“I think I am.” Her mouth was dry, her heart pounding. “Ever since I came here, I’ve been having these dreams about you. Naked, hot dreams.”
He moved closer. Reaching up, she unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. And felt a slow, pulling eagerness inside herself.
“Dr. Larson and Sara both said that it’s probably my psyche regressing to an earlier time as a way to help me heal from—”
“You told both of them that you’re having hot dreams about me?” He had a funny grin on his face.
She nodded. That wasn’t the important part. She got a second button undone.
“And they said it’s probably your psyche?”
She nodded.
“Probably? Like it’s possible that it could be something else?”
He took another step closer. An inch only. Because he was already close enough to lean forward and touch her thigh to thigh.
She licked her lips. Her mouth was so dry she could hardly talk. “I guess.” And then stepped back. “But we don’t know, Reese, and it would be awful if we get to a point and you’re all...you know...and I push you away. Just the thought of that happening breaks my heart.”
“You want to know what breaks mine?” he asked.
She nodded.
“The fact that you’re afraid of yourself as much as you’re afraid you won’t like my touch. Don’t you see, Faye, it’s not the sex. Hell, yes, I want it. Need it, even. But there are other ways for a guy to get what he needs with his wife—without you having to accommodate me.”
His words were so sensitive. So cute. The old Reese would have talked about boners and...other things.
“What I want you to know, to believe, is that I love you for you, not for your body, or my access to it.”
Now that was a little more like it. Her eyes teared up. But she smiled, too.
“You aren’t any less to me now, Faye, than you ever were. In the ways that matter, you’re so much more. You need me,” he finished. As if that said it all.
“I love you, Reese.” She’d told her son. It was time to tell him.
“I love you, too.”
Reaching up to kiss him was natural. This was Reese. Her lips were on his before she realized she’d reached for him. His mouth opened, his tongue against hers in a dance that was so familiar she fell into it. Into him.
Her breasts ached.
She was wet.
Her hands were on his chest, where she’d unbuttoned his shirt. Touching his skin.
And only then noticed that, other than with his mouth, he hadn’t touched her.
She pulled back. Looked up at him.
“We have a son who’s got issues with...” he said.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of Elliott. With Frank, Elliott had been a constant on her mind. Say what he wanted so he wouldn’t get louder. Do what he wanted so he’d be done.
Thoughts of Frank ruined the mood.
But she took Reese’s hand. “Let’s go to my room,” she told him. Maybe the moment would come back. She hoped it would.
She dreaded being in there with him and feeling tight and dry.
Her room was the larger of the two bedrooms, but still, it wasn’t big. The bed was just a regular double, not a queen or king. There was one dresser. Two nightstands. A few things on the walls. None of it was hers. The place had come furnished.
He stood at the door.
“Is Elliott used to seeing your door closed?”
If she hadn’t already been head over heels in love with this man, she’d just fallen. Completely. Forever.
“No,” she said. “If he wakes up and sees it closed, it’s going to scare him. And if he has a nightmare, I need to hear him.”
Reese was Elliott’s father. He cared.
It was okay that she put her son first.
“Then the door stays open. At least until we can buy a monitor and then explain to him that a mom and dad’s door is closed so they don’t wake their kids if they talk. But that if he ever needs to come in, he’s always welcome. If we happened to be doing anything, the monitor would let us know he’s up and on his way in, right?”
She nodded. Loving him so much it hurt.
“So.” He started to unbutton his shirt further. One button. “Does that TV work?”
It was an older model on the dresser.
“It gets cable,” she told him, walking over to him. Going for the next button. Waiting to see his navel again. The freckle that she’d always kissed right next to it.
His hand over hers stopped her.
“You want to watch TV in bed?” He finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled the tails out of his pants.
TV. The thought of it made her weak with relief.
She nodded.
“You should probably get ready for bed then.”
She found him a toothbrush—she had a couple of new ones in the cupboard from when she’d found a three-pack on sale. In the past, they’d shared one whenever one of them had stayed over.
While she was in the bathroom, she quickly donned the T-shirt and cotton pajama shorts she normally wore to bed.
They weren’t sexy. At all.
She went back to her room.
The first thing her gaze sought was that open bedroom door. She hadn’t doubted that it would be open. She’d just looked. As she did every night for the past two years.
Reese was already in bed, propped up on a pillow as he flipped through channels.
She couldn’t remember the number of times they’d watched TV in bed. It had always been after sex. And a snack that had usually involved chocolate.
