Who are you kidding, Shay? The feelings are still there. You can bury them, you can stuff them, but you can’t make them disappear.
She’d let her guard down. It was impossible to keep it up 24-7—the man lived with her, for pity’s sake. He was doing his laundry in her machine and washing his hair under her spigot.
They’d already been in love once. Plainly they had the chemistry or pheromones or whatever it was that drew two people together. He was always giving her that lopsided smile, throwing her a wink here and there that she’d find herself thinking about when her head hit the pillow.
It was natural those old feelings would creep up. She was only human, after all. It wasn’t going to hurt anything—as long as she didn’t act on them.
Another sound from the living room. She turned her ear toward the door. It had been just a word or two. If this was a phone conversation, it was pretty one-sided.
She pushed back the covers and slid her feet to the floor. Moonlight washed through the sheer curtains, casting a white glow over the door. She crept toward it, the wooden planks cool against the balls of her feet.
She pressed her ear to the crack between the jamb and the door and waited.
“No.”
The word was clear, but it didn’t sound right, not like Travis. She pulled open the door, wincing when it creaked. He was a dark lump on the sofa. He moved. His breathing was harsh and shallow.
He was having a nightmare. Not a phone call. Should she wake him or go back to bed?
“Sorry . . .”
At least, that’s what she thought he said. He moaned quietly.
Whatever the dream, it wasn’t good. She shouldn’t let it continue. Besides, she didn’t want him waking Olivia.
She crept toward the sofa. The drapes were drawn on the picture window, and only the dim glow of the clock lit her way. As she approached, her feet tangled with the balled-up quilt he must’ve kicked off at some point. He lay on his side, his legs bent to fit on the sofa.
She touched him on the shoulder, shaking gently. His breaths continued, erratic and shallow. He jerked in his sleep.
“Travis,” she whispered.
He released another low moan. His foot jerked.
She squatted down, shook his shoulder. “Travis.”
He sucked in a deep breath, like he was draining the room of oxygen. Then he sprang upright on the sofa, nearly tipping her backward.
She grabbed for the sofa’s edge to steady herself, but his knees were there instead—solid and warm through the thin cloth of his pajamas.
“Shay.” Her name was a sigh of relief. He cupped her cheek with his palm. “You’re here.”
Her breath caught and hung in her lungs. His palm was warm and rough against her face. She resisted the urge to lean into it.
“ ’Course I am,” she croaked.
His lifted his other hand, touched her hair as if making sure. The touch awakened a shiver that traveled from her scalp to her spine.
He wasn’t awake yet, not quite.
What was her excuse? And did she really want one?
His hand fell from her cheek, leaving a spot that grew cold and lonely for his touch.
“Dreaming, I guess.” His voice was low and sleepy.
Her hands were still braced on his knees. She pulled them away, clasped them against her stomach. “Guess so.”
She should go. He was awake now. Nightmare over. Mission accomplished.
He grasped her shoulders as if sensing her departure. His hands were warm through her filmy shirt, his hold firm.
“It was awful . . . lost you all over again.”
That was what he’d dreamed? What he’d moaned over? Something pleasant and gratifying claimed the hollow spot inside her. Her heart lodged somewhere between her chest and throat.
“Shay . . .” He cupped her face in his palms, his thumbs grazing the tops of her cheeks.
She couldn’t read his face in the dimness, but she could read his voice, his touch. And they were saying things she’d longed to hear for so long. Her breaths came in shallow puffs. Feelings she hadn’t felt in years filled her to overflowing.
He pushed her hair off her face, his touch as light as a whisper. “I never stopped thinking about you.”
His words were water for a thirsty soul. He leaned close, and when she felt his breath on her lips, she closed the distance between them.
His kiss was tentative, restrained. Like she was an iridescent bubble he might burst. His touch was heaven. She could never get enough.
