“Carmex,” she says softly. “It’s as simple as this. For about fifty of those fifty-six days, it’s the only luxury I wanted more than a shower. And when I was standing there earlier today, the fact that I could just reach out and grab it—have it— it was mind-boggling.”
I nod in perfect understanding.
“What was your thing?”
Holding you.
It was the only luxury I dreamed about every minute of those days.
“Same, I guess.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m,” I say, laying my cards down, “still kicking your ass.”
“Dammit!” she exclaims. “You have got to be kidding me,” she grumbles as she sees the hand I beat her with: a four of a kind, all twos.
“You did have all the twos,” she says.
We share a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’re tired. Let’s go to bed; you can take mine.”
“Can I take a bath?”
“Of course.”
She wrinkles her nose as she stands. “You should too. We’re no longer prisoners, Briggs; bathing isn’t optional.” She stumbles forward, and I catch her.
“Drunkity drunk,” she says with a giggle I’ve never heard. “Ask me if I feel like a bad person for it.”
“Do you?” I grin down at her.
“No, some local supposed cowboy”—she lifts her fingers in air quotes as I hold her shoulders—“showed me a good time.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Not drunk enough to sleep with a horse,” she says with another laugh. It’s music, and it feels so fucking good.
“Thank God for that.”
“The human head weighs eight pounds,” she says with another giggle.
“What?” I ask with an incredulous laugh.
“I mean, where were you?” she asks, her shoulders shaking.
“Okay, drunk girl, think you’ll make it through a shower?”
She pulls away from my hold. “I’m good. Promise.” She sobers slightly, and I lead her to my bedroom. It’s surreal having her in here. The furnishings are all old wood. Nothing in Gran’s house is new, nothing.
“This is nice, big,” she says as she looks around. Our worlds are mixing, and I’m too damn drunk to let myself think about it.
“Towels are in the cabinet. You’ll have to deal with my mix of shampoo and body wash.”
“I’ll manage. I feel like an ass, taking your bed.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I move toward the door.
“It was so fun,” she says, wistfully glancing over her shoulder to peer back at me. “So fun. Thank you.”
“Sure. Night.”
“Night.” Our eyes lock, and I have to force myself through the door.
Tossing on the shit couch Gran refuses to replace, I find myself staring up at the ceiling. I heard the shower cut off an hour ago, and I know she’s fast asleep. Every part of me wants to be in that room with her. For the first time since we parted ways, I can’t hear the pendulum swinging. It’s the most peaceful sound, the quiet. She’s in my bed, and whether or not we’re supposed to be, we’re deep inside the other in a way we can’t seem to break. It’s more than love, it’s a friendship, a connection that’s so profound it’s infinite.
She’s here.
It’s the only thing that helps me drift to sleep.
Sometime later, I sense her presence.
“Scottie?”
“Shhh,” she says. “Go back to sleep.”
Opening my eyes, I wait for the darkness to clear and see her on Gran’s rickety lounger right across from me. I know for a fact it’s hell to sleep in. She’s got my quilt around her, and her eyes are closed.
“That can’t be comfortable,” I mumble.
“It’s perfect,” she whispers through the darkness, and after hearing the peace in her voice, I agree.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Katy
The scent of cologne and body wash fills my nose as I rouse from sleep. I’d woken up a few times last night in that chair, covered in sweat, heart racing. But seeing Briggs sleeping soundly across from me felt like consolation, once my breathing evened out.
I’d study the rise and fall of his chest, itching to run my fingers through his hair, but the comfort in knowing he was near for the first time in countless months was what lulled me back to sleep. Rising from the pillow, I realize I’m in his bed, and can’t recall getting there. I’m surrounded by the newness of his smell, the feel of his sheets tangled between my legs.
“Morning, or should I say afternoon?” I hear whispered next to me and turn my head to see the steam from his shower drifting into the bedroom. He’s already dressed in faded jeans that hang low and a black tank.
“Afternoon?” I ask before I faceplant back into the pillow. “Do I dare to ask what time it is?”
“Well, it’s after noon.”
“Smart ass,” I say, turning my head to grin at him, and he returns it. Reading his posture, I have no clue what he’s thinking. I can’t help my perusal of him, freshly showered. Desire courses through me, and I realize how crazy I must look. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a mean case of pillow face, and I can see my cloud of hair in my peripheral.
“How do you feel?” he asks with concern, nodding toward his bedside table where a glass of water and two Advil sit.
“I’m not sure yet,” I say, rolling over and popping the pills for precaution. “Thank you.”
“Sure,” he says, dropping down to sit at the far end of the bed on my side.
“Shower is all yours. There’s breakfast on the table for you, but you’ll probably have to warm it up. I’ll see you out there.”
“Wow,” I say, impressed. “You treat all your drunk girls like this?”
Something close to pain flits over his features and guilt sets in. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I’ve never brought a woman back here. This is Gran’s place. It’s home to me, but not—not like that.”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, I get it.”
