by Sara Hazel
Steph interrupts my wandering thoughts again, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Just what the hell did he give you?” she wonders, blinking down at me slowly. A smile spreads across her face and she leans down, giving me a view of those ample breasts. “Does this mean I get to tease you until the doctor comes back in?”
A growl escapes my throat and I reach for her, to caress her cheek, to run my fingers down the soft flesh of her throat, but a grunt escapes me as the movement shifts my ankle. I feel the blood draining from my face. Apparently the drugs weren’t that good.
“Shit,” I manage, and sheepishly sink back down into the couch pillows.
“Shit,” she echoes, and pushes me down against the pillows, pulling the blanket up to my chin. “Stop flirting with me and relax. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you like that.”
The doctor walks in. He’s as old or older than Mr. Charles, with tiny wisps of white hair stuck up all over his head. His eyebrows are nonexistent, and his hands are steadier than they have any right to be. Steph moves her hand to my shoulder, kneading my skin like a cat as I look up at the doctor with hazy eyes. The world is swimming, and he’s swimming with it.
“Hello, Will,” he says, his Asian accent thicker than molasses. He reminds me of the little Asian market owner in my hometown. It comforts me to think there were still people out here like that, people who had history elsewhere. I wonder how he’d come to the middle of nowhere like this.
“My wife,” he says mildly. He chuckles at my surprise—I realize I’d said it out loud. “She wanted to live somewhere with horses. Here, there are horses. I have no idea what it is, her fascination with horses, but now my wife has a horse, and she is the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”
Steph is stroking my forehead as I breathe slowly, the pain gently beginning to pound through the drugs. My ankle starts twitching, and I start sweating. I feel heat radiating from my skin, pain blossoming through my veins, and the cool pressure of her hand against my forehead.
“You’re in the middle of nowhere, son,” the doctor said softly. “I can call an ambulance, but how long did it take you to get here from where you live?”
“An hour.” I swallow.
“So at least two hours, plus waiting at the hospital. Or I can set it now. It’s up to you, but it’s not going to be fun if we do it my way.”
I could see worry in Steph’s eyes, but I tried to calm her with a hand on her arm. “He’s right, Steph. Everybody’s getting out of work about now, traffic’s going to be horrible, the hospital’s going to be crowded… it’s better to just get it over with.” I try to smile. “Is this going to be like a bad western novel and you’re going to give me a strip of leather to bite on?”
“Nope,” the doctor said casually, and handed me an onion. “Put this between your teeth. That way, when you bite down, you’ll be so disgusted by the onion that it’ll distract you from the pain.”
“That’s not…” Steph began. She looked more concerned than ever, and I fell in love with her more and more with every passing moment. I yearn to wipe the fear from her eyes, to kiss away the tears blossoming at the corners, to reassure her that I’ll be okay—but all of a sudden I have an onion in my mouth, and Mr. Charles is holding me down.
He’s surprisingly strong for an old man. I stare into Steph’s eyes for strength, knowing that if I can do this, it’s because I can do it for her. I can’t hear the doctor counting, I can’t hear what Steph is saying, but she might as well be saying “I love you” repeatedly with the tone of her voice. I focus on that, and only that, until I hear a crack, and feel a rush of an inferno of pain, and her face fades out of view.
Chapter Nine
Steph
I absolutely refuse to take no for an answer—while Will is laid up, he’s staying with me, and I’m going to wait on him hand and foot. The doctor and Mr. Charles help me get him back to my house after the doctor splints his ankle. He gave me a large bottle of pain pills and antibiotics for good measure. I’m thankful that my house is only one story; the three of us could barely carry the heavy man to my bed. I tucked him in next to me and read a book until I fell asleep.
It’s not hard to fall into a routine with him; the doctor left him a pair of crutches, and he hobbles around my house after me, sitting in the rocking chair I brought in from the porch and into the greenhouse while I work. I teach him about flowers, the language that they speak and the way that they speak to me. He raids Amazon for whittling equipment and starts making something that I don’t pretend to be able to identify.