He pulled her closer. Her hands came around his torso, finding the warmth of his bare back. Her touch seemed to unleash something inside him.
He deepened the kiss, his restraint gone, taking hers with it. She’d forgotten how he could make her burn. How quickly she ignited under his touch. But she remembered now. Remembered all too well this feeling he aroused. She was fully awake—more awake than she’d been in years.
Not even Garrett had reached so deeply inside her—no one, ever. There’d never been anyone but Travis. Never been anyone who loved her like he did, who made her feel the way he did.
With that thought, fear wormed into her heart. Loving him would only lead to pain . . .
Travis’s lips left hers, and despite the direction of her thoughts, she bit back a protest. But he didn’t go far. His lips brushed her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, loving every inch of her face. When they returned to her lips, she didn’t protest.
How could she when she wanted it with every cell of her body? When she ached for more, and more was never enough? Not with Travis. It hadn’t been enough fourteen years ago, and it wasn’t enough now. She pressed into him, closer still, but not close enough.
He left the couch, easing her back onto the carpet. It was what she wanted so badly. Despite her overwhelming desire—maybe because of it—panic shot through her veins like acid.
This couldn’t happen. What was she doing?
She pushed on his chest and turned her face, feeling his hot breath on her cheek. “Stop.” The rug felt rough against her cheek after his tender ministrations.
He straightened his arms, bracing his weight. His breaths were ragged.
Or were those hers? She could feel her heart beating against the floor beneath her. She couldn’t make out his features, was almost glad of it. Maybe he couldn’t see hers either. Couldn’t see the flush of desire on her cheeks or the torment of denied longing that was surely scrawled across her face.
“What’s wrong?”
She closed her eyes as if she could erase the sound of his anguish. “I can’t.”
He was suspended above her for the space of a dozen heartbeats, then he eased his hips down beside her, his weight braced on the arm that spanned her torso.
In the quiet moment they caught their breath. Unspent desire coursed through her veins, making her want to whimper.
“Talk to me,” he said.
She couldn’t find the words. They were there, in her mind, but they danced just out of reach.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I—I don’t want this.”
“You did a minute ago.” His gentle tone made the truth go down a little easier.
“Come on, Travis. We’re both grown-ups. What you want and what’s good for you are two different things.”
He turned her face toward him, and she opened her eyes. “Give me another chance. I know I don’t deserve it, but . . .”
There was more he wanted to say. She watched him struggle, wished the shadows would part and reveal his thoughts. But he didn’t finish his sentence.
“Nothing’s changed.” She wouldn’t trust her heart to him again. Not after last time. Not after Garrett. She was done trusting her heart to men. It hurt too much when they left, wasn’t worth the risk.
“I’ve changed.”
She didn’t like looking up at him, didn’t like being trapped by his arm. She scooted backward, came to a sitting position a safe
distance away—if there was such a thing.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
But he would. In three months or three years. He’d leave her, and she’d hate herself for trusting him again, for giving herself fully only to be hurt. One time you could excuse. Twice just made you stupid.
“It’s late.” She stood, tugged her nightshirt into place. “Get some sleep.” She turned toward her room. Her body felt heavy, her legs trembling with each step.
“It won’t go away, you know.”
His words barely reached her, and when they did, she wished they hadn’t. Did he speak of the ache that had settled beneath her breastbone? The desire that still coursed through her limbs? Or the flame of love that—she was beginning to realize—had never been fully extinguished?
She entered her room and pushed the door until it clicked, as if she could close the door on her feelings, as if she could shut out the words he’d just spoken. But the door was just a two-inch slab of wood, a useless barrier, and all of it stayed with her until the alarm blared bright and early.
25
Travis was already gone by the time Shay was dressed and ready for the day. In the barn, she found the horses fed and the stalls cleaned. Leaving through the back door, she found him loading salt blocks into his truck bed. When he saw her, he stopped and watched her approach.
