No Damaged Goods

by Snow, Nicole

  “Holy crap,” he says, sinking down next to me, leaning against Andrea. “I knew he’d come through.”

  I’m the only one silent.

  Crying.

  Tears of hot, uncontrollable joy.

  Yeah, I knew he’d come through, too.

  While the face I want to kiss forever ducks through the half-melted archway, looping his arm over his head to beckon to everyone, I burst out sobbing with the gorgeous, wonderful feeling of relief in my heart.

  “Everybody get moving!” Blake calls, that voice as wonderful, as soothing, and as strong as it was the night he picked me up on the side of the road. “Train’s moving this way, people, and we’re all goin’ home.”

  * * *

  It’s hours before the fire’s fully out.

  Even longer before the chaos starts to fade.

  Blake and Holt couldn’t put the flames out on their own.

  Not with just one truck and its reserve tank.

  But they cleared a critical path.

  They cleared an opening that let people escape the ice palace and spill across the highway to take refuge in the fields on the other side by the school, many retrieving their cars from along the road, forming tight rings like pioneers used to circle their covered wagons for shelter, huddling for warmth.

  By the time everyone was out and accounted for, the backup someone called in came wailing down the road—more fire trucks and ambulances with Missoula stamped on the side.

  The whole time, I never let Andrea go.

  And the whole time, I don’t take my eyes off Blake, who still hasn’t found us in the commotion.

  Not even as Andrea and I are bundled into the back of an ambulance. They check me for burns, look her over, and give us the verdict.

  Stable.

  Oh God, she’s going to be fine.

  “She’s got a little frostbite, no doubt,” the EMT says, checking Andrea’s pulse. “Hurts like hell, but it’s only surface level. No deep tissue damage. We just need to keep her warm and hydrated, and she’ll heal up just fine.”

  I’m grinning through my tears, squeezing Andrea’s hand so tight.

  “Can you wait?” I ask thickly, struggling to find words that aren’t sobs. “Before you take her to the hospital. I just...I need to find her dad. Her dad needs to be with her.”

  The EMT nods. “I’ll be here getting her settled and checking her vitals, but move it.”

  With a grateful sound, I go tumbling out of the back of the ambulance.

  The entire field looks like a refugee camp at this point, people getting medical treatment, hot liquids poured into them, salves for burns, bandages. People give witness statements to the cops, firefighters checking over the smoldering ruins.

  I find Blake talking to a group of firefighters, standing in the way that says he’s trying to be stubborn, be strong, but he’s carefully keeping his weight off that leg. The last glow of dying fires glints off his hair, turning it to bearish rusty brown and ash.

  I can’t even describe the feeling that bursts through me when I see him like this.

  Standing so firm, even dirty and burned and covered in soot and sweat.

  That stubborn pride’s everything I love about him.

  It’s like I’m on fire now.

  And I know this is one flame that’ll never go out.

  I start forward hesitantly, then stop.

  “Blake,” I call softly, my voice small.

  He stills like I just shouted his name from the rooftops.

  Slowly, he turns, this warmth, this light, breaking over his face—before he’s loping toward me, his bad leg dragging, but he doesn’t let it stop him as he catches me, lifting me off my feet, letting out a ragged sound as he buries his face in my hair.

  “Peace,” he gasps. “Thank God, Broccoli.”

  I never thought I’d be so happy to near that stupid name.

  “Blake,” I manage raggedly, burying my face in his shoulder, clutching on for dear life. “I was so scared for you, when Justin...”

  “Shhh. Quiet,” he soothes, his hands strong and firm and warm against my back. “It’s all right now. He can’t hurt nobody anymore.” Then he pulls back, looking down at me, those intense blue eyes flickering with trepidation. “Andrea?”

  “She’ll be just fine,” I promise, unable to help grinning even though I’m crying so bad I’m practically melting, but I’ve never been this happy, this relieved before. “Justin had her against the ice for a while. She’s got frostbite, but no permanent damage. The EMTs got her, and she’s gonna be fine.”

