by Maisey Yates
That made her giggle. “I’m not laughing at your...at you. I’m laughing because I’m happy.”
“That made you happy?”
She looked up at him, smiling. “That made me happy.”
He reached down, sliding his thumb over her cheekbone, his green eyes serious. “I like making you happy.”
“Yeah,” she returned. “I like it too.”
“You didn’t have to listen to that story,” he said.
“I wanted to. You’re sleeping with me. And if you can’t tell me about all of that...well, then you can’t tell anyone, can you?”
He took a deep breath, his chest pitching sharply. “That was the plan.”
“To not tell anyone?”
“There’s nothing to tell. At most, I’m a coward who watched his best friend die.”
She hauled herself upward, moved so she was sitting next to him. “You’re not a coward. What happened happened. And it happened like it did. I don’t regret it. That’s a hard thing for me to...it’s hard. It makes me feel like a traitor, but wishing it had gone differently wouldn’t change it anyway and then you wouldn’t be here.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Yes, Alex, it would be.”
“You lost enough already with your parents. Then him too. And I can’t help but feel regret.”
“But you can’t,” she said. “You shouldn’t. You’re here. We have to live, Alex. We’re here, and we’re alive. Jason isn’t. And he can’t be, no matter how much we wish it were different. So we have to do the living.”
“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice ragged. “I’m not sure I know how to do that.”
“Well, you can learn, right? I’m learning things too.”
“Yeah, you’re learning pretty damn quick.”
Pleasure spread through her. And since ignoring her pride had worked so well only a few moments ago, she thought she might as well go for broke. “Will you spend the night with me tonight?”
For a moment, she thought he might tell her no. Thought that he might give her some lame-ass excuse about boundaries.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
She squinted. “Is it just because I gave you a blow job?”
He snorted, standing and tugging his jeans up over his lean hips. “Maybe. Although, I probably would have anyway, but it has to be said that I’m in a pretty good mood now.” He smiled, and this time, the lines around his mouth looked deeper. “I mean, a good mood, all things considered.”
Yeah, good was an awfully simplistic way to describe the mood, the moment, but she also felt that he knew that. That there was more to this moment than simply good.
It felt like a release, like a relief, so there was that at least.
“Now we have to go downstairs and face everybody. And you know they’re going to know something happened,” she said.
“Hey, you’re the one who attacked me.”
“I did not attack you.”
“Funny—” he treated her to a lopsided grin “—I feel pretty damn attacked.”
“Come on, Alex. You’re a soldier. You should be able to withstand anything.”
“Not anything,” he said, moving his thumb up and down her face, sliding it around the edge of her lower lip. “Not anything.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
IT WAS BISON DAY. It was nice, and it was clear, and Alex had woken up in Clara’s arms. So all in all, he had a feeling it was going to be a pretty decent day.
He had warned his brothers that he wouldn’t be down at the ranch that day, that he had obligations at Clara’s that had to be fulfilled. They, of course, had winked and nudged each other and put the word obligations in air quotes because they were jackasses.
But Alex didn’t care. Something had changed between him and Clara since their talk at the house. Since he had spilled his guts about everything that had happened with Jason. Since he had told her the whole story.
He had never wanted her to have any of those images in her mind. And no, he hadn’t been graphic, though sadly, his memories were. But just giving her that many details made him feel like a prick.
She said she could take it. Told him she could handle it. That she wanted to. And he’d wanted to treat her like she could. Like she was that strong. Because hadn’t she asked him to do that about a hundred times already?
So he had.
They hadn’t spoken of Jason since then. Though, he had spent the last three nights at her place, eating dinner, having sex. And during the days, he’d been getting up early to go to the Laughing Irish and handle his obligations there, before returning to work at her place.
But today and tomorrow would be entirely devoted to the bison. Clara had the day off from Grassroots, and she was standing by to help oversee the project.
When he walked onto the porch he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and watching as the air caught hold of it, making it bloom into a cloud that floated away on the breeze. It was the kind of air that bit you right in the throat, that early-morning sharpness that he’d come to love over the years.
He’d hated it at first, sure. Because early mornings always meant not enough sleep and too much hard work. As a teenager at the Laughing Irish he’d just wanted to crawl straight back into bed.
Not now though. Funny how things changed.
Suddenly Clara came bounding down the path from where the beehives were. Her cheeks were cherry red, and she had a big smile on her face. She was wearing a knit hat and a sweater that conformed to her petite curves.
There was something strange about this. Something domestic. And he didn’t even hate it. In fact, part of him wanted to linger in it. Just stand there and enjoy this moment, standing on the porch, Clara running up to greet him, looking at him like he was every inch the returning hero he knew he wasn’t.
