Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

MACK

I pull on my work shirt and Wranglers and slide my old, worn belt into the loops. The fit is tighter than last time I wore these. More muscle in my legs. Shoulders and arms are bigger, too. How is it possible my physique improved from being nearly blown to pieces? I guess I put it down to months of recovery, physio, and Grace.

Lastly, I grab my old, battered work hat from the wall by the bedroom door. I don’t know what it is about my hats, but I like them in my room. Not hanging by the front door, if I can help it. I slide it onto my head. Dark cream with an old thin leather band wrapped around where the brim and the crown meet. I’ve had this hat since I was twenty-one. It’s like coming home. The familiar. This hat symbolizes who I am more than anything else. More than the military training or the shooting skills I garnered from my time in the army. Running my fingers up the shirt, I slip the buttons closed as I walk out into the hall.

“Gracie?”

She appears, spatula in hand, in faded denim overalls and a t-shirt, a too-big sweater hanging from one shoulder, hair up in a messy bun. The moment her eyes take in my old work clothes, her lips part and she goes still. Her gaze roves from the hat on my head to my socked feet.

“Mackinlay...” Her eyebrows raise over a smile that grows. “Wow. Hello, cowboy!”

I chuckle and do up the last button, closing the distance between us and dotting a kiss to her forehead. Before I have a chance to move back, the spatula hits the floor, and her hand curls around the opening of the old shirt.

“I was wondering how long I had to wait until I saw the real Mack.”

Her eyes study my face as her fingers brush over my jaw. Her grip tightens and she pulls my mouth down to hers. I pluck the hat from my head and let it fall to the floor, hands cupping her face as hers climb into my hair. I open for her.

I’m all hers.

She claims it all.

I pull her onto my hips. Her hunger grows. Legs wrap around my waist. I turn and plant her against the wall. A little moan slips from her to me. My cock is so hard, I swear I’m going to have blue balls all day after this. I break away, putting space between us before pressing my forehead to hers.

“It’s goin’ to be one hell of a long day without you,” I breathe.

“Toughen up, cowboy. You can handle it.” The prettiest little smirk pulls over her lips.

An entire day with Huddo and his horses. After that, my least favorite ranchin’ task—and Harry’s fuckin’ favorite—fencing. I swear it’s his way to test the strength of will of a man—how many miles of fencing-related tasks he can pull off in one lifetime. Lord knows, every single one of us has earned a VIP place in heaven for the endless days we have spent on damn wire and posts.

“As long as you’re here when I get home, I think I can.” I groan and sink my face into her neck.

“I’ll be here, and probably messy and needing a long, hot shower.”

I pop my head up. “Oh?”

“Yeah, Ruby wants some mountain landscape oils for her cabins. I’m going to make a start on one today. So, I’ll be painting, hopefully...”

Her gaze drifts away and her head turns a little, as if lost in her own self-doubt. I shift her back to face me with one finger.

“You will, gorgeous. And I will be home to help you get all cleaned up.” I can’t help the cheeky grin almost swallowing my face. “All day, while Huddo drones on about his horses, my mind is goin’ to be cataloging every part of you I love most.”

Emotion floods her gaze. Her hands tug my head down. I chuckle, sinking my lips over hers. I press her into the wall harder, showing her how much I need her. Her hips wiggle, and I know the message is received. Sweet Jesus, I could do this all day.

But ranch work waits for no man. Nor does my grump of an older brother. Or Harry, for that matter. Who will no doubt be checkin’ in today. I break from the kiss and thumb her cheeks with both hands. “When I get back, we will pick up where we left off, okay?”

“Sure, cowboy.” She smiles and snaps her lips around my earlobe.

“Jesus, Gracie, a man would never leave the house with you in it if he had the choice.”

“Good to know,” she whispers. I watch as realization washes over her face. The moment that the fact I see her worth, and he never did, solidifies from a mere hope to a permanent feature.

She drops from my hips. I slam my hands onto the wall on either side of her head. “Now, gorgeous girl. Go paint. Do it all damn day. And when I get home, I want to see every single brush stroke you’ve made.” My words are raw. Her breath hitches. “You’ve got this, Gracie.”

She nods, but her throat bobs.

“I gotta go.” I lean down, swiping up my hat. It slips from my fingers as she pulls it away and plants it on my head.

“Go get ’em, cowboy.” Her words are soft. Heartfelt. We know this is a milestone we’ve both worked for. The day I get my world back. Normality closing in. With one very significant difference—Grace.

My new normal.

I head for the door. Making my feet follow the orders my brain is sending, ignoring the pull to turn right around and hide away with her in this house for the rest of my days. I reach the front door and hesitate. She’s leaning on the corridor wall with one shoulder. Her head rests on it as she watches me leave. She waves, her face soft.

I tip my hat and grab the door handle.

It’s not the gesture I wanted to leave her with.

When I turn back, she is walking away. My heart flings into my throat.

“Gracie?” My two favorite syllables are gravel as she looks back over her shoulder.

I raise my hand, two fingers tapping my forehead.

She smiles, so damn happy, and salutes me right back. Without a beat, she heads for her art room. I stand, planted to the floor in socked feet still, as I hunt for a breath to fill my lungs. I shake my head as the sounds of her puttering around the room, prepping pots and brushes, starts up. In a daze, I tug on my boots.

Tires over gravel let me know Huddo is here. Right on time, too. The early morning sun splinters over the mountains as I trudge out to the porch and shrug on my coat. Flipping the collar up, I cross the front yard and push through the gate. Hudson’s Chevy and gooseneck rolls in. He kills the engine as he climbs out.

“Mornin’, Mack.”

“Huddo.”

“Gracie up?”

“Yep, gettin’ stuck into her art.”

“Good for her.”

“Sure is. How’s Adds?”

“Busy, never stops. You ready for this?”

“One way to find out, I guess.”

He cracks a smile. “Let’s go find out, then.” He walks for the back of the gooseneck, unlatching it before he lets it fall to the ground. Three young horses are tied up inside. He brings the first two out. I take the lead of a grey gelding, and we walk to the round yard behind the barn.

“What’s needin’ with this one then?” I ask, eyeing the gelding over. He’s not as tall as Trigger, but alert, his ears forward and head up as we close in on the yards.

“Daily workin’. Maybe some beast work. He’s green, but he’s got a good head on him.”

“Right.”

“This mare is up for auction in the new year, so I need her confident in the field and around cattle.” Huddo tilts his head to the mare he’s leading as we enter the round yard. I tie the gelding to the rail and head inside to grab tack. Hudson is behind me a heartbeat later.

“Reed says you and Grace are pretty serious.” He hauls a saddle onto his shoulder and slides a bridle from the hook near the rack.

“Does he?”

“Is he wrong?” Hudson pushes his Stetson up, wiping at his hairline before pulling the brim back down.

“Not wrong.” I handle a saddle, managing to rest it on my own shoulder, and toss a bridle on top. The bit slams into my back and I wince. Not my best idea. But, in my defense, I’m distracted. Anything that involves Grace turns me from a logical, intelligent, hard-working man to a puddle.

“So, she’s stayin’ put then?”

“Guess gettin’ a job in town means she is.”

“Good for you two.”

He sounds like Harry now. He slaps me on the back with his free hand, almost dislodging the saddle. Hell, Huddo, more and more like the old man every damn day.

“Come on, lover boy. Day’s waitin’ for no man.” Huddo calls out from outside.

With a scoff, I trudge after him.

Gonna be a great fuckin’ day.

Each muscle screams in my wrecked body. It’s been months since I’ve had to earn my keep on a green horse. Hell’s hounds, I’m feeling every second now. My legs burn as I pad up the front steps and onto the porch. The sun is setting, blanketing the mountains in its golden hue as our day finally finishes up.

“You look exhausted,” Grace says softly somewhere to my left.

I startle, turning to find her on the seat on the porch, a wine glass in her hand. Light blue overalls cover a white t-shirt, her cardigan hanging loose around her shoulders. Her hair is a mess, the semblance of a bun with wisp aways framing her face, some sporting various paint colors. She was so quiet, so still, I didn’t even register her being there. “Jesus, Gracie. Kill a man.”

She chuckles and scoots over on the seat before patting the space beside her. I pad to the seat and fall in beside her and say, “Dammit, I’m wrecked.”

I groan as she lifts the hat from my head and pulls my head onto her shoulder. “You smell like horse and dirt.”

A hearty rumble spills from my chest, a smile stretching my face, as I let my weight sink into her. “You smell like... paint.”

“Got done a few minutes ago. Didn’t get a chance to wash up yet.”

I lift my head and lean back a little. Her face sports smudges of color over her chin. Blue is splattered in her hair. Her fingers are covered in splotches of blue and grey. “I wanna see your painting. Only, I need a moment to relocate my legs.”

She worries her bottom lip through her teeth.

I push my shoulders back and take hers in my hands. “Anything you do is bound to be amazing.”

“Ha. Says the elite sniper turned pro cowboy.”

“Nothing elite about this man, I promise you. Now, show me your work, gorgeous girl.”

With a sigh, she stands and offers a hand. I take it and push to my feet. My muscles scream at me again, but I ignore them, determined to follow her as she leads me through the house and toward her yoga-turned-art room. I toss my hat onto the kitchen counter as we pass by. We round the door and walk into the room, and the pungent tang of paint and thinner hits me.

Jesus, she spent all day in here? I double-check the window is open. It is.

She turns back, placing her glass on the small table by the door, and rests a hand on my chest. “Before you look at this, please remember I haven’t painted so much as a dot since I left Pennsylvania.” Her brows lower. “But I want to show you.”

“Grac—”

She presses a finger over my lips. “No speaking until you’ve looked at it. Fully. And please, please remember it’s just the start.”

I nod and she sucks in a breath, turning on the spot and grabbing my hands with hers behind her back. She pulls me toward the easel Huddo made. The large canvas sits on its side. I come to stand in front of it against the round stool she sits on. She drops my hands and hugs herself, stepping back.

Fuck me six ways to Sunday . . .

The mountains, as you see them from Reed’s ranch entrance, are brushed to perfection on the canvas. The colors meld from one to the next, every detail so damn accurate. It’s almost like nature’s giants are alive. White caps each peak, the golden grass that sways in the fields below flanks the base, covering the bottom of the canvas.

She nailed it.

“I know it’s not to proportion, size-wise, between the natural elements, but I thought the colors were pretty close,” Grace breathes beside me. I sink onto the stool and swivel it to face her. Legs spread, I grab her arms and pull her into my space. “You did so good, gorgeous girl. This is—” My throat thickens. She thinks this is not good enough. I can tell by the worried expression she’s nursing. The fact she hasn’t let herself uncurl from the defensive position. As if that asshole is somehow still able to see this. Like she is waiting for me to realize it’s crap and tell her as much. “Your painting is incredible, Grace. Ruby’s goin’ to be thrilled. For the record, art is most definitely your calling.”

Her face breaks.

Fuck.

To prove what I’m saying, I swivel us back to the canvas. “I like this part here,” I point to the dark blue of the valley of the mountain to the left. “And, this bit, the contrast is epic.” I have minimal knowledge about art, but I can sure as hell point out the elements I admire. And I do. “The grass... I can almost feel it swayin’ against my legs just looking at it.”

“You can?” she breathes.

I brush a paint-speckled strand of hair behind her ear and meet her eyes that are now silver lined. My heart all but cracks in two at the sight. She puts a little space between us.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” I rasp, hands held out to her, wanting her back in my arms.

She forces a smile. It’s twisted between pride and sadness, and strung together with the happiness she wants so desperately, but is too afraid to let in. We have come so far. Some days, when our heads get the better of our hearts, we are both victims of old haunts. “Come here, let me show you all the parts I adore.” I grip her hips and pull her closer.

I grab up a paint brush, a clean one from the pot sitting beside the easel. “Here.” I swipe the bristles over her forehead. It’s like I’m painting the most beautiful portrait. I am, because it’s her.

It’s Grace.

There isn’t a thing on this earth I wouldn’t do or go through for this girl. I trail the tip of the brush over her cheekbones, one and then the other. “These, so fuckin’ pretty.”

She huffs a laugh. But her posture relaxes, her shoulders lose tension, and she moves back into my space.

Good girl.

“And these”—I swipe the bristles over one eye as she lets them flutter shut—“do things to me I can’t explain.”

I drag it over her lips, slow. Her breath hitches, and she opens her eyes. “These sweet lips... covering mine, pressed against my skin, wrapped around my?—”

Grace snatches the brush from my hand. She dips it into the dark blue paint I admired earlier, swirling the bristles through the satin liquid. Her gaze drifts back to me as she considers something. Delicately, she wipes the tip on the edges of the pot and lifts it out.

“These are my favorite parts of Mackinlay Rawlins...”

The brush floats over my eyebrows. I chuckle as her eyes follow the blue as it coats my forehead.

“Shhhh, I’m working.” She gives me a mock-stern look. I clear my throat and adjust my seat on the stool, sitting up straighter. Her obedient subject. The brush dips, kissing my jawline, before the bristles cascade over the angles and onto my neck below my ear. Blood rushes south. More so, when her fingers trace the same path.

“And this.” Swirls of cool liquid cover my Adam’s apple. Her lips part slowly, eyes narrowing with concentration as the brush travels. Eyes dilating as I swallow. I hold her gaze. She puts the handle between her teeth, and my cock is rock-hard. Her fingers flip the buttons loose before she pushes the dirty shirt from my shoulders, and it hits the floor. The next breath I take nose-dives, crashing only to burn out. How many times have I been shirtless in front of this woman? Since day one. But now, it’s as if everything has shifted. We’ve shifted.

Everything is a thousand times more raw.

More real.

“Gracie . . .”

The cold bristles press against my lips. “Shhhh, I’m not done. Going to mark every last place.”

Gorgeous girl, I’m so far gone it hurts.

So completely gone for this girl.

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