If only they could go their separate ways today. What was there to say? He’d kissed her, and she’d been a willing participant. She could’ve at least saved her dignity by pushing him away—before it got out of hand.
Travis shoved the blocks farther into the truck, then pulled off his gloves and tipped his hat back with the poke of a finger. “ ’Morning.”
He looked way too handsome in the golden morning light. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, like he hadn’t lost a wink of sleep.
She remembered the sleep-swollen eyes that had stared back at her in the mirror minutes ago and tugged the brim of her hat lower. “ ’Morning.”
His eyes raked her form, and she knew he was remembering too. Remembering the feel of their lips moving together, the feel of their bodies pressed together, the feel of stirring desire. Embarrassment licked her cheeks.
He, on the other hand, looked her right in the eye, bold as a grizzly and twice as smug. No regrets here, they seemed to say.
He cocked a brow just to make it clear he’d welcome a repeat right here and now.
“I’ll fetch my gloves.” She scurried toward the barn as though her feet were on fire, longing for the days when she was trapped in the house with a splint on her foot.
Despite the awkward start, they fell into a rhythm as the morning progressed. She drove the pickup, and he put out the salt blocks. Before long, he was teasing her about dropping a block on her foot. After that chore was done, they hit leather, moving the cattle to better grazing territory—a job made simpler with two people.
The herd looked healthy, the calves well fed. They stuck to their mamas’ sides like burrs on flannel and bawled when they were separated. By the time she and Travis returned to the house for dinner, Shay’s stomach was rumbling.
Abigail’s car was in the drive, and Shay spotted her friend on the porch with Olivia and Maddy.
When Shay dismounted, Travis took her reins. “I got it.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Go visit with your friend.” He led both horses into the pen, leaving Shay to glare after him.
“Abigail brought pictures,” Olivia said as Shay neared the porch.
“Birthday pictures.” Abigail handed them to Shay. “They’re not so good.”
“Why not?” Shay lowered herself into the wooden chair.
“Let’s just say I haven’t gotten the hang of my new camera.”
Shay opened the packet and shuffled through the pictures. The subjects were blurry more often than not, and random objects in the foreground were in focus instead.
“I don’t know, Abs, this is a great picture.”
“Yeah, of a Coke can.”
They laughed.
“I like that one,” Maddy said.
The burger in Shay’s hand was frozen in time, crisply in focus—while Shay’s face faded into the blurry background.
“I guess I need a little practice,” Abigail said. “Sorry I ruined the only pictures of your surprise party.”
Shay tapped her temple. “It’s all up here.”
“Can I go to Maddy’s for the afternoon?” Olivia asked.
“I was hoping for an extra pair of hands in the garden,” Abigail said.
Shay would be working anyway. “Don’t see why not.”
Seeming satisfied, Maddy and Olivia ran toward Travis.
Shay watched him work, noting his sturdy legs, his muscular arms, his strong hands as they removed the horses’ bridles. Hands rough with calluses. She could still feel them on her arms, on her face. A tingle raced down her spine.
Shay tore her eyes away. “Thanks for bringing these over.”
Abigail lowered her chin and narrowed her eyes. “What happened . . . ?”
“What?”
“Don’t be coy. Something happened.”
Was she that transparent? Shay pursed her lips and sighed hard.
Abigail leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Tell all. And quick, before they come back.”
Shay toyed with the frayed edge of her shirt. “It was nothing.”
If she told herself that enough, maybe she’d believe it. Kisses happened all the time. Meaningless, empty kisses that led nowhere. Kisses you forgot about the instant they ended.
“He kissed you.”
Shay frowned. “What are you, a mind reader?”
Abigail snorted. “It hardly takes a mind reader. You should see the look on your face. Whoo-boy, that must’ve been some kiss.”
“It was just a regular, old run-of-the-mill kiss.”
“I’d like to run that mill awhile.”
Shay tilted her head. “You’re practically a newlywed. I’m sure your mill’s just fine.”
