Roaring Fork Roughstock (Roaring Fork Ranch #2)

16. Cici

16

CICI

P orter’s mouth crashed into mine with a desperation that matched the words he’d just spoken. I love you. The declaration I’d longed to hear echoed in my head as his body pressed me against the storehouse wall. His kiss tasted of promises and possibility, of everything I’d been afraid to want since he showed up at the ranch. The rough wood caught at my jacket as he leaned into me, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the way his mouth moved against mine, hungry and demanding.

My hands found their way under his shirt, needing to feel his skin. The muscles of his stomach contracted at my touch, and he groaned into my mouth as his fingers tangled in my hair. God, how I’d missed this—missed him. The way he could make the world disappear with just a touch. The solid warmth of his chest under my palms reminded me of countless nights spent in his arms, back when I thought we’d be together forever. His heart hammered against my fingers, matching the wild rhythm of my own.

His familiar scent—leather and soap and something uniquely Porter—surrounded me as he deepened the kiss. I melted into him, forgetting everything else—the ranch’s troubles, Maverick’s struggles, the mounting threats. For now, all I cared about was being kissed breathless by a man I’d never stopped loving, no matter how hard I tried. My fingers traced the planes of his chest, remembering every scar, every mark, every inch of skin I used to know by heart.

His hands slid down my sides, gripping my hips and pulling me closer. The heat of his body seeped through my clothes, making me ache for more. I wanted to lose myself in this moment and pretend the last few years had never happened. That we were still those people who thought love could conquer anything.

The sound of breaking glass shattered the moment like a gunshot. Maverick’s angry voice carried across the yard, slurred and thick with alcohol, yanking me back to reality with brutal force.

“Where is everyone?” he shouted. “Having fun without me?”

Porter’s forehead rested against mine for a heartbeat, his breath coming in quick pants that matched my own. When we both turned toward the sound, my brother stood swaying on the porch, an empty bottle dangling from his fingers. Another lay shattered at his feet, shards of glass glinting in the late-afternoon sun. The sight of him there, drunk and angry, crushed the warmth of the earlier moments under a heavy blanket of guilt.

“This is my fault,” I whispered, already moving toward the house. “We left him behind today.” The words tasted bitter in my mouth, still swollen from Porter’s kisses. Remorse crashed through me as I thought about how well he’d been doing lately, how his eyes had been clearer, his smile more genuine. All undone because I’d selfishly wanted time alone with Porter.

I remembered how happy Mav had seemed this morning, working with Mesa King despite the constant pain in his leg. He’d even joked with Thorn about something I couldn’t hear, but his laughter had carried across the yard. Now, that progress lay shattered like the bottle at his feet.

“No.” Porter caught my arm, his grip firm but gentle. “This isn’t because of that.”

No matter what he said, I wouldn’t be able to stop feeling like I’d failed my brother again. He’d been going to town with Porter almost every day, and the one time we broke that routine, he fell back into the bottle. What kind of sister was I, getting lost in romantic moments while my brother suffered? Mom would have known what to do. Dad would have found the right words. But they were gone, and I was all Mav had left.

“Coming to check on me?” Mav’s bitter laugh cut through the air like a knife. “Don’t bother. I’m fine. Everything’s just fucking fine.” He kicked at the broken glass, nearly losing his balance. “You two looked cozy out there. Real sweet.”

The mockery in his voice hurt worse than anger would have. This wasn’t my brother—not really. This was pain and alcohol talking, twisting him into someone I barely recognized. The way he swayed made my heart clench.

He took a step forward and stumbled. Porter moved faster than I’d ever seen him, catching my brother before he fell into the broken glass. The move was practiced, like he’d done it before. How many times had he helped Mav when I wasn’t around? The thought both comforted and troubled me.

“Let me go,” Mav growled, trying to push him away. His words slurred together. “Don’t need your help. Don’t need anyone’s help.”

“Yes, you do.” Porter’s voice was firm but gentle, the same tone he used with spooked horses. “And that’s okay. Everyone needs help sometimes.”

Something in the way he said it made Mav stop fighting. His shoulders slumped as the anger seemed to drain out of him, replaced by defeat that broke my heart. This wasn’t my wild, confident little brother who used to light up rodeo arenas with his smile. The boy who’d chased his dreams across eight seconds of fury on the back of a bull. This was someone lost, drowning in pain I didn’t know how to help him escape.

I could smell the whiskey on him. The same bottles I kept finding hidden around the ranch. Each one felt like another failure on my part, another way I’d let him down.

“I saw you two,” he mumbled as Porter helped him inside. “You don’t have to hide it. Not from me. Not anymore.”

“We weren’t hiding anything,” I said, following them up the stairs. Each step creaked under our weight, the sound as familiar as breathing. How many times had I helped him up these same stairs? How many more times would I have to? “We just?—”

“Got caught up in the moment?” Mav’s laugh was harsh, echoing in the narrow stairwell. “Yeah, I remember what that was like. Before…” He gestured at his leg, the movement uncoordinated and angry. “Before everything went to shit.”

Porter’s jaw tightened at Mav’s words, but he kept his voice steady when he responded. “Let’s get you to bed. You can sleep this off.”

