I’m too exhausted for this shit. But she’s right about one thing—the motel bed has been killing my back and Regan said the bed in the master bedroom is newer. Screw it. No way she’s still awake anyway. I’ll sneak in, go straight to sleep, and deal with Scarlett’s arrival when she shows up in the morning.
A few minutes later, I’m pulling into the long driveway to myhome, admiring the way the moonlight reflects off the pond near the main house. Damn, it feels good to say that.
Forty-one years, and I’ve never owned my own place. Always renting. Always living out of a suitcase prepared to leave at any time. It started in my bull-riding days on the circuit, then during residency, then temporarily with my ex before I moved to Whitewood Creek. Living with her, even though it was for a short period of time, was a mistake. A disaster, really.
Living with Regan… I wonder how that’ll go.
When I reach the front steps, I realize I don’t have a key. Regan’s the one who went to Betsy to give her our marriage license. Ishouldhave asked, but it’s too late for that now. Just as I’m considering if I have the energy to sleep in my truck, I trythe screen door. It’s unlocked. That’s unsafe. She shouldn’t be leaving the doors open at night. I need to get a security system installed here. The thought comes uninvited, and it’s… weird. Worrying about someone else’s safety for once.
I push open the door and step inside, expecting to find the place dark and silent. Instead, my gaze lands on Regan, sitting on the floor in the corner of the home’s living room. Her shoulders are shaking slightly as she’s hunched over looking at something. She wipes at her nose and then whips around quickly, clutching her chest.
“Shit, Hayes, I didn’t hear you come home.”
Fuck. Is she crying?
I hesitate, toeing off my boots by the door and dropping my bag before scanning the room. She’s already rearranged the furniture, moved new pieces in, made the space hers in only a matter of hours. The house feels… lived in. Warmer than before. More like a home. I’ve never cared much about that kind of thing, but it’s nice. A quiet kind of nice to come home to after working so long and not having the energy to think about stuff like this.
“Are you… are you okay?” I ask, awkward as hell. I don’t know how to handle this, but Idoknow I hate seeing her like this. Even if I don’t have a damn clue what’s wrong. All I want to do is make it better. Shit, I hope it isn’t something I did.
She smiles softly, nodding as she wipes at her nose again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I didn’t realize how late it was.” She holds up a red, cardboard box with the word ‘Mayberry’ written on the side in black marker. “I found this while clearing out the living room. It’s full of old photos of Mrs. Mayberry and her husband over the years. You can see how much they loved each other. I think I’m going to incorporate some of these into the wedding business—to show couples who get married here what the original owners built together. Their vision. Their love.”
“That’s… that’s really sweet.”
Her lips curve into a small smile before she turns back to the box, rifling through the photos. “I changed the sheets and made sure the pillows were good in the master bedroom. You look like you need more sleep than I do.”
“That’s… that’s really nice of you.” Toonice, honestly that she was thinking about me while I was working, distracting myself. But the idea of sinking into a decent bed after the night I’ve had is damn tempting. “I don’t have to take it, though. I’m sure the guestroom is just fine.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s all good. I ordered a new mattress for the guest room and it’s getting delivered this week. Until then, I’ll just sleep on the couch Colt moved in for me today.” Her gaze flicks toward the couch behind her. It’s decent, green with smooth, suede fabric, but it sure as hell doesn’t look like a bed.
I hesitate because I’m bone tired and really don’t want to be a dick when she’s clearly upset. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
She goes back to sorting through the photos, a small smile playing at her lips when she pulls another one out. I step closer to get a better view of it. It’s an old picture of Mrs. Mayberry holding a little girl with wild, auburn curls.
“Is that you?” I ask, stepping closer to see.
She nods. “Yeah. My mom died during Colt and my birth, so she was like a mother to me.”
“Damn. I’m sorry. That’s tough.”
She nods again, still not meeting my eyes, then slowly rises to her feet. She steps closer, so close that I catch the sweet scent of her. She smells like coconut anddamn, she smells good.
Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted, running on fumes. Or maybe it’s because I’m tired andhorny, a lethal combination that seems to always rear its head after working a late shift. Or maybe it’s just… nice, coming home to someone instead of an empty house and silence, but my body is completely tuned into her every movement now and craving her touch.
She holds the photo up between us.
“She was that for me, you know? A female presence. A gentle touch when I needed it. And she always knew what to say, even if it was blunt. But it was what I needed to hear.” Her voice tightens just slightly. “I know she was in her eighties, but I guess I just thought she’d always be around. Still kicking. Still working the state fair. Still picking on everyone in town.”
She gives a small, sad smile, and something about it guts me. Before I can second-guess it, I pull her in, wrapping my arms around her waist in a hug. She sighs into me, her soft curves melting against my hard edges, andfuck, I shouldn’t be holding her like this when I’m not thinking clearly but it feels so damn good.
It feelsright.
I rest my cheek against the top of her head while we stand silently in the living room, wrapped in each other’s embrace. She’s warm and smells good. When was the last time I held a warm body for a reason other than to bring them back to life or heal their aches and pains? When was the last time I let someone hold me with no agenda?
When I finally pull back, there’s something in her eyes. Something new. Something I know is reflected in mine too.Desire.
My hand lifts on its own, brushing dark hair from her shoulder before sliding to cup her cheek gently. I tilt her face up, andfuck, I want to kiss her lips so damn badly to take away the pain that’s lingering there and give into the urge that we’re both feeling. Those light blue eyes that look like the spring sky look up at me, blinking, unsure, trying to read my scattered mind. And that’s a really,reallybad idea.