Her first thought was to apologize for her attire, but she stopped herself.
She climbed under the covers. Embarrassed. Excited.
But not afraid.
Her foot touched his leg.
And she got wet again. Almost instantly.
Her door was open.
As was their son’s.
Reese had found an old movie. Didn’t seem to notice that, for the first time in nine years, they were in bed together.
She couldn’t think of anything else.
She remembered every single inch of his body. How it looked. How it felt.
“I wish it was nine years ago and I could slide on top of you and just do it,” she told him.
He reached for her. Pulled her down beside him. Settled her head on his shoulder. Another familiar position, from even before they ever had sex. Back when they’d been in love but not lovers. And still later, too, on Sunday afternoons in the park or watching sports on TV.
“It’ll come, babe,” he said. “One way or another, it’ll come.”
She hoped he was right. Because in the bathroom, she’d been thinking about having another baby someday. A pregnancy he could share in every step of the way. A birth he could be present for.
He broke into her thoughts. “I have something to ask you.”
“What?”
“Something I wanted to ask a million times back then...”
“What?” she asked again, really curious now.
“Will you marry me, Faye? As soon as humanly possible? As in, let’s go to Reno this weekend and make it happen? With Elliott there as our witness, best man and...to walk you up the aisle?”
She sat up. “You don’t know if I’ll ever be able to...”
He sat up, too. “Don’t you get it, Faye? I don’t care. I mean, I care for your sake. I want you happy and enjoying every aspect of life, but as for the rest of it... I know what it feels like to make love to you. If we have to use...other means...I’ll use those memories. Even the feel of your hand on me would be heaven. And I’ll find a way to give you the same pleasure, if you want it. Trust me. We�
�ll find a way.”
He could touch her right then and she’d probably explode. As long as he wasn’t on top of her. Or...
She didn’t dry up.
Even thinking about being entered, she didn’t dry up.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want to worry about being left.
She didn’t want to live without Reese. She didn’t want him to live alone, either. Or to be hurt.
And Elliott...
“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Yes. Yes. I will marry you. This weekend. In Reno.”
It wasn’t the proposal she’d once dreamed of. Or the wedding she used to envision for them. It was so much more.
It was right.
“I will love you forever,” she told him.
“And I will be with you forever,” he said, looking her in the eye. “Even if something happens to me, I will be here in spirit, Faye. Always and forever.”
Faye wanted to protect herself. To hold back.
But she laid her body down on top of his, placed her lips on his, and gave him the very last, hidden piece of her heart.
For all their sakes.
* * * * *
Be sure to check out the other recent books
in Tara Taylor Quinn’s
WHERE SECRETS ARE SAFE miniseries
HIS FIRST CHOICE
THE PROMISE HE MADE HER
HER SECRET LIFE
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His Last Rodeo
by Claire McEwen
CHAPTER ONE
KIT HAYES STOOD on the steps of the Benson library and watched the love of her life leave town. Again.
Arch Hoffman, duffel bag in the back of his truck, was waiting at the last red light before Main Street turned into highway.
He never used to have a truck. When she’d last seen him a year ago, he was just out of prison and didn’t own much.
“That jerk.” Kit’s best friend, Lila, moved to stand next to her. “Why was he even in town? I though he’d moved to San Francisco.”
Kit shrugged. “He must have come to see his family.” If he’d been here any longer than a day or two, she’d have been sure to run into him in this tiny California town. It was just a few picturesque roads mushed up against the east side of the Sierras.
“Where’d he get that fancy truck?”
The afternoon sun glinted off the chrome bumper of the red Ford. “He probably has money now,” Kit said. “From his sculptures.”
“Oh, right. I’d forgotten he’s the next big thing in the art world.” Lila’s tone made it clear she was anything but impressed.
Kit wished she could care so little. A few months ago, there had been a photo of Arch in the Benson Record, gorgeous and smiling, taken at an art show in San Diego. She’d stared at the photo for a long time. Years ago—when he’d loved Kit—the only section of the paper Arch would have made was the police blotter. He’d been her charming criminal back then. Neither of them could have imagined he’d become the town’s prodigal son.
The light changed and Arch’s truck accelerated, oblivious to Kit’s scrutiny. Heading back to the city—home to the woman he loved. The pretty, perfect Mandy Allen, who’d swiped Arch’s heart just as easily as he used to swipe cars.
