That was true, but this was different. “I’ll take the heat. I’ll tell her I told you I didn’t want you there.”
“Don’t you?”
He did, but not like this. “I don’t want you railroaded into a dinner with my family.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Heath could see it in her eyes—she wanted him to say that he wanted her to go to dinner. She had opened a door between them. Just a crack, just enough to gauge the weather. With his answer, he could pull that door wide or shove it closed.
All he had to do was say yes. Which was the truth. He wanted her at dinner—he wanted her, period. He’d had to set his hands in his lap because he couldn’t trust himself not to touch her.
All he had to do was say yes.
“No.”
Her face changed again, this time in a way he couldn’t pinpoint. She’d dimmed, or something.
The door had closed.
She stood up and left the restaurant.
Heath didn’t turn to watch her go. But as he sat there, he realized that the whole room had gone quiet, and he didn’t need to look around to know that every eye was on him.
Chapter Eight
When he got back to the ranch that night, about half an hour before dinner, he went to his own house and took a hot shower, scrubbing the soot away and then standing with his hands on the wall, letting the scalding stream beat against his neck and shoulders.
Gabe walking out on him had really fucked up his day. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything else—and the stack of fucked-up pickets in his shop was a testament to that.
But it was right that she had—it was good. She was too young. He was too damaged. She had damage of her own. He was trapped in his past. She was trying for a new start. And the town would devour her whole and then spit her out on the highway to Boise if they started something and it didn’t go right.
They should stay away from each other. Eventually, when there wasn’t anything meaty between them to feed on, the town tongues would stop wagging.
Heath didn’t believe in signs or fate. He believed in actions and consequences. The draw he felt to her was not some cosmic force bringing them together. It was nothing more than empathy. He saw a pain in her that he knew well.
He’d been right to tell her no. She’d been right to walk away.
He shut off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist, and walked, dripping, to the kitchen. He needed a drink.
*****
Stepping into the big house, he saw his father, brother, and brother-in-law in the living room, and he headed there. The kids were setting the dining room table. No sign of the dog—he was probably in the kitchen, hoping for scraps.
He nodded toward the men in the living room, then headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. First thing he had to do was set Emma straight about Gabe. Emma was the baby of the family, but in the ten years since their mother’s death, she’d stepped into those boots for all of them. She was sweet and truly kind, but she had the Cahill iron will, and she could force her way with kindness better than the worst bully could with violence.
Still, he had to get her off of Gabe.
As he neared the kitchen entrance, he heard two female voices, both of them familiar, but only one of them expected. Emma. And Gabe.
He stopped, shocked, and listened. They were chatting about food. With trepidation and surprise speeding up his heart, he went in.
Emma beamed at him. “Well finally! Food’s ready! I was about to send Wes up to drag your butt down here.”
“Sorry.” He looked at Gabe when he said it and was rewarded with a wry lift at one corner of her mouth. On the information in that cute smirk, Heath was able to make a pretty good guess about why she was here after all. Emma and her Cahill will.
Irresistible force.
He smiled back. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Okay, don’t just stand there,” Emma chirped. “You two can help me get these dishes on the table. WES!” she yelled suddenly, and Gabe jumped a little. “GET THE KIDS! EVERYBODY WASH UP! TIME TO EAT!”
*****
“How d’you like it up at the Moondancer, Gabe?” Heath’s father handed her the basket of rolls as he asked.
She took it and then passed it to Heath at her side without taking one for herself.
They were on the second pass, and Gabe’s plate was still fairly full from the first. Emma had put on a real feast: beef tenderloin, mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, green beans and onions, sweet corn on the cob, hard rolls, and salad. Wednesday Family Dinner was generally a full-plate affair, but this was nearly a Thanksgiving-level menu. Heath had to assume she’d adjusted her plans after inviting Gabe.
It was like his sister was selling him to her: hook up with the crabby cowboy, get this great family for free!
This enthusiasm about his love life was a new thing. He’d only ever been with one woman; he and Sybil had been high school sweethearts. He’d gone to college and she hadn’t, but they’d stayed together and faithful—well, he had, and he’d thought at the time that she had; now he wasn’t so sure—and then they’d gotten married when he’d graduated and come home. A few years later, they’d started a family.
A few years after that, everything was over.
But Sybil had practically grown up with him at this dinner table, so there’d never been much fuss about Heath’s romantic inclinations. There’d been a few pointed conversations about keeping his priorities straight and finishing college before anything else, but Heath hadn’t ever really been tempted to do otherwise. His parents had raised their children to value learning, and they’d all gone off to learn the world, even though there’d been little doubt that they’d all come right back home. And they all had.
He’d felt secure in the knowledge that Sybil would wait for him to graduate, that she would be there. And she had been.
Everyone had known forever that Sybil Miller and Heath Cahill were a done deal.
They’d all also known that she was an alcoholic, just like both her parents, but, family and town alike, they took care of their own. Everybody, including Heath, had thought that patience and love would get her through. They’d been wrong.
