“I’m scared.” I blurt out. “My dad, I?—”
He presses his lips to mine before I can finish my sentence. The kiss is so gentle, it knocks the wind out of me.
“Shhh, darlin’, it’s okay.” He brushes the hair out of my face to get a better look at me. “Get some rest,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my forehead.
I don’t know what to fucking say. My throat feels like I swallowed a fucking boulder. My brain’s spiraling, dissecting every damn word he just spilled out. Since when does Carter open up like that? It’s throwing me off. I don’t know what to make of it—how soft he sounded, how his voice was trembling as he was opening up to me.
My heart’s too busy clinging to the way he looked at me, like I was something worth holding onto. I should say something, but of course I fucking don’t. I just bury myself in his warmth, pressing my hand over the beat of his heart, letting myself be held.
Even if I don’t know what any of this means, I know this much—Carter Hayes is finally letting someone in again.
carter
. . .
Ishould be up by now. A thousand things are waiting for me—ropes to tie down, fences to check, animals to move before the storm sets in for real. But I can’t seem to tear myself away. I stay right where I am, propped on one elbow, watching her sleep.
She’s curled on her side, one hand tucked under her chin, the other stretched across the bed like she was reaching for me in her sleep. Her soft brown hair is spread across my pillow, and her long lashes flutter against her cheeks. She looks peaceful.
For a long, aching second, I just let myself admire her.
The sight of her in my bed, in my clothes, like she’s always been meant to be here—it hits somewhere deep in my chest.
I reach out, my fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face, slow and careful not to wake her. I just want to keep this moment untouched for a little longer.
This right here is something I didn’t think I’d ever get again.
But now? I want it more than I want the damn sun to come out.
God, she looks so fucking beautiful.
The kind of beauty that doesn’t fade under daylight or disappears with makeup wipes. It’s the kind that settles in your bones, the kind that makes you think, ‘Shit, maybe this is what love feels like again’—and you don’t even realize you’ve thought it.
Love? It can’t be, can it?
I drag in a slow breath, forcing myself to move, careful not to jostle the bed. Her hand curls slightly into the sheets, but she doesn’t wake. I pull on my flannel, grab my boots from the corner, and head out before I can change my mind.
The second I open the front door, the cold wind slaps me in the face. The clouds overhead are churning low and heavy, a deep gray blanket pressing down on the valley.
I move quickly, falling into routine like it’s second nature. The cattle need to be herded into the lower pasture, and the horses secured in the stalls before they start getting spooked. Equipment needs to be tied down, doors checked twice, and feed needs to be covered.
All this work doesn’t stop my mind from fucking wandering. It doesn’t stopherfrom showing up in every thought, in every heartbeat, in every glance toward the house as the storm edges closer.
Shestayed.
After everything that spewed out of me last night—about my mom, my ex, the broken pieces of myself that I still carry—she didn’t get scared, and she didn’t flinch when I said I hadn’t touched anyone in fucking years. She just listened to me open up like a fucking idiot as I held her.
That matters more than I know how to say.
I’ve finished locking down the last gate, my hands areraw from rope burn, my knuckles scraped from fighting a rusted latch that refused to budge until I kicked it into place.
By the time I get back to the house, my shirt’s stuck to my back, and I’m half-wishing the storm would just hit already and be done with. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and go through my mental checklist again—flashlights, batteries, water, backup chargers. Everything’s plugged in and ready in case the power cuts out, which it most likely will.
The last thing I need is Catalina spiraling into a breakdown because her phone dies mid-Instagram scroll or she can’t finish her smutty fantasy book on that damn Kindle of hers. I can already hear her dramatics echoing through the house, accusing me of being the reason she’s cut off from civilization, like we’re living in the Dark Ages.
When I hit the front steps, all that mental grumbling comes to a screeching halt.
She’s already up. Already dressed. And fuck me, she’s radiant.