Kit shifted, trying to ease the jealousy that squeezed her chest. It may have been over a year since she’d seen Arch, but the feeling still gripped her every time she thought of him and Mandy together.
“You need to let him go,” Lila said.
“I’m trying. Trust me, I hate feeling like this.” Kit held up her stack of books.
Lila glanced at the titles. “More self-help books? You’ve read about a million of them already and they haven’t worked. You need to get back out there. You need a date.” She bumped her shoulder gently into Kit’s and gave her a sly smile. “You need to get laid.”
Kit bumped her right back. “Shush! We’re at the library, not the bar.”
“No one heard.” But Lila lowered her voice. “Seriously, reading about feeling better won’t make you feel better. You need to do something.”
“I’ve been doing stuff.” Kit had kept busy at work, trained for a half marathon last summer and gone skiing. “I even took that pole dancing class you talked me into. Which was a disaster, by the way.”
Lila grinned. “I didn’t realize it was at the seniors’ center when I signed us up.”
Kit laughed. Which felt good. Seeing Arch drive away left tire marks of regret in her muddy heart. “I’m scarred for life. Images of the seniors getting funky are burned on my brain.”
“You laughed so hard after that class. It was better than therapy. Maybe we need to go back. I think their spring session should start any day now.”
“No!” Kit didn’t know what would help her get out of this black hole of jealousy and loss, but she was sure the cure wasn’t pole dancing. She just had to keep reading and keep trying. She’d been working on not loving Arch for almost half her life—she had to be successful eventually.
She’d almost managed to unlove him. During the decade after he’d walked away from their four-year relationship, she’d done okay. She’d learned to live without him, had some fun, even had a few boyfriends. All in all, she’d done pretty well, until he showed up again.
The moment she’d seen him, all her old feelings had flooded back, almost as if he’d never left. And they wouldn’t go away again.
Stupid, stupid feelings.
Meanwhile, Arch had fallen in love and moved to San Francisco, and she still didn’t feel free of him. Somehow Arch’s success as an artist, his happy relationship with Mandy, had made Kit realize how stuck she’d become: living in Benson, looking after her dad, working at a bar. She was thirty-two years old but still living the way she had throughout most of her twenties. It was a depressing thought.
Lila glanced at her phone. “You’ve got to get to work. Are you okay? Do you want me to take your shift for you?”
Kit shook her head. The last thing she needed was to sit at home and think about Arch. “Work will be good for me. Plus, a shipment was delivered this afternoon and I told Chris I’d check it in.”
&nbs
p; “I hope Chris is paying you a lot more than he pays me. You’re practically running the bar for him.”
“I’m glad he gives me a lot of responsibility.” Kit took a breath, suddenly ready to say aloud what she’d kept to herself until now. “I’ve learned a lot and I’ve saved some money. When he retires, I think I want to buy the place.”
“Really?” Lila’s green eyes were wide. “That’s...that’s great.” The false enthusiasm in her voice rang too loud in the quiet afternoon.
“What’s wrong? You don’t think I can do it?”
“No.” Lila put her hand on Kit’s arm. “No, of course that’s not it. You’re great at running the bar. It’s just...you love reading those travel books and you’ve been taking those online Spanish classes. I just thought you’d—” The pale skin of her cheeks stained pink. “That’s what you want? To stay in Benson and own the Dusty Saddle? I just didn’t realize.”
Kit inhaled the chill of the early spring evening, hoping it would clear the Arch-induced melancholy from her heart. “What I want is to travel. To move to Spain or South America or someplace where I will never have to see or hear about Arch Hoffman again. But I don’t get to do that. I have to look after Dad. So owning the Saddle is a pretty good plan B.”
“Are you sure you can’t fix things for your dad? Did you ever go talk with that ex-boss of his?”
“Mr. Ellis.” The evil rancher. “Yes, he finally agreed to meet with me last week. But it didn’t help much. He showed me all these papers. Said my dad borrowed money against his pension years ago and never paid it back. So he’s only entitled to a hundred dollars a month.”
“What about Social Security?”
“It helps a little. But not enough. Even if it did, even if I could travel, Dad’s depressed. He’s lost without his work. I swear if I didn’t stop by his house every day, he’d never get out of bed.”
“I’m sorry.” Lila’s eyes were wide with sympathy. She understood hard times—had seen plenty of her own. “Well, it is a good plan B. I can see you owning the bar, and you’re certainly a great manager. Almost no one complains ever since you took over the scheduling from Chris.”
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