Mr. Charles checks on us daily, bringing baked goods—who knew he could bake? He also secretly chats with Will when they think I’m too busy to pay attention. Will makes dinner for me every night, and I love him even more for it. My idea of cooking involves a jar of Ragu.
I don’t know when it becomes normal to wake up next to him. I feel him moving against me late at night, curling around me more closely, his splint pressing hard into my shin. He holds me like he never intends to let go. And when we make love…
I’ve never felt more beautiful in my life.
“The tattoo is for my sister,” he explains one night, his voice so soft. “She died in a car accident when we were little. I lived. It took me a long time to get over it, a long time to realize that I deserve to be happy, that I deserve to be alive, even when she isn’t.”
“I lost my parents,” I whisper, choking on the words. “My dad had cancer, and my mom…we think she died of a broken heart.”
He holds me tighter. “So you don’t have any family?”
I shake my head solemnly, tears staining my cheeks. He tilts my chin carefully, kissing me thoroughly. “I’ll be your family,” he says. And it sounds like a promise.
And I believe him, until the day that I wake up and he’s not there to greet me with a sleepy smile and a kiss. He’s gone, and I don’t know where he went.
Chapter Ten
Will
Mr. Charles and I are in my truck. He’s driving me to the jewelry store. I couldn’t help myself—it’s been three weeks since I broke my ankle, three weeks since I met Steph, and three weeks after claiming her as mine. It’s time that the rest of the world knows it.
“You’re lucky I like you,” Mr. Charles observes. “Or else I’d drive you off into a ditch right about now in this fancy little truck of yours.”
I raise an eyebrow. I know that Mr. Charles is protective of his cute little neighbor, but I wasn’t quite ready for death threats on the way to the jewelry store. “Why do you say that?” I ask cautiously.
“Because you shacked up with Stephy the day you met her,” he replies mildly. “Normally, that would be grounds for your head meeting my axe grinder. She’s better than that. Deserves more than that. And I was going to have a talk with you about that until I saw you two laughing every three seconds the whole damn next day.”
I clear my throat carefully. “I think this trip makes it clear that my intentions are honorable,” I say cautiously. “I just… know that it’s for real, Mr. Charles. I know that she’s who I’m supposed to be with. Knew it the second I laid eyes on her. I couldn’t stop thinking about her from the moment I left, and I still can’t.”
He grows quiet for a long moment as we pull into the jewelry store. “It was like that for me and my Rose,” he says heavily, parking the truck and turning to look at me. “She was in high school and I had just enlisted in the Navy. I knew that if I didn’t marry her right away, I’d lose her when I went overseas. So I did some fast-talking to her daddy, that’s for sure.”
I laugh as we get out of the truck and walk into the store. We’re about on pace, he with his elderly gait and me with my crutches. I survey the rings before me, knowing I’ll know it when I see it. “How did you meet her?”
“She was friends with my sister that year. They were on the yearbook together. One day Charlotte brought Rose home to work on something or the other, and that was that. It’s just like you said—the sec
ond I laid eyes on her, I just knew.” I see him twisting the thick gold band on his left hand, playing with his wedding ring as he speaks.
My heart lurches. I hope that the love that I have for Steph deepens to the level that he feels for the woman he lost.
I wander slowly past the rings, only to backtrack a few steps to see what had caught my eye. It’s a marquise stone with trilliant cut stones on either side. A little blue sapphire on the inside is labeled as the “something blue” that every bride needs for her wedding day. It’s rose gold and shimmering and perfect.
I don’t even look at the price tag. It’s perfect, and it will look perfect on her, and I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she glimpses it for the first time.
The ride back—true to what the doctor had said, it was over an hour, minimum—is as profound as the ride into town. Mr. Charles tells me stories of he and Rose, of how he was my age before he and Rose had children. He told me about the joys of raising them, and I wonder, just a little, if maybe it isn’t too late for me—if Steph and I could start a family. If I can give her the babies that she wants so badly. If we can have little dirt-stained children wandering around the orchard every fall, only some of them ours.