  His eyes light up before softening as he leans into me hard, curling his hand against the back of my neck, pressing his brow to mine. “Fuck, Peace, you saved my baby girl.”

  “How could I not?” I whisper. “Don’t you know how much she means to me? How much you both do?”

  He stares at me intently, so much raw, rough emotion burning in his eyes.

  “Tell me,” he growls, his clutch on me turning hard, possessive. “Tell me what we mean.”

  “I love you!” It falls out without hesitation, without even the slightest hint of fear, because I need to be honest about this bright flame inside me. I need him to know when we all came so close to losing each other. “I love you like everything I’ve ever needed, and I love her because she’s everything sweet and bright and free. I love you, Blake, even if you don’t love me.”

  That’s the fear of it, right there.

  That even after everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve been to each other...

  What if he just doesn’t feel this so deeply, so hotly, so truly?

  My heart twists with apprehension, like even my pulse is holding its breath.

  Then Blake smiles his lopsided grin, the most heartbreakingly handsome smile ever.

  “How the hell could I not love you, darlin’?” he rumbles, and all the love in the world makes that sinful voice of his musical. “You’re the peace I’ve always wanted.”

  I choke out a laugh.

  Ohhh, that pun, it’s terrible and wonderful all at once, but I barely get a chance to part my lips before he’s just there.

  Kissing me, dragging me against him.

  Stealing my mouth, taking my soul, tearing me up inside with how amazing it feels to be with this man.

  To finally—finally!—be his.

  And to give myself over to him in wholehearted surrender.

  I part my lips and let him take my mouth in delicious, languid strokes and twining thrusts of tongue for all the world, the sky, and the townspeople scattered around us to see.

  I don’t care who knows.

  I flipping love Blake Silverton.

  He’s my desperado.

  My gunslinger with a heart of gold.

  And no matter what soft and melancholy songs I sing for him, it’s a done deal.

  I’ll never let him be lonely again.

  * * *

  Months Later

  Spring in Heart’s Edge.

  When I first came rolling into town in January, I never thought I’d stay long enough to see spring fully erase the snow and leave flowers. They’re coming up in pink and blue fields, clouds of vibrant color bursting across the hills.

  Absolutely gorgeous is an understatement.

  Worth staying for is more like it.

  But not nearly as much as the man by my side, his fingers twined snug in mine as we walk the paths through the hills, moving quietly beneath new leaves that turn the sunlight green-gold and sweet.

  Blake and I walk like this often now.

  It’s part of my therapy, putting a little more heft on his leg with the slope of the hills.

  It’s also just become part of us.

  Part of our routine, after we see Andrea out the door and before we go our separate ways for work, only to come together again in the evening.

  I can’t shake how Andrea seemed troubled this morning. Heading off to school with a frown pulling her lips down. She’d barely talked
to me when normally we chatter our heads off through breakfast, whether or not she actually deigns to acknowledge her father’s existence.

  Sigh.

  Probably boy trouble.

  Even after everything, she and Clark are still dancing around in this are-we-or-aren’t-we way that only teenagers do.

  I’m not her mother. I can’t force her to talk to me.

  But I am her friend, and I know she’ll talk when she’s ready.

  When she needs me.

  “Something on your mind?” Blake rumbles, his thumb stroking over my knuckles.

  I look up with a smile, taking in the brilliant blue depths of his eyes.

  “Yeah. I just think Andrea’s bickering with Clark again. I worry about her.”

  Blake grimaces. “I’ll stop worrying when she finally gets sick of him. He’s still a punk, even if he did me a solid.”

  I laugh. “You’d think any boy who likes your daughter is a punk.”

  “Because he is.”

  “Oh, stop!” Laughing, I lean on him, resting my head to the delicious tone of his upper arm. “You’ll get used to it someday. He’ll grow on you.”