Abigail gave a furtive smile. “Well, true. But there’s nothing like that first kiss.”
“Hardly a first.”
“Well, the wedding kiss didn’t count, not really. And it’s been a lifetime since the others.”
A lifetime. It didn’t feel like a lifetime. It was all so fresh, these feelings. She felt eighteen again, young and silly-in-love.
You are not in love with him. She had been once upon a time. This was just . . . nostalgia or something. She shook the uncomfortable thought away.
“Shay . . . ?”
“We’re talking about Travis here. He’s pushy and arrogant and—and he does my crossword puzzles.”
“I didn’t know you did crossword puzzles.”
“Well . . . I don’t, but still.” It was her paper, wasn’t it? Her house. He could’ve asked.
“Back to the kiss . . . ,” Abigail said.
“The kiss was a mistake. A middle-of-the-night mistake of monumental proportions.”
Abigail perked up. “Middle of the night?”
Shay gave a mock glare. “Middle-of-the-night mistake. We were half asleep.” She lifted her chin. “My guard was down.”
“You didn’t . . .”
“Of course we didn’t.”
“Well, you are married—in the eyes of God and man.”
“I wish everyone would stop reminding me of that.”
“It would be perfectly natural.”
“It would be perfectly awful.”
Well, not the act itself. That would be . . . She shivered at the thought. Then she crossed her arms, pretending to be chilled lest Abigail make something of it.
“If you say so,” her friend said.
Across the yard Travis lifted his hat and placed it on Olivia’s head. Her daughter made a muscle, showing her guns. Travis laughed, the sound of it barely carrying over the wind. Olivia rose on tiptoe and put the hat back on Travis’s head. He gave her ponytail a t
ug before heading toward the porch.
It wasn’t butterflies that danced in Shay’s stomach at his approach. It was hunger. Desperation welled up at the thought of being alone again.
“Wanna stay for lunch?” she asked.
Abigail’s lips twitched. “Sorry, but we’re meeting Aunt Lucy at the Tin Roof.”
“You’re not going to invite me?”
“No way. You’re stuck here. Just you and your hubby.”
Shay narrowed her eyes. “Some friend. Let me grab some money for Olivia.”
Abigail waved her off. “I got it.” She stood as Travis approached.
He tipped his hat. “Abigail.”
“Travis. Nice to see you.” She passed him, called for the girls, then turned to Shay and wiggled her eyebrows.
Traitor. Thank God Travis had his back to her.
“See ya later,” Abigail called.
“ ’Bye, Mom! ’Bye, Travis!”
“Tell Miss Lucy I said hello,” Shay said.
“Will do.”
Shay watched them slip into the car and roll down the lane, then she went inside to wash up. This was no big deal. They’d been alone all day. What was wrong with her?
Minutes later she and Travis were seated at the table, scarfing down the sandwiches and soup they’d put together. Shay shuffled through Abigail’s pictures while they ate, avoiding eye contact with Travis.
“You and Abigail were deep in conversation,” he said.
She made a pointed effort to prevent her face from heating. “So?”
The corner of his lip hitched up. “Good stuff?” His twinkling eyes said more than his words.
Arrogant. He assumed they were talking about him. About his kiss.
“You know, women talk about more than just men.”
“That so?”
“Exactly so.” She shot him a look, then stacked the pictures and handed them to him.
“Thanks for the insight.” He looked through the pictures, frowning. “These are the strangest pictures I’ve ever seen.”
“She hasn’t gotten the hang of the autofocus.”
“No kidding.” He shuffled through the pile, smiling here and there. Not that she was watching.
For pity’s sake, stop it, Shay. Think about something else.
The soup was good. Rich broth with chunks of chicken, cubed carrots, and slippery noodles. Just the right touch of pepper. Never mind that it was canned. It was something to think about. Something other than the man who took up a whole side of the table.
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