn swollen fingers," she says, pointing at her large stomach. "Just wear it until we get back to the homestead. I'm afraid I'll lose it if it's in my pocket."
“Wyatt and Warner are meeting us at the homestead,” Wes says, answering my question. “I wanted to be the one to tell them about Gramps, but they'd already heard in town. Something like a flash flood on the HCC and the passing of a Hayden makes for good chatter. Once it was called in to the police, I knew it was going to spread instantly."
The metallic screech of hooks being dragged across a rod reverberates through the shoebox-size room. Sawyer's nurse narrows her eyes at the number of people standing around him. Quickly I slide the ring back onto my finger.
"Unless you're Mr. Bennett's wife, you need to leave." She gives Wes and Dakota a once-over. "Please," she adds.
Wes makes a face. "Wife? Who's—"
Dakota shoves him toward the exit. "See you at the homestead, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett."
The nurse gives me a dirty look before she turns her attention to Sawyer. "Are you ready to get out of here and go home with your"—her eyes flicker to me, then back to him—"wife?"
She gives him his discharge instructions, explaining wound care and when to follow up with his doctor.
On our way out, with Sawyer's arm around my shoulder and my arm around his waist, we stop in to peek at Colt. Wes and Dakota listen attentively to the nurse standing at Colt’s bedside, so we don't interrupt them. Colt sees Sawyer, and a grin spreads across his small face.
Sawyer waves at Colt, and we walk out of the emergency room.
My mom and dad sit in the waiting room. Everything about my dad is downturned. His shoulders droop, the corners of his lips point at the unattractive brown carpet. My mom runs her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. They see us at the same time and bolt to standing.
My dad does the most shocking thing I've ever seen him do. HehugsSawyer. And Sawyer returns the embrace.
Somehow,I have just wrapped up the most confusing week of my life.
Every night I fall asleep in Sawyer's arms. Every morning he wakes me with a kiss on my neck. And all day long, my heart hurts when I think of who is missing from the ranch.
Sawyer didn't let go of my hand yesterday at the funeral. Not during the service, the greeting afterward, or the reception at the homestead. Sawyer has given my heart a place to go, no matter the emotion.
Warner and Wyatt were, of course, devastated by the news of Gramps’s passing, and unsurprised by how it happened. Warner spoke at the funeral, his eloquent eulogy putting tears in the eyes of every attendee. Wyatt, who was not behind a mic, called Gramps a ‘slippery sonofabitch’ as the tears rolled down his face. Jo consoled him.
Sawyer and I are having a lazy Sunday morning, the kind with creamy coffee and slow stretches. I'm sitting on the couch, reading the local news on an iPad balanced on my lap. Sawyer gets up to refill his coffee, but when he sits down he doesn't have a cup.
"You're missing what you got up for," I point out.
He takes my legs and pulls them across his thighs. Using his thumb, he rubs the instep on my right foot. I smile at him over the edge of the tablet.
"Are you done reading?" Hope lifts his eyebrows.
I slide the iPad onto the coffee table, along with my half-full mug. "I can be."
He grins wickedly. "Good." He crawls up my body, wrapping an arm around my waist and shifting me so that I'm beneath him. He lowers his mouth to my collarbone, nipping along its length. My nails run down his arms, carefully avoiding his back. Just a little more time and he'll be fully healed, with only scars to tell the story of what he did for my family.
His mouth moves up my neck, dragging along my jaw, and then he kisses me.
We stay that way, making out for so long my lips ache. I will probably have irritation around my mouth from his scruff, but it's worth it.
Sawyer's hand trails down my stomach, and finally takes this from rated PG to R. He settles between my legs and buries himself inside me. I feel it through my whole body, but mostly in the center of my chest.
Without thinking, my nails dig into his back. He stiffens and I rip my hands away. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."
He leaves me, then enters again, looking down at where we are linked. "If this is my prize, I'll gladly take the pain."
I smile at him, my hand trailing over his chest. I draw a heart over his real heart. Sawyer clutches my hand and lifts it, kissing my fingers.
When it's over, he lies on top of me. I love his weight. I love him.
We stay that way as long as we can, and then we are forced to get up. "We'd better shower before we head over to the homestead." Sunday brunch at the homestead feels extra special today. Gramps’s passing has reminded us all how precious life is. How quickly it can be taken from you.