Once we got him settled in his room, I sat beside him on the bed that seemed too big for my little brother. My fingers found their way into his hair, stroking it like I used to when he was little and had nightmares. Back then, I could chase away his fears with a hug and a story. Now, I felt helpless against the demons that haunted him.

The dim light painted shadows across his face, making him look older than his seventeen years. How had we ended up here? When had I stopped being able to protect him?

“I’m sorry we left you behind today,” I whispered, my throat tight with unshed tears. The words felt inadequate, like everything else I tried to do for him lately.

“Stop.” He caught my wrist, his grip strong enough to hurt. “Not everything’s your fault, Ceec.” His eyes closed as the alcohol pulled him under, his voice growing softer. “Sometimes, things just are what they are.”

I stayed until I was sure he was asleep, watching his face smooth out as consciousness faded. He looked like my little brother again—the one who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms, who’d beg me to watch “just one more” ride when he was practicing.

When I finally slipped out of his room, I found Porter waiting in the hallway, his expression unreadable. The passion from earlier felt like a distant dream, replaced by the harsh reality of our complicated lives.

“He’s right, you know?” he said as we walked downstairs. Our footsteps echoed in the quiet house. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Then, whose is it?” I dropped onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. The weight of my confusing feelings for Porter pressed down on me until I could barely breathe. “I’m supposed to take care of him.”

The words came out small and lost, like the little girl I sometimes still felt like, trying to fill shoes that were too big for me. The living room looked exactly as it had when our parents were alive—Mom’s favorite throw still draped over the armchair, the book Dad was reading still on the bottom shelf of the end table. Sometimes, I felt like I was playing house in a museum of memories.

“You do take care of him.” Porter sat beside me, close enough for me to feel his warmth. The cushions dipped under his weight, drawing us closer together. “But you’re allowed to have a life too, Cici. To want things for yourself.”

I turned to face him, needing to see his eyes. The lamp cast shadows across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the concern in his expression. “Are we going to talk about what you said?”

“Yeah.” He reached for my hand, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm that sent shivers up my arm. The simple touch somehow felt more intimate than our earlier passionate kisses. “I meant it, Cici.”

“But?”

“No buts.” Yet something in his expression made me wonder. There was a hesitation there, a shadow behind his words that I couldn’t read. It reminded me of the careful way he held himself apart from me at night, even as he let me use his chest as a pillow. Like there was an invisible line he wouldn’t allow himself to cross.

“Porter…” I shifted closer, searching his face for answers to questions I wasn’t sure how to ask. His scent wrapped around me like a familiar blanket. “If you’re having second thoughts?—”

He cut me off with a kiss, softer than the ones we’d shared outside but no less intense. His hand came up to cup my cheek, and his thumb stroked along my jawline. “The only thing I’m thinking about is how much I want this. Want you.”

God, how I wanted to trust in his words, the heat of his kiss, the way his fingers felt as they trailed down my neck. But there was something in the way he touched me—like he was afraid I might break, or maybe afraid he would.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I whispered against his lips, tasting the mint of a recent stick of gum.

When he pulled back, his eyes were scrunched, that familiar expression that meant he was wrestling with something inside himself. “Cici…”

“No, forget I asked.” I pressed my fingers to his lips, stopping whatever half-truth he might have offered. “I don’t want to push. Not tonight.” Not when I was still reeling from the emotional whiplash of the past hour—from passion to fear to this uncertain place where hope and doubt tangled together in my chest.

“Stay with me again?” I asked instead, choosing the comfort of his presence over the uncertainty of his secrets.

He nodded, following me upstairs. Like every night for the past two weeks, he lay on top of the covers while I slid beneath them. The mattress dipped as we found our usual positions, my body gravitating toward his, my head finding its place on his chest. His heartbeat was steady under my ear, a rhythm I’d memorized in the nights we’d spent this way.

His arm draped around my waist, and I tried to focus on the comfort of his touch rather than the questions that swirled in my mind. Why did he maintain this careful distance even as he claimed to want me? What was he holding back? And why did his declaration of love feel both completely right and somehow terrifyingly tentative?

The cotton of his T-shirt was soft against my cheek, but I missed the feel of his skin. Missed the intimacy we used to share so easily.

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmured into my hair.

“Just wondering how we got here,” I said, not entirely lying. My fingers played with a loose thread on his shirt. “A month ago, I would have sworn I’d never let you back into my life.”

His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” The answer came instantly, surprising me with its certainty. Despite everything—the confusion, the doubts, the feeling that he was keeping something from me—I couldn’t regret letting Porter Wheaton back into my heart. Maybe I’d never truly pushed him out, in the first place.

Sleep was a long time coming as I lay there, listening to him breathe. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows with the promise of another storm. It felt fitting somehow—this wild weather matching the turbulence in my heart as I tried to reconcile the passion and love Porter offered with the sense that I couldn’t trust it.

His arm tightened around me as a particularly strong gust shook the house, a protective gesture that made my heart ache. I wanted this—wanted him—so badly it hurt. But I couldn’t stop thinking that whatever he was holding back had the power to shatter everything we were rebuilding.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new worries about Mav, new questions about who was trying to destroy our ranch. But for tonight, I let myself be held by the man I loved, trying to believe that, this time, love might be enough to overcome whatever secrets lay between us.