Slow Burn Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  “Fix it,” Cain said.

  Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen. Finn could hear his brother’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. But he just stood there, his hand wrapped around the whiskey tumbler.

  Then he tilted it back and took it all in one swallow.

  He closed his eyes, and all he could see was Lane’s face. All he could see was the pain he had caused her. He had pushed. He had pushed, and he had pushed.

  His heart squeezed tight, like someone had punched a hole through his chest and grabbed it, yanked it out.

  All he could do was picture the way he’d treated her before they slept together for the first time. That day he’d stormed into the Mercantile, yelled at her, taken her in his arms.

  He had been pushing then. But she had stayed.

  He had asked, he had taken, he had forced her out of her comfort zone. And she had proven that she was up to the challenge. The challenge that was him.

  And tonight, when she had asked for something from him, he had done what he did best. He had done exactly what Cain had accused him of doing.

  He had tried to make her run. To prove that he was right about himself. That there was nothing in him worth loving enough for anybody to stay.

  He had decided, when she had walked away with all the hurt in her eyes, that it proved his point.

  Right. He was an ass.

  He braced his hands on the bar top, lowering his head. He closed his eyes, and images flashed through his mind. Lane, tonight, mixed together with that day his mother had left.

  He didn’t even have a real image of his mom walking away. He had made one up in his head. A kind of strange vision of her walking off into the sunset with a small suitcase that didn’t even look like anything she’d actually had. And he was sure she hadn’t walked anywhere. She had most definitely gone with her boyfriend. And they had taken a car. Still, that was the image that lived in his brain.

  There was nothing real there. Everything about it was imagined. Because it had been much less dramatic than that. He had come home from school one day to find the house empty of all her things.

  She hadn’t taken the pictures. That was the most notable thing to him. All of the pictures of his childhood, the pictures of the two of them together, the life they had built after his father had left... She had well and truly left it behind. No reminders needed.

  He swallowed hard, his throat aching, his limbs shaking.

  He had tried to be everything for her. He had tried to protect her. He had gone to his grandfather’s ranch to give her space, to give her time alone over the summer. He had done his very best to be good. To never intrude on her life.

  Except, he hadn’t been able to watch that man take his fists to her face.

  But even then, she had found him wrong. Found him disappointing.

  And it had been the final thing that pushed her away.

  How would he ever know? How would he ever know what the last straw would be with anyone? His father had just left. There had been no warning. There was nothing to learn from. With his mother... He had tried. He had.

  He had thought he was doing the right thing, and it had gone the worst possible way.

  How would he ever know if that would happen again?

  Trust.

  He imagined Lane again, pressing her hands against his chest, looking at him with earnestness in her brown eyes. She was right. This wasn’t a hypothetical wife. Not a hypothetical love. It was her.

  The woman he had damn well loved from the moment he first laid eyes on her more than ten years ago.

  He felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse. Following on the heels of feeling like he’d been punched clean through the chest, it was a very heavy feeling.

  He did love her. He always had. And he was no better than she was. He was nothing but a coward.

  He had told himself all those years he was protecting her, because she was vulnerable. That she wouldn’t be able to handle him. That he would ruin the friendship.

  But he had simply been afraid of the strength of his own feelings. And when he hadn’t been able to control them anymore, he had taken a different approach. Had pushed the line to try and get what he wanted, while half expecting her to run the other way. And, deep down, part of him had figured that if she did run it might be a win anyway. Because he would know. Because it would be over. Because his heart wouldn’t exist in this damned limbo where he was desperate to regain all control of it while Lane Jensen held on to it.

  Control. All of these years he had tried to keep control.

  He had found some of it on the ranch, and then when his grandfather had died he had lost even that semblance of it. And now, he could really feel it all being wrenched from his grasp. He had messed everything up. He had nothing of his own. He didn’t even have his best friend.

  Standing in this giant, beautiful ranch house, and outfitted with everything he could possibly want, everything he could possibly need, it seemed a little absurd to contemplate. But he had less now than he’d ever had at any moment in the past decade.

  There was a freedom in that. A strange, exhilarating freedom. He had nothing left to lose. He was standing here in the middle of his worst fear. Lane had left him. He had succeeded in pushing her away.

  But it didn’t have to be over. Like Cain had said, he could be a sob story or he could be a man.

  Finn Donnelly was a damn man.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LANE WANTED BEREAVEMENT LEAVE. Or at least for someone to bring her bereavement food. She had made three casseroles, and she didn’t even want to eat them. And now, she was manning the counter at her store knowing that she looked like a wraith and not particularly wanting to do anything about it.

  By the time the third little old lady had told her she would be prettier if she smiled, she considered trying. But she only gave it the barest bit of consideration.

  She was moping halfway through the day when Alison came in with a box of pie in her arms. “Cassie told me that you looked like you needed butter when she walked by earlier today.” Alison frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  Lane reached down and grabbed a couple of receipts that were stacked on the counter. She threw them up in the air and made an explosion noise.

  “Yeah,” Alison said, “I don’t speak sound effects. Words would be good.”

  Lane rested her elbows on the counter, and her cheeks in her hands. She knew that she looked pathetic, as pathetic as she felt. She didn’t even care. In fact, she was somewhat satisfied by it. That her exterior so fully matched her interior.

  “I have no words,” she told her friend.

  “That is deeply concerning,” Alison said, setting down the pie. “You always have words. An excess of words. I have never, not once, seen you without them.”

  Lane lifted her head and spread her hands. “None.”

  “Okay, drama queen. Find some.”

  Lane opened her mouth to say what was wrong, she really did, but then her throat got tight, and her eyes filled with tears. She really didn’t want to cry in the store, because a real customer could come in at any moment and she didn’t want to be some cliché weeping woman, blubbering at work over a guy.

  But, she really felt like blubbering at work over a guy.

  “Okay,” Alison said. “Now you’re really scaring me.”

  “It’s Finn. He...he doesn’t love me.”

  Alison’s arms were around her before she could say anything else. “I will cut him,” she said, “right in the junk.”

  “Thanks,” Lane said, her voice muffled.

  “I probably won’t actually do that,” Alison said. “I’ve worked hard to build a life for myself. I really don’t need to end up in prison. Although, I bet if I talked to Sheriff Garrett he would make me a really g
ood deal.” She pulled away from Lane. “He would probably attest to my psychological issues and general rage at the male species.”

  “I really appreciate your willingness to go on psychiatric lockdown over my emotional trauma. But you don’t need to do that. It’s my fault.” She sucked in a shaking breath. “We both said what we wanted... Or, what we didn’t want at the beginning. I’m the one that changed. I decided that I wanted more. Because I decided to do this stupid emotional healing thing, where I let down all my walls and demanded to be loved. What a stupid idea. I should have stayed dysfunctional. Then I would have my friend, and I would have sex.”

  Alison nodded. “I see the appeal.”

  “What was I thinking?”

  “Well, I imagine you were thinking that you couldn’t limit yourself for a man. For anyone. Trust me, if you try to shrink yourself down for a relationship you’ll end up disappearing. I’ve been there. I’ve done that.”

  “Yeah,” Lane said. “But Finn isn’t like Jared. He would never... He would never hurt me on purpose.” Except, last night had felt both pointed and purposeful. “Physically,” she amended.

  “I feel like I’m the wrong person to have walked in on this crisis,” Alison said. “I have nothing but a dim view of romantic relationships.”

  “I know.”

  “But I don’t like to see you sad.” She lifted a shoulder. “I also would be a little sad to be the last single one in the group, so I suppose there’s a silver lining for me.”

  Lane snorted. “Good. I’m glad that your needs are being met.”

  “Hey,” Alison said, popping the lid on the pie box, “I am seeing to your needs too.”

  “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “But I can’t afford to go full food coma until after I close up shop.”

  Alison stood there for a moment. “I have to get back soon.”

  “Sure,” Lane said.

  “I’m training Violet. She’s kind of delightful. I mean, if you can see past the snark. But I actually don’t have to see past the snark to enjoy her. I kind of like it.”

  “Well, at least one of us has a working relationship.”

  Alison frowned. “This sucks,” she said. “I wish it were me. You know, that I could take your place. Because I wouldn’t care.”

  That made Lane laugh with sincerity. “Well, in that case, I wish you could be me too.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She took a deep breath. “What I was doing. I’m going to get the subscription boxes working. I’m going to use products from the Laughing Irish. I’m going to grow my business, just like I wanted to do. Honestly, if I learned anything from dealing with the reappearance of Cord McCaffrey in my life—even if it was just a virtual reappearance—it’s that I can’t afford to let pain from the past dictate my future. Even if it’s really serious pain. Although, in this instance, I suppose I am letting pain from my past motivate me, but, that I think might be okay.”

  “You’re a badass,” Alison said, “and not nearly as pathetic as I was when I went through my divorce. You’re going to rebound nicely.”

  Lane tried to smile. “Thank you. I’ll try to cling to the rebound hope.”

  “I’ll check in with you later. You want Rebecca to come over in about an hour? Then Cassie can come after her.”

  “You don’t have to take tragedy shifts. I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine, but she kind of preferred to do her weeping in private.

  “All right. But if you do, just let me know.”

  “I will.”

  She watched her friend exit the store, and then she looked over at the box of pie. She was... So profoundly grateful to have people to lean on if she needed it. People who knew the whole story. Of Finn, of everything that had come before him. She hadn’t realized what she had been missing before.

  That’s why all of this was worth it. All of the pain. Telling him no. Telling him that she wanted everything.

  Because Alison was right. She couldn’t allow herself to stagnate. To stay back where he was. She had to move forward. Even if it sucked.

  She made a moaning sound and laid her head down on the counter, resting her cheek on her forearms. Then she popped back up. She had to finish the day out. If she could just do that, then maybe she would survive tomorrow too.