Maybe she needs you.
He shoved that thought aside.
“Where have you been?”
“Checking the bees,” she said, sounding chipper.
“I need to get a coffeemaker over here,” he said.
“Oh, really?”
“If I’m going to stay the night and go straight to work in the morning, I need me some damn coffee.”
“You’re too dependent on that stuff,” she said, sniffing.
“Says the girl who is powered by sugar.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “You’re super judgey, Alex.”
“Somehow, I think you’ll survive,” he returned.
“Somehow,” she said, “with hot chocolate and bison.” She did a small hop. “The bison are coming!”
“Look at you,” he said, amused by her enthusiasm. “The Paul Revere of bison.”
She grinned. “That does beg the question, are the bison coming by land or by sea?”
“I don’t believe they are seagoing bison.”
“But you aren’t certain.”
“I am fairly certain, actually.”
The two of them walked toward the barn, and Clara was almost bouncing next to him. He reached out and grabbed hold of her hand, squeezing it a couple of times. She looked up at him and smiled. That feeling of rightness overtook him, that same one that he’d had on the porch only a few moments ago.
Someday this would be Clara’s. Clara’s on her own. And then probably Clara’s with another man. And she would be happy. So he should be too.
He checked his phone and saw that he had a text from about twenty minutes ago, the driver of the delivery truck letting them know he would be there soon. That meant they would pull in at any moment.
“I’ve got the heavy equipment all fixed, and we can use that to move the bison between pastures,” he said as they moved into the barn.
“I’m looking forward to that,” she said.
“Good. And then over the next couple of months we should work on hiring a crew. Bison are pretty low-maintenance all told, but you’re going to need some help.”
“That’s good. I do like a low-maintenance ruminant.”
“And seagoing ruminants, apparently.”
She shrugged. “I like what I like.”
“Yeah. You also like me, though. So your taste is suspect, on that we can agree.”
“True,” she said brightly. “True.”
That made his chest feel like it was splintering. Folding in on itself. Cutting him deep. Not because she’d meant to hurt him, not even because she had. Just because some part of him—some part long forgotten—felt like it was waking up, battling against defenses inside of him. “You’re right about food, though.”
She nodded. “I am definitely right about food. Other people force themselves to eat things that aren’t very good. They do it because it’s trendy, or they do it because somebody on the internet told them it was good for them. I eat what I like. Because as a man once said to me, the concept of ‘good for you’ is pretty complicated, Alex.”
“He sounds like he was a very smart man.”
She waved a hand. “Eh. He’s okay.”
“I bet he’s handsome too.”
She shot him an evil glare. “His ego is out of control.”
“I imagine it’s because women throw themselves at him all the time. At least, strange blonde ones with an affinity for bison and bees.”
She ignored him. “Life is too upsetting to try to force yourself to eat kale on top of everything else.”
He laughed. “Well, I agree with that. Although, I don’t mind kale.”
“That’s it,” she said, slapping her thigh and pointing dramatically away from them. “Get out.”
“Wait a second, you went to a farm-to-table dinner with that jackass—”
“Asher,” she supplied.
“Isn’t that what I said? You went to that dinner with him, where I’m pretty sure you ate kale—”
“I hid it in the planter. And anyway, I don’t have to eat kale to get you to like me.”
“Oh, really?”
She flashed him a bright smile. “No. Because you already like me. Also, I give blow jobs.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“You’re easy, Donnelly. Face it.”
“That I am,” he said, forcing a smile.
If only that were true. If only he were easy. As easy as he pretended to be. The funny thing was, he knew that Clara saw through the easy stuff he put on display. But, for whatever reason, right now he didn’t challenge her.
When the large livestock truck pulled in, carrying the small herd of bison in the back of it, he and Clara climbed into the front and directed the deliveryman toward the field where the bison would live.
Then they released the gate on the back of the truck. It took the large, lumbering animals a few moments to figure out what was going on, but then, once the first one made his move out of the vehicle, the rest of them followed.
The truck driver helped Alex and Clara guide the animals into the field, and once they were in, Alex closed the gate behind them.
“I assume you know what to do with them from here?” the driver asked.
“We’ve got it covered,” Alex replied.
After the driver left, Alex and Clara just stood at the fence and watched the animals graze. Something washed over him then, a sense of satisfaction. This was the first thing he had really taken control of on his own.
He had wanted to make a difference in the world, and so he had joined the army and become a soldier. That was about bravery. It was about the willingness to obey orders, even when the orders were hard. The willingness to serve a greater cause, and sacrifice yourself if necessary.
This, this was different. This was about building something with his own hands, making decisions. About having to live through the failure, which was not something he had planned on doing in the military.