“I just haven’t moved out because I’ve been on base, and then Gramps died…I guess it would be wise at some point.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I offer, putting my hand on his. “I’m not judging you. If anything, I think you’re one of the best men I’ve ever met, ever known. You have to know that by now.”
He sighs, “But a jackass.”
“Most definitely, and I think that’s the thing I love about you most. You aren’t so easily swayed by anyone else’s opinion. You’re you, with no apologies. Take it or leave it.”
Between the sight of him on the bed and the smell of him between us, I’m having a hard time sitting idle. But I do because I still feel the hesitance in him. I’m interrupting his world, and I need to see myself out of it, but for the life of me, I can’t bring myself to do it.
“See you outside?”
“Yeah,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “Saddle me up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, thickening his drawl.
He makes it to the door and pulls on his hat, and something stirs within me at the sight—his presence, his easy demeanor, his quiet strength. One look back from him has me melting into his mattress with want.
After a few wordless moments of heavy eye exchange, he speaks. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Sure about that?” I ask, my voice squeaking with evidence of my arousal.
He presses his lips together because he doesn’t miss it, he never has.
He nods his head continually. “Yeah.” He smacks the doorframe lightly. “Positive. Hurry up.”
It’s only when he’s a few steps out the door that I hear a voice whisper from deep within.
Today is going to be a good day.
He chuckles from where he sits, perched on Houdini, as I’m jerked forward by the momentum. “Stop laughing at me, you ass, and give me some pointers.”
Positiv
e I look anything but graceful, the horse trots forward as my body bounces on the saddle.
“First of all, you are the one in control, and you need to let him know it, so stop letting him jerk you around and tighten those thighs on the saddle. Straighten your shoulders, but keep your lower half loose, so you don’t get jarred.” He watches me for a few seconds. “Better.”
“It doesn’t feel better,” I say, feeling like I’m being bounced on a knee.
“Watch his head to take count of his stride. You two need to sync into a rhythm; it’s going to take a minute.”
A nervous laugh escapes me. “Are you now going to tell me to become one with the horse?”
He gives me a flash of teeth. “Yep.”
“This is—” I say, being jerked back, “I suck.”
“Not at all. If you were seeing what I’m seeing, you’d agree.”
I’m still being jostled with every movement, and I know my boobs are bouncing freely in the T-shirt I stole from him. It’s knotted at my waist in a snug fit. Even with my grimy bra back on, the girls seem to have a mind of their own as they strain against the material. I look over to where he watches me with amusement and narrow my eyes. He’s still grinning like it’s Christmas, and I refuse to let him have the leverage, so I decide to follow his advice. Tightening my thighs and squaring my shoulders, I let the horse guide me into a rhythm. I’m still rattling on top of the saddle as I do my best to take control. After a few minutes, I feel a bit more confident, my body gliding back with each extension of the horse’s leg. It’s only then that I realize I’ve crossed half the grass without him.
“I think I’ve got it!” I holler before turning to see the sun beaming behind him. I know whenever I picture Briggs, from this moment forward, it’s the image I’ll see. He’s staring at me the same way he did yesterday, but as soon as our eyes connect, he taps the side of Houdini with his boots and trots up to meet me.
“You’ve got it.”
“That’s all there is to this?”
He shrugs. “More or less. I wouldn’t let you loose in the pasture just yet, but you’re getting it.”
His face contorts a little with an expression I can’t read. “What?”
He shakes his head, and I see the emotion building in his eyes and immediately understand. He’s there, recalling every look, every word, every promise we made.
And this is the one we’re keeping, together, because it’s what saved us.
A few hours later, we’re brushing the horses down in the barn and stealing glances at each other as we wind down from our long ride. “The Living Years” by Mike & the Mechanics filters through the air from an old radio sitting on a worktop a few feet away.
“This your type of music?”
“Old rock and country, yeah.”
“Huh,” I say with a smile. “I like that you have a sentimental side.”
“I didn’t pick this song,” he says, “but I fucking love it.”
“Me too.”
Though he said he wouldn’t let me loose in the pasture, we rode over every inch of the expansive land, and I only fell more in love. This ranch is a piece of heaven in the heart of Texas, and I am smitten. Though I have to admit, every story about his childhood, or the memories he recalled with his grandparents, makes it all the more endearing. He speaks of the two people who raised him with such respect, such reverence, it’s impossible not to be spellbound. I was entranced the minute I set foot on his property—the moment I laid eyes on him. I’ve been burning images of him to memory all day.
The curve of his bicep, when he pointed at something he wanted me to see, the deep dimple that poked out when he busted me gawking, the soul in his whiskey voice, the light in his eyes. My thirst was growing in a way it hadn’t in almost a year.
I take his company over the ache of wanting him. In truth, we’ve been side-stepping this attraction for so long we’ve become masters at it. He looks over at me as he finishes shoveling hay and rests his hands on top of the handle.
“What are you thinking?”
I don’t hesitate. “I want you to be happy. I want it more for you than for myself.”
My answer surprises him. “The feeling’s mutual, Scottie.”
