Tipping her head back, she forces me to look at her. The moment I do, my determination wavers.
“You should have thought about that before you let me make you come back at that lake. The least you can do now is take me to your place and return the favour. Everything else can come later.”If ever, she doesn’t say.
“You want to be a fucking one-night stand?” I ask, disbelief colouring the question.
Her face twists in disgust. “No.”
“So?”
“Just shut up and take me to your cabin before I go ask one of those poor cowboys you warned away from me to take your place.”
She’s off the fence and wrapped around my front in a blink. I try to trap down the rage that fills me at the thought of her with anyone but me and fail. It comes out in physical form. My fingers pinch her cheeks, forcing her lips to pucker before I kiss her, gentle a thing of the past.
Her response is instant. The curl of her nails into my side is painful enough to make me hiss as she kisses me back, her teeth digging roughly into my lip. I stalk through the dirt, not stopping until I can shove her up against the side of the truck and rip the door open. She lowers her feet to the step bars and plants her ass on the leather seat.
“Every time you make me come, I’ll answer one of your questions,” she breathes into my mouth.
I still, staring hard into her blue eyes, daring her to try and lie to me right now. “Anything I want to know?”
“Anything.”
“Fine.”
My mouth slams against hers a final time before I force myself back and shut her inside the truck. Everything feels too tight against my body as I turn my back to her and scrub a hand down my face. I smell like fucking horse and the lingering scent of the wildfire hours to the West. It’s not exactly how I planned on doing this, but it’s already decided.
By the end of the night, I’ll know the truth about everything.
27
ROWE
December 9th
Dear Rowe,
It’s freezing here this year. The snow’s so deep already that your dad’s made the cowboys start earlier every morning to shovel the roads. It’s nice getting to work in the stables. I almost feel bad for everyone else.
My parents have started threatening that if I don’t tell them what I want for Christmas by tomorrow, they’ll get me coal. I’m not a kid anymore, and the only thing I want is to see you. Ash helped me fill out all of the visitation forms, and we’ve sent them for approval. I’m starting to forget what your voice sounds like. That scares me. I don’t want to forget anything about you.
If I get approved by Christmas, I’ll bring you a few photos. It’s not the best gift, but I don’t think they’ll allow me to bring your boots or hat. Do you miss them? I can’t imagine you without them. Do you get to shave, or is your beard crazy now?
I have so many questions for you, but I’ll save them for when we get to see each other. Because we will, Rowe. We have to.
P.S, I told Otis what you said about the cowboys, and he laughed and said you need to trust him. The guys have been really nice to me, so don’t worry. I like to think they’re as scared of me as they are of you.
Hellcat
My cabin’stoo crowded with her inside it.
It’s not large to begin with. My great-grandfather had it built for guests, not having been as against them as my father is. There’s a bedroom off the kitchen only big enough for a double bed and a dresser, while the one beside it fits a king. The kitchen’s not much better than the one in Tilly’s trailer, and the bathroom shower pisses hard water from the well-dug-out back. Replacing the softener isn’t all that high on my to-do list as of late.
There’s not enough space between us as Tilly walks further into the house, examining it like she’s scared it’s a figment of herimagination. She can blink as many times as she wants. Neither this place nor I is going to disappear.
“The bedroom is over there,” I say, voice rough and deep.
Pointing past the sofa and to the only door that’s open, I wait for her to move. She hesitates, ignoring the order laced in the statement. Her attention is too shifty, moving this way and that over everything around us. Discomfort makes my skin itchy enough that I scrape nails down my forearm.
“Don’t rush me.”
