“Can’t,” I grunt. “Not until I know you’re okay.”
She nods, cheeks flushing as I carefully dismount, still balancing her in my arms. I snag the blanket, finding a spot where I spread it out, then recline her back.
“Don’t move.”
“Don’t want to,” she counters, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.
It puts my insides in knots. I need her so badly I feel it to the marrow of my bones.
Have to ignore it, Guthrie.
I tie Tempest near the back where a waterfall trickles into a stream along one side. Enough to water her for the night. Spindly green grass lines the stream, too tall from chasing faint shafts of sun come daylight. A tempting meal for an exhausted horse.
I add fresh oats to the mix, and she munches away happily, tail swishing. Then, I build a fire while Eliza stares up through cracks and holes in the ceiling above us at a crystal-clear night burning with diamond-clear stars.
When the fire roars, I dig into the saddlebags, pulling out a loaf of hard bread and a hunk of cheese. From another, I grab a bottle of whiskey and my cantle bag filled with water.
Last time, after the snake bite, when we needed it, it was drained to its last drop. Will never make that mistake twice.
“Not much,” I apologize, kneeling next to her and offering her water. She drinks greedily.
“Not what I’m hungry for,” she says, knocking the breath clean out of me.
I shift uneasily, cock straining behind my jeans. I need her so much that my hands shake. I uncork the bottle. The burn of hard liquor drifts up to my nostrils.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, looking away.
“Do what?”
“This,” I say, motioning between us. “Staying. Never come easy for me.”
“Because you couldn’t?”
“Because the price was too high.” I exhale, mouth shut against the next words. If I don’t say them, though, I’ll never forgive myself. “Now the price is too high if I don’t.”
I take a shot, then pass her the bottle. She wipes the back of her hand across her lips, hissing after she swallows. She offers it to me again, her face softening and her lower lip trembling.
But I don’t want booze.
I wanther.
“If we do this,” I growl, leaning closer, pushing the bread and cheese to one side. “It changes everything.”
She nods, nostrils flaring.
“You’d be stuck with me for always. Do you understand?”
She blinks twice, sitting up. “In other words, you’re old-fashioned.”
“You could say as much.”
“Let’s start with when and where you were born.” Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips.
My hand comes up, pushing a lock of hair off her face. I swallow too loudly, reaching into my coat and pulling out the pink ribbon. “Took this from you when I left the flowers. Sorry.”
“Why?” her voice cracks.
“Because I needed to keep a piece of you with me. Something that would prove this hasn’t all been a dream.”