“I like it a lot,” Gabe answered Heath’s father. “It’s so beautiful, and the people up there are nice. The hands all let me pester them with questions about their work. I’m learning a lot.”
“You get along with Catherine okay? She can be difficult.”
A bit of guarded hesitation crossed her brow. “Yeah, I do. It’s her place, and she runs it well.”
Knowing Catherine like he did, Heath didn’t have to work hard to see between those lines.
Logan laughed and spooned another helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Diplomatic. So, you think you’ll stay on there?”
“Well, I don’t know. Maybe. I’m just taking things as they come right now. I haven’t figured much out yet.” She darted a glance at Heath and tried to hide that she had by picking up the tongs and grabbing another cob of corn from the platter near their plates. There was already an untouched cob on her plate.
“Of course you haven’t.” Emma’s voice dripped with maternal concern. “I don’t know how you figure out anything after all you’ve been through.” She shook her head and put an arm around each of her kids, who had been focused on their food and mostly oblivious to the conversation around them. “I don’t know what I’d do if I found myself alone in the world.”
At his side, Gabe flinched, and a tremor passed through the politely interested, warm-but-careful expression she’d been wearing.
“Emma, shut up.” Before he could control it, his hand reached out under the table and gave Gabe’s thigh a squeeze. It turned to stone under his grip, and he pulled back. “I’m sorry.” He was apologizing for his sister and himself.
She smiled at him, brave and sad. “It’s okay.” Turning to Emma, she added, “You’re right. It’s hard. I guess that’s why I’m not making plan
s. I don’t know what plans to make. Everything’s changed so much. I’m just trying to find somewhere to…I don’t know.” She sighed. “Just somewhere.”
“That’s a good thing about a life out here,” his father said with a compassionate smile. “Life just rolls on, same’s ever. I’m the fifth Cahill generation to run this ranch. My boys’ll be the sixth. This house has stood here almost a hundred and fifty years. Out here, we change with the land, not the wind.” He leaned across the corner of the table and took hold of her hand. “So if you’re looking for somewhere to take a deep breath, maybe you found it.”
*****
By the time they’d finished dessert—peach pie—Emma had finagled Gabe into agreeing to riding lessons, and, of course, she’d volunteered Heath’s services as teacher. He’d given up trying to stop his sister’s runaway train, deciding that when he and Gabe were alone, they could figure it out.
And now they were alone. He closed the passenger door on his truck and went around to climb in behind the wheel. As he started the engine and pulled onto their road, he said, “I’m sorry. That had to be strange for you.”
“It wasn’t. Not really. I like your family.”
He’d never been good at small talk, and his head was full of conflict and still reeling from his sister’s matchmaker assault, so Heath couldn’t find any words to say. Gabe fell into silence, too. Whenever he looked over, she was staring out the side window. The twilight lit her features in soft grey. The distance between them seemed greater than the space in the cab of his truck.
Maybe they wouldn’t figure it out after all.
For four years, Heath had shut himself down. It was what he’d wanted: to be left alone. To do his work and go back to his family home. He was angry, and he was sad, and he didn’t expect that he ever wouldn’t be. He didn’t blame all women for Sybil’s betrayals, it wasn’t that. It was simply that he didn’t have enough left of himself to offer to anyone else. He’d had to cage his emotions in iron so they wouldn’t fly loose and out of control. So he could keep breathing.
That hadn’t changed, had it? What could he offer anyone, least of all a young woman like Gabe, with pain of her own?
Nothing.
So that answered the question. He would back Emma off, and the whole damn town if he had to, and leave Gabe alone. It was the right thing to do.
Then why did it feel so shitty?
They were halfway up to the Moondancer, having ridden in silence all the way, when Gabe’s voice pulled him out of his frustrated reverie.
“Can I ask you something?”
He cleared his throat and found his tongue. “Sure. Might not answer, but you can ask.”
“You seem different from the rest of your family. A little. Not much. I mean, it’s just an impression, it’s not like I know any of you, and it’s probably crappy for me to say something like that, but…yeah. Sorry. Never mind.”
Not offended but curious, Heath said, “No, it’s okay. I wonder why you think so.”
“Okay, this is probably dumb. But the first thing is how you look. Your dad and your brother, and Emma’s husband—they all have thick beards. Wes’s is epic. And kind of long hair. You don’t. At that table, you were like ‘one of these things is not like the others.’
“‘One of these things doesn’t belong’?”
“No—see, it was crappy for me to say anything.”
He’d only been teasing; he should have known better than to try that. In truth, it moved him that she’d picked up on his difference. “It’s fine. I’d never thought of it like that, but you’re not wrong. I keep my hair short and my face shaved because I work around fire every day, and it’s hot—not to mention possibly dangerous. I’m not trying to be different from my family. We’re all close. But you’re right—I’m not quite in step. Drives my old man crazy that I don’t work the ranch.”
“Why don’t you?”