“I have to know you, Chris. I don’t ever want to not know you.” It’s the absolute truth.
He tugs his full bottom lip through his teeth before he speaks.
“I don’t see how that can be.”
I nod. “I know. But it doesn’t make it any less true.”
He sets the rake back against a stall door and stalks toward me, taking my hand and leading me toward the door. “Come on.”
“Where’re we going?” He’s taking strides with purpose, and I damn near smack into his back when he stops at the entrance of the barn, where his motorcycle sits. I’m already shaking my head.
“Oh, no. Yeah, that’s a negative.”
He extends the helmet my way. “Put it on and climb on.”
“You’re crazy,” I say, refusing the helmet and taking a step back. “I didn’t survive Baghdad to get on this deathtrap.”
He thrusts it toward me again, and I refuse it, standing my ground. It’s the need in his voice that cuts through the panic. “Katy,” he whispers, “let’s go for a run.”
My eyes water as he holds it out to me, and slowly, hesitantly, I take it. Eyes locked, the conversation is clear—he’s asking for my trust, and I already know I’m going to give it to him because I already do trust him, with everything I am.
Sliding the helmet on, his voice is slightly muffled, but his movement mimics his orders as he pulls my hands around his waist. I take full advantage, covering his cut abdomen, spreading my fingers to cover every available inch.
As soon as he lifts his body and cranks the bike, I’m climbing on his back in a panic. I feel his chuckle on my hands as he loosens my grip and glances back at me. I mouth his name, my eyes wide. Briggs.
I’ve got you, he mouths back. Warmth spreads through me as I grip his T-shirt and scoot my lower half closer to his back.
“This is fucking crazy!” I say, unable to hold my thoughts inside.
His laughter isn’t heard but felt as he slowly pulls out of the barn, giving it a little gas while we creep down the long gravel driveway. It’s only when we reach the end that fear creeps back in.
I make the decision to let it go. I’ve survived enough of life to know there’s only so much of it you can control, and right now, I’m handing the reins, that control, over to someone else. It’s the most freedom I’ve felt since I set foot back on US soil.
Today, I’m going to live.
Just as I make the decision, we’re off like a shot, making a left turn off the driveway onto the winding country road. The view of endless trees and untouched land is breathtaking as I bask in the feel of freedom. The rumble of the bike beneath me feels incredible—powerful—as powerful as the man I’m clinging to.
Elated tears stream down my cheeks as I’m overcome with gratitude.
We’re running.
We’re running far and fast, just as I’d imagined, without any boundaries, while the sun and the breeze spur us on. We’re claiming our freedom, and greedily we’re taking it, because we earned it, together. He’s with me, pointing it out, urging me to steal this moment with him as his warmth spreads from the tip of my head to my toes. Tightening my hold, I press myself as close as I can get as the words fall easily from my lips.
“I love you,” I murmur to his back. “I love you.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Briggs
Make it last.
Those are the only words racing through my mind as I release the throttle, and we ease down the driveway. We rode for over an hour until the sun had set, and I felt her arms go lax around me. All day I’ve counted her breaths, weighed her expression looking for something, but I wasn’t sure what. When I steer us back into the barn and cut the engine, she keeps her arms around my waist, and I cover her chilled hands with
my own to warm them.
I’m not sure what to expect, but it’s definitely not the reaction she gives as she dismounts the bike, pulling off her helmet, her eyes alight with a fire I’ve only managed to witness a few times. Running her fingers through her untamed hair, she tosses her head back and practically howls. “That was fucking amazing!”
Her excitement fills the barn as I take her in, easy laughter ripping from my chest. “Like that, did you?”
She leans in toward me as if she’s got a secret. “Oh. My. God. Briggs! I can’t even explain what that felt like.” She places both hands on her chest where her heart lays.
“Like running?”
“Yes! But more.” Her wild gaze darts around the barn as she searches for words for a feeling she doesn’t have to explain because I’m right there with her. “It was perfect.”
I sit back on the seat as she bounces around on the balls of her feet with boundless energy. A cowbell accompanied by a familiar beat filters through the barn and an idea springs to mind. Leaning over toward the workbench, I crank up the volume as “Honky Tonk Women” by The Rolling Stones filters in the air between us.
She nods in approval. “Good one.”
“Glad you agree. Show me whatcha got.”
She rears her head back. “’Scuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb, Scottie.”
“Are you nuts? I’m not dancing for you.”
“Oh, yes, you are. Do that dance you told me about.”
“Cumbia? Hell no, this isn’t even the right beat. That’s a one, two, three dance, and it’s a bit slower.”
“You owe me,” I drawl.
“Oh, now we’re in favor mode? You taught me how to ride a horse, not cure cancer.” She puts her hands on the curves of her hips, puffing her chest out as I stare on in expectation.
“Either you dance, or I dance, and I promise you that will embarrass you more.”
“Don’t have any moves, cowboy?” She taunts.
“This song isn’t long enough for you to be boxing my balls, Scottie.”
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