  “Never,” he vows, but those eyes gleam with mischief and amusement. “Honestly, that’s better than what I thought you might be worrying over.”

  I cock my head, my brows knitting. “What else would I be worried about?”

  He hesitates, gaze darkening, that hint of a smile fading.

  “California,” he grunts finally.

  Ah. Right.

  That envelope’s been sitting on the table in the foyer for a week now, waiting like a royal decree.

  Waiting for me to make a phone call, a choice, a decision.

  Because there’s an artist in California who wants to sign the rights to my song away and make it part of her catalog.

  A really, really famous artist.

  A really obnoxious, infamous pop artist who took a shine to my music and my story when it made some news along the West Coast. Apparently, she went through her own fair share of big bad danger before the men of Enguard Security came to her rescue.

  But there’s a catch. There always is.

  She wants me to leave.

  She wants me to come be part of her entourage and help write songs just for her.

  Everything I’ve always wanted.

  That song I wrote with all my heart, for Blake and Blake alone...

  But I’ve still given it to so many hearts on the airwaves, so they can feel what I do.

  I guess he doesn’t know.

  I already made the phone call this morning, while he was in the shower.

  I tilt my head back, looking up at him with a faint smile. We make our way out of the trees, toward the inn waiting in the distance with that long, curving cliff dropping down over the valley.

  “California’s lovely in summer,” I say. “Have you ever been?”

  “No.” Blake looks dismayed, wrinkling his nose. “Never been much for the big city life. That’s more Holt’s thing.”

  “No? So you wouldn’t want to visit?”

  His expression looks strained. “You saying you’re heading out there?”

  “Next week,” I say—then relent as his face falls like a kicked puppy. I can’t do this to him, and I laugh, stopping and squeezing his hand and leaning into him. “For a weekend, I mean. Just to handle some contract stuff. Then I’m coming right back.”

  Blake breathes in sharply, his cragged brows lifting, those intense eyes locked on me with something like hope. “You’re not leaving Heart’s Edge?”

  “Why would I?” I drape my body against him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Everything I want is right here. I don’t need to live in California to write music, Blake. I make the best music when I’m here. At home. With you.”

  Even after two months of lovely sweetness, domesticity, our time together a mix of comfortable silences, laughter, and devastatingly hot passion...

  It still makes my heart beat hard to be so forward, so true with my feelings.

  Yet Blake has proven time and time again that I can trust him.

  I can let him have every last piece of my heart.

  He smiles, slow and hot and pleased, settling his hands on my hips. “Then I guess it’s a damn good thing we’re right where we are,” he growls.

  I don’t understand.

  Suddenly, he pulls back, takes my hand, and leads me to the edge of the cliff.

  “You remember the legend? About lovers making wishes here?” he asks. We stop together, looking out across brilliant blue skies and flowers stretched below, as far as the eye can see. All around us, too, waving around our calves in delicate pink and blue dots. “About the cliff.”

  “I do,” I say, flushing, looking up at him, his profile so strong, so handsome against the brightness of the sun. “You want to make a wish, Blake?”

  “Sure do, darlin’.”

  He pulls his hand free from mine then, and sinks down on one knee, digging in his pocket. I don’t know why I’m surprised—but my pulse still kicks up hot and fierce anyway. A current rushes through me with a wonderful thrill as he pops a little velvet box open.

  Inside, there’s a pretty silver band, set with a stone as violet as the tips dyed in my hair.

  “What I wish, more than anything,” he says gruffly, his voice thick with emotion, “is that you’ll say yes, Peace. Give me forever.”

  I laugh—I can’t stop myself. My voice needs to do something with the joy overflowing inside of me.

  How can I say anything but yes? He’s the part of my song, the muse to my melody, everything I’ve been searching for all my life.

  I fling myself against him, gasping out my “Yes” as I kiss him with my all.