It hit him then, square in the gut. That was part of what bothered him so much about everything that had happened with Jason. It felt like a failure. A failure on his part. And what he had expected to do with failure in the military was die for it.
He hadn’t been prepared to live with it.
“They’re kind of beautiful,” Clara said, stepping up on the bottom slat of the fence and leaning over the top of it. “I mean, in that way a giant, walking rug can be beautiful.”
“They are,” he said.
But it wasn’t just them. It was the whole place. The sprawling, green fields surrounded by trees, sharp, pine-covered mountains rising up and cutting into the horizon.
This was a place worth building a life in.
At least, for a man who was worthy of that life.
* * *
CLARA AND ALEX stayed outside, working in the garden and with the bees, and watching the bison graze until the sun sank behind the mountains, and blue twilight began to bleed over the landscape.
Then they walked back to the barn and spread a blanket out on the ground, a lantern hanging on a peg on the wall, illuminating the space with a pool of yellow light.
Alex took a cool chest out of the bed of his truck and brought it in, producing sandwiches—exactly the kind that Clara liked—and Coke.
They sat there with the barn doors wide open, looking out at the landscape beyond. The mountains looked like spilled ink, blotting out the stars, and the moon shone bright and clear.
“This was a good day, Alex,” she said. “And I’ve had enough truly awful days to know that when you have a good day you have to hang on to it for as long as you can.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, tipping his can of soda back.
“I think I can count how many good days I’ve had.”
“Tell me about your good days, Clara,” he said, leaning back, resting on his forearms.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to smile, because otherwise she might cry. “My fifth birthday.”
“That’s a good age. For most people, I imagine.”
“I remember it being pretty good. I got a pony,” she said, shaking her head, flipping her hair out of her face and laughing. “I’m not kidding.”
“Was that your first horse?”
“Yes. And I loved her. There was also a pink cake with those little round sprinkles that make the frosting kind of crunchy.”
“Definitely a good day.”
“The first time I saw Jason in his uniform,” she said, swallowing hard, trying to keep tears from falling. “I was so proud of him I thought I was going to explode. We all went out to dinner. We went to Beaches, which we never did, because it was so expensive. Mom didn’t eat, but I didn’t really think anything of it.” She blinked. “Maybe it wasn’t such a good day.”
“Did you feel happy then?”
“Yes.”
“Then it sounds like it was good.”
“When I got my first ballet shoes,” she said, “I never wanted to take them off. I shuffled around the hall in them, doing really wild leaps, because I was only six, and I didn’t know how to do any actual ballet positions yet.” She laughed. “I wore them outside to the barn to help Dad feed the horses.”
“Did you love to dance?”
That was another thing that felt weighted. Heavy. Why were all her good memories twisted now? Gray. Faded with time. The pony she’d had to give up after her mother had died because there’d been no way her father could handle the extra animal. One that wasn’t contributing in any way. And Clara didn’t have much time to ride anyway, since she had to help around the house with chores.
Jason in his uniform. Joining the military.
&nb
sp; She wondered if he’d died in that uniform.
Her mother not eating, because she had been ill, even though no one had known it yet.
The ballet shoes.
The one thing she had ever loved to do off the ranch, that had been the first thing to go after her mother had died.
Too expensive, unnecessary, not enough time.
The idea of going back to the dance studio, where she had first found out about her mother’s death, had felt like an impossibility anyway.
“Yes,” she said, the word strangled. “I did love to dance.”
It had been stolen, twisted, along with so many other things.
“You were practicing for a performance the day you found out about your mother?”
She nodded. “Yes. And I never went back after that.”
“You never got to perform it.”
She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t face the idea of ever going back. Anyway, there was so much to do around the ranch. We all tried to go on while Mom was sick. We all tried to pretend that we were going to get back to normal. So that whole time we didn’t interrupt what we were doing. But then...after she died... Well, Jason had to help take care of me, I had to take care of things in the house and around the ranch. My dad seemed to have four times the work he used to have, but I think he was just burying his grief.”
“And you quit doing everything you loved.”
She drew her knees up to her chest, misery expanding in her breast. She nodded silently. “Yes.”
“Dance for me, Clara.”
She looked up at him, at those sincere green eyes. “I don’t remember how.”
“I think you do. I bet you remember the dance you were practicing, the one you never got to perform. Show me. I’m here. And I want to see it.”
Clara’s heart was thundering hard, and honestly, she wanted to. She wanted so badly, in this moment, at the end of this very perfect day, to recapture something she had never thought she could have again. That feeling she’d had when she’d danced. That simple, sweet happiness that had been lost on that day all those years ago. It wouldn’t be good. She knew that. She was out of practice, and she had long ago let those muscles get soft.