My heart breaks as I see the worry in Steph’s face as she rushes out to us when Mr. Charles pulls the truck back in the driveway. “I didn’t know what happened to you!” she shouts, falling into my arms, beating feebly at my chest. “I thought you left me,” she whispers. “That you decided this wasn’t working out.”
“That would be kind of silly with all of my clothes still on your bedroom floor,” I point out gently, wrapping my arms around her. “I’m sorry that I didn’t wake you. I wanted to be back before you woke up, but we ran into some traffic on the way back from town.”
“Why did you go to town?” she whispers into my shirt. “I could have gone for you.”
“Not for this,” I admonish her softly, and pull away. With my crutches, I lever myself down onto my good knee, my other leg sticking straight out in front of me. It isn’t the most romantic or comfortable pose, but it will have to do. I feel Mr. Charles watching from behind the truck. I pull out the little velvet box and looked up at her, more serious than I’ve ever been in my life. I barely manage to open it before she falls to her knees in tears.
“Are you serious?” she sobs, looking up at me with bright eyes.
“Are you going to let me ask you?” I counter, smiling. “Please, Steph… there’s no one else for me. You know it, and I know it. Would you please marry me?”
If a kiss can be considered a “yes,” then I’m the happiest man alive.
Epilogue
Five Years Later
Steph
I’m in the greenhouse with Rose—our three-year-old daughter—showing her different flowers. We talk about daisies and carnations, lilies and roses… but I’m going to save orchids for later.
She sits with me on a stool her daddy built just for her. It has a tall back and sides to make sure she doesn’t fall, Rose and I make her own little flower arrangement together, with tons of baby’s breath, her favorite. She giggles as I braid some into her hair. I see movement as Will comes out of his shop around the other side of the house and walks toward us.
“What are my two favorite girls in the world doing today?” he beams, leaning down to kiss Rose on the head.
“Makin’ a arrangement for Grampa Charles,” Rose informs him immediately. “To invite him to my birthday party.”
“Your birthday party, huh?” Will muses, leaning down and resting his chin on my head. I lean back into him, closing my eyes, resting in the safety of his arms. There’s nothing better in the world than being with my little family.
“Yeah,” Rose replies, puzzled. “Aren’t I gonna have a birthday party?”
“Well,” Will drawls, drawing out the word as long as he possibly can. “I was thinking we could invite your friend Laurelyn and go for an entire weekend to a horse ranch that I found, where you can ride real horses, but if you just want a birthday party…”
I can barely hear myself think over the shrieking. Rose is a bright little girl—she was speaking in sentences by 18 months—and she’s not stupid enough to argue with her daddy when he has a great idea. “Daddy!” she screams. “Real horses? Really? Not like Grampa Charles’ horse?”
Will hides a grin as I cough to hide my laughter. “Grampa” Charles’ horse is about six thousand years old and can’t manage to stumble his way in a straight line at zero miles per hour. “Real horses,” he promises gravely. “You and Laurelyn. I swear it.”
“Mama, can we?” she whispers.
As if I could do anything but say yes. I look on adoringly while Will and our tiny daughter make plans for the weekend. And I wonder when the right time will be to tell him that we’re going to become a family of four...
-The End-
Personal Message from the Authors
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Sara & Katy
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About the Authors
Bestselling author Katy Winters writes short romance stories that are steamy, sweet, and safe. You can almost always find an older, possessive, OTT alpha male falling in love instantly with a beautiful, curvy heroine. No cliffhangers and HEA guaranteed!
More Books from Katy Winters
Instalove in the Canyon
Instalove at the Falls
Instalove at Christmas
Instalove in New York
Instalove at the Pyramids
Instalove on Valentine’s Day
Instalove at the Aquarium
Check out Katy’s latest releases on her Amazon Author Page here!
Bestselling author Sara Hazel writes stories of curvy women who learn they can have it all— adventure, career, and love. There is always a hot Alpha Man who sees the brilliance in the heroine's smile and wants to make her his wife. He can even be a little obsessive about it! Every story has a HAPPY EVER AFTER (HEA) and there's absolutely NO CHEATING!
Check out Sara’s latest releases on her Amazon Author Page here!