  I lose myself in it—the warmth of his mouth, the scratch of his beard, and I’m lost in so many sensations, taking in the world around me and feeling connected to everything. The scent of wildflowers, the taste of this man, the brightness and warmth of the sun, the heat of his hands on my waist, my back, then buried in my hair and pulling me in deep until I can’t feel anything but him.

  His tongue traces my lips jealously, leaving me gasping. His teeth graze, a reminder how sensitive he can leave me with the smallest movements.

  I’m gasping, breathless, by the time he lets go, clinging to him to stay upright as we lean hard into each other.

  “So this is us,” he whispers, pushing his forehead to mine.

  His cadence, his breath, his strength wrapped so tight draws me deeper into our own little universe.

  I smile, rubbing my nose to his.

  “This is us,” I answer as he slips that ring on my finger, lacing our hands together. I squeeze his fingers, then glance out over the cliff. “Shall we?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  Together, we gather up handfuls of flowers, weaving them together in alternating links of pink and blue, making them into wreaths, laughing as he tickles a soft flower head under my nose.

  Then we throw them over the edge, sending them sailing, watching the wind catch them and make them float down gently, slowly.

  It’s too peaceful, too hopeful, too perfect. Until Blake tosses something else.

  A little string of firecrackers snaps and crackles, making bright bursts of light as it follows the flowers down. He looks at me and winks.

  I let out a startled laugh, tugging at his hand. “Idiot. That’s a fire hazard, you know.”

  “Wrong.” With a rumble, he drags me in close against the hardness and heat of his body, his eyes sparking bright as fireworks. “You’re the only fire hazard here today, darlin’.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “It would if you knew how hot you get me,” he says, leaning into me, all the desire in the world darkening his eyes as the distance between us grows smaller and smaller, hotter and hotter.

  Okay, so maybe it does make sense.

  “Show me,” I whisper, folding my fingers against the back of his neck
, my body already growing warm with my need for him—a passion that will never end. “Show me again and again, Blake, for as long as we both live.”

  * * *

  Weeks Later

  Leave it to me to sing at my own freaking wedding.

  It’s not quite planned. It’s not quite what anyone intended, but my wedding, well...

  It turned into as much beautiful chaos as the rest of my life.

  And I love every hot messy minute of it.

  The sound system to play the wedding march malfunctioned and caught fire. Blake singed his tuxedo putting it out. The doves that were supposed to be released over the cliff got out of their cage and burst free in a squawking flock over the sky.

  One of them tried to nest in my mother’s hair.

  And she actually laughed. I hadn’t seen her smile even once since she’d flown in from Oahu.

  Holt tried to hit on Ember, not realizing she wasn’t just my bridesmaid, but Doc’s wife, and nearly got pushed over the cliff for his troubles. Good thing Blake insisted on having two best men in Holt and Warren.

  Leo’s son Zach coerced Andrea into carrying him on her shoulders, and they charged around playing horsey while everyone was trying to find their seats.

  Everything was a mess.

  But it was ours.

  I’ve never been happier.

  And I don’t think the priest has ever seen anyone laugh through most of their wedding vows like Blake and I did.

  It’s hard not to.

  We met by total accident in disaster, and it’s like uncertainty and mishaps follow us around everywhere.

  All the more reason to be certain of each other.

  And there’s not a moment’s doubt in our eyes, our voices, when the time comes.

  We lace our fingers and say “I do.”

  It should be our moment, something sacred and private.

  But somehow, we belong to the entire town, too. I swear I can feel Heart’s Edge nodding its approval with the mountains, the trees, the gorgeous flowers tilting our way as all the guests break into laughter and applause.

  Soon, we’re whisked away to dance with everyone but each other, then thrust back together for that one special slow dance. I cling to my new husband—husband, how crazy is that?—breathlessly for dear life. Blake just smiles so easy, like he was born for this, and maybe he was.