“My older sister, Katerina, disappeared a year-and-a-half ago” I add. “Gone. No answers. And I think… I think part of mealways knew the same thing might happen to me. Because I know Kat’s gone because of them.”
The silence that follows my admission is heavy but not uncomfortable. It’s protective. Grounding.
Lincoln swallows hard. “Abigail,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on my leg. Not possessive but protective. Then slowly, so damn slowly, his hand moves from my leg up to my face. And even through the glove I can feel the warmth of him as it rests on my cheek, his thumb brushing against me just as it was my thigh. “Sweetheart. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
My chest aches at the softness in his voice. The anger simmering beneath it is on my behalf. I force a small smile as my mind races through the rest of the story. Parts I still can’t bring myself to say out loud. “That’s the CliffsNotes version, anyway.”
His eyes lift to mine, slow and steady as if he is memorizing everything about me in this moment. “Thank you. For trusting me enough to tell me. I know I haven’t made it easy.”
I shrug, but it’s weak. “You shared something too.”
“Not like that,” he says hoarsely.
I look ahead, unable to handle the intensity behind his stare, toward the snowy field stretching out in front of us, and he drops his hand. “Maybe we’re both getting better at this.”
“Maybe,” he says. Then, gently, he straightens in his saddle. “Come on. Let’s keep riding.”
We start forward again—slow, just like he promised—but my pulse is anything but. Not even close.
Chapter eighteen
Abigail
two weeks later
Theranchisalreadyalive outside my front door as I rush to get ready. Somehow, I slept through my alarm, and now I’m late for work. I’m hurrying to slide one of my boots on when my foot slips. “Oh. Shit. No, no, no—”
My knees slam into the floor with a thud.”
“Owwww.”
As I contemplate lying on the ground to die, a soft knock sounds at the front door.
Groaning, I slowly stand, slide my traitorous boot on, and throw open the front door. Lucy races around Lincoln as he stands there, lips curled in with two coffees in hand.
I brush my hair out of my face and heave an exaggerated breath. “I’m so sorry. I slept straight through my alarm, and I was trying to get out the door and—”
“Abigail.” He holds up one of the mugs. “It’s alright. I noticed you were running late and figured you wouldn’t have time to stop for coffee.”
He offers it to me, and I grab it, letting the sweet aroma of the gods fill my nose. “You’re a lifesaver.”
He takes a slow sip from his own mug, watching me over the rim. “And for the record, I totally saw you eat shit just now.”
“I—you—shut up.”
He huffs a laugh that is becoming less and less rare. “Mornin’, Sweetheart,” he says. His voice is warm and easy.
My heart does a weird flip. Still not used to the casual way he throws that nickname out, like it’s meant for me and me alone.
“Good morning.”
I step through the door frame, and Lincoln reaches around me to close the door. “You doin’ okay?”
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “I just must have really needed the rest.”
“We’re not working you too hard, are we?” A crease forms between his brows.
“No. Not at all. I’m loving it. I promise.”