He laughed. “That’s a big topic. Lot of reasons.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“S’okay. There’s just not much time on this drive for a talk that deep. Ask me again sometime, and I’ll tell you.”
More quiet while Heath ransacked his brain for something to say to hold up his end of a conversation.
“You like beards?” He rolled his eyes. If that was the best he could do, he should just shut the hell up.
“Um, I guess. It depends.”
She didn’t say more. Heath slowed and turned onto the road that would become the Moondancer drive. They were out of time.
“You shouldn’t have one, though.” Her tone suggested that she’d been debating internally the wisdom of saying that aloud and had spoken before she’d fully persuaded herself.
“No?” He drove through the Moondancer gate—which he’d forged.
“No. It would cover up your dimples.”
That statement hung in the air as he drove up and around the edge of the compound to the little bunkhouse parking lot. The big house was brightly lit, and the parking lot was full. There must have been one of those corporate retreats going on.
He parked, and as soon as he had the truck in Park, Gabe put her hand on the door handle. “Thank you for the ride—and for dinner.”
When she moved to open the door, he dropped his hand on her thigh. “Wait up. I’ll walk you.”
She laughed. “You’re a gentleman, but you don’t have to.” With a forward tilt of her head, she added. “I’m just right there in House 2.”
It was more than the courtliness his parents had taught him. He was acting on instinct that was in conflict with intellect, but it was more than just manners. “Wait up.” He pushed lightly on her thigh, as if that would hold her in place, and then jumped out of the truck and came around to her side. She waited for him.
He helped her down, and they walked the ten or fifteen feet to her bunkhouse. It was dark, except for a light over the door.
“You live alone in there?”
“No, but right now I only have one roommate, and she’s working the cocktail party tonight.”
They were at the door, but he didn’t want to leave her company. So he stretched his small-talk abilities and came up with something. “You like living in the bunkhouse?”
Not something good, but something.
“Yeah, it’s okay.” She turned away from the door and looked up at him. She wasn’t exactly short, but he was six-four and more than a head taller.
With nothing else he could think to say to extend the conversation, such as it was, and unable to say good night, Heath looked down at her silently. The golden shine of the light above the door was a spotlight on her beauty: her deep, flecked brown eyes, the point of her chin, the plump swell of her lips.
What Gabe did next threw him for a hell of a loop. She picked up his right hand—still scabbed from the beating he’d laid on Black less than a week before—in both of hers. She bent her head and kissed his healing knuckles.
Just a light kiss, her lips soft and warm, sending shockwaves through him, and then she looked back up. Her expression was open yet unreadable—her lips slightly parted, but her eyes wide and dark, full of haunted age. She still held his hand.
“Why’d you do that?”
That sweet mouth curved up. “You’re so big. I’m not tall enough to reach your lips without your help, and I wasn’t sure you’d help.”
Ah, damn. Damn, damn, damn.
Turning his hand, he pulled hers up and over his shoulder. “Like you said, I’m a gentleman. I always help a lady.”
She took a step forward, bringing their bodies into full contact, and he bent down, slid his hands around her face and into waves and waves of hair like sable silk, and covered her mouth with his.
She tasted like peaches and felt like velvet, and when she moaned, her breath skimmed over his cheek like the lightest caress. He touched his tongue to her barely-parted lips, and she opened for him, and he knew right then, as he searched the warm wet of her mouth, as her tongue moved with his, as her hands
clenched at the back of his neck and his twisted in her hair, that he would take everything she might offer him, and he’d find something inside himself to give to her.
For the first time in four years, Heath felt not only what he’d lost, but also what he’d been missing. He could feel his heart beating for the first time since that night when he’d knelt on the road, held down, held back, by his friends, by his brother, helpless, and listened to his daughter screaming until she stopped.
That memory intruded on the moment, and he broke away, gasping and disoriented. Gabe kept her arms tight around his neck and didn’t let him go far.
“Heath?”
He blinked away the fire in his mind and smiled at the woman in his arms. “Sorry. I should say good night and let you go on inside.”
Her brow creased and then smoothed again. “Why?”
Why, indeed. His cock ached and throbbed—sensing the possibility of the touch of something more than his own hand, it almost seemed to be stretching out to her. And he was done pretending that he could leave her alone.
But she was young, and they were both screwed up, and they should tread lightly. With caution.
“I like you, Gabe. I think maybe Emma wasn’t so wrong to push us together.”
“I don’t feel like she had to push that hard.”
He grinned, and his newly invigorated heart lightened. “I don’t guess she did. But I don’t want to rush you. Like you said at dinner, you got a lot of changes you’re dealing with. You don’t know where you’re going to land.”
She shifted in his hold, and he felt her fingers move through his hair, scratch lightly at his scalp. He nearly shivered at the electric pleasure in the touch, and his eyes closed.
“That’s true. But I do know that this—right now, here—is the very first time in more than two years that I haven’t felt alone.”
“Yeah. Four years for me.”
Somewhere (Sawtooth Mountains Stories Book 1) Page 9