  Okay, that was thinking too far ahead.

  She would just focus on breathing through the next hour. Then, maybe someday, she would breathe through two hours. Then six. Then twelve. Then maybe she would stretch it out to a whole day.

  She heard a scraping sound, and turned just in time to see a little brown fluff ball scurry across the floor. She jumped back. “Hey,” she scolded, “Robert, you have to stop scaring people.”

  She laughed helplessly. And a tear slipped down her cheek. “Also,” she added, “you are officially my best friend. So do something about how creepy and gross you are.”

  She was talking to a mouse. A mouse she had named Robert. And there was only one person on earth she wanted to tell that story to. But she couldn’t call him. She couldn’t text him with her ridiculousness.

  Suddenly, she felt isolated in a way that was terrifying. A way that transcended anything she had experienced before.

  There was no way to fully understand the gaping hole losing Finn was going to leave in her life. Not immediately. Because he had filled so much of her existence for so long.

  But it could never be the same again. No matter what, it could never be the same.

  She took a breath. She just needed to keep breathing for an hour.

  * * *

  MOST MEN WOULD show up with a bouquet of flowers. Most men who had screwed up beyond reason would bring jewelry. Maybe chocolate.

  Finn Donnelly had a big ass box of dairy products.

  But the woman he loved owned a specialty food store and loved him almost as much for his cheese as she did for his body—if she still loved him at all.

  He parked his truck against the curb and got out, grabbing hold of the box of hastily assembled items and heading toward the door, his heart pounding hard.

  He had never done this before. He had never gone after somebody once they had left.

  When he got to the front door, Lane was standing up against it, turning the lock. She stopped, her eyes meeting his through the window, round and filled with horror. Her expression would have almost been comical if not for the fact that he could see she was in pain, and it was a pain that matched his own.

  He wanted to punch his own face in. For doing this to them.

  “Let me in,” he said.

  “I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone,” she said, leaning on the door. “I refuse.”

  “Dammit, Lane,” he said. “Let me in.”

  “I have to wash my hair. I have to scrub my feet with my pumice stone.”

  “Lane,” he said, “this box is heavy.”

  “I’m hanging out with Robert. We don’t want you here.”

  “I don’t care what the mouse wants,” he said. “I care about what I want. And I want you, so let me in the damn door before I break it down.”

  Well, there went his romantic speech.

  “You want... Me?” she asked, her voice muffled by the door.

  “I’m not shouting at you on Main Street. People are staring.”

  “That,” she said, “is no less than you deserve. But I’m going to let you in.” He heard the lock jiggling, and then she tugged it open. “Don’t make me sorry. Don’t make me cry again.”

  He walked inside before she could change her mind. “I can’t make any guarantees about that.” He shifted his hold on the box. “I brought you some stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Samples. Of the kind of thing you can put in your subscription boxes. And so
me things you can stock here in the store. I worked all day on this stuff, so if you hate it, don’t tell me. At least, don’t tell me today. Or maybe do tell me today, because you probably owe me.”

  She put her hand on his, her expression unspeakably sad. “If you came here to try to pick up our friendship where it left off, you can’t. And you need to go. The hardest thing for me to deal with over the past couple of days—even before you told me you didn’t love me—was realizing that I couldn’t be your friend. I mean, it’s complicated. But I want something more. Friends and lovers aren’t the same. I want a romance. I want you to be... Everything. And friendship is certainly included in that, but there’s something else too. And that’s what I need. That’s scary. It’s terrifying. I don’t like it really. Except, I also found it exciting. To realize that we were on the verge of making something new. Something that was just us. We both have friends. But you’re my only Finn. And I want to be your only Lane. And I want our relationship to be fully unique. Fully ours. So if you came here to banter with me about dairy, I need you to go.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not why I came.” He set the box down on the floor, his heart hammering. He hated this. Feeling nervous. He didn’t do that. Ever. He wasn’t afraid of much of anything. Except, apparently, his tiny little friend whom he loved with all of his heart and soul. “That’s not why I spent all day on this. On low pasteurized milk and a list of cheeses and different soaps.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Soap?”

  “Soap,” he confirmed. “Don’t think for one second I did all that because I wanted to be your friend. Because I wanted to pretend that nothing happened.”

  “Then stop talking about dairy and say the thing you came here to say.”

  “I’m a miserable bastard,” he said, reaching out and taking her hands. “I’m a miserable bastard who expects everybody to walk away from me eventually, and so I try to push them. I do it to everyone. Not to you. Not at first. I met you at your brother’s house, and you were so bright and beautiful, and so obviously sad. And I wanted to take all of that onto myself. I wanted to be everything for you. And I wanted you to be everything for me. For the first time since my mother left I wanted... I wanted more. But I thought if I could put you in a particular place, and tell myself I was protecting you, I wouldn’t have to drive you away. Of course, when my grandfather died and my brothers showed up, everything started breaking apart. And that was when I started pushing. Because I couldn’t control myself around you anymore. So I figured I would either have my way...”