Chapter 40 Give Her What She Wants
Give Her What She Wants
Tripp
The sun warms my skin, but I still feel cold. I haven’t been warm all the way through for the last week. This bleak chill settled into my bones the second she reminded me she’s leaving—that there’s nothing to tell Wes, because she and I aren’t anything.
I grit my teeth as I cut toward a cow that’s drifting wide, pushing her back toward the flow of the herd.
Grass tramples under hooves as we move them closer to the new pasture.
I try to keep my mind on the here and now and not back at the house where Quinn is probably curled on the couch with Pops watching Law & Order, or out in the garden with her hands in the dirt, or maybe helping Dr. Dillard at the clinic again.
She’s been doing that more and more as Pops improves.
I feel empty without knowing where she is, what she’s doing. Everything is dull and faded. Working on the ranch has never held as little appeal as it does right now.
All I want to do is find Quinn and make her talk to me. Even a gorgeous spring day spent with my best friend driving the herd does nothing to keep the dark cloud from hanging over my head.
I’ve tried to talk to her, but every time I get close, she finds somewhere else to be. And I’ve let her go every time, convincing myself the space might clear the air. But it’s been days, and she’s still avoiding me. And I’m unraveling.
I’m totally at a loss for what to do. How to fix what I broke by insisting we tell Wes. I found a way to ruin a good thing. Just like everyone knew I would.
I hate that Quinn’s here and we’re wasting time dancing around each other like a couple of stupid teenagers again. We pinky swore not to make it weird. To stay friends. To keep it casual. But I lost track of all of that. I let it all get tangled up in the overwhelming feelings I have for her.
I’ll never get to keep Quinn Dawson. I knew that. I’m ill-equipped to keep a woman like her. But that was never what this thing with Quinn was supposed to be about anyway.
Wes gives a sharp whistle from the other side of the herd, a signal for me to close the gap. I shift June, and the cows bunch tighter, moving like a tide toward the gate.
Maybe Quinn’s right, and there isn’t anything to tell. At least this way, Wes doesn’t have to look at me differently. He doesn’t have to wonder how long I’ve been wanting something I shouldn’t. I can swallow my feelings, and then I won’t have to worry about losing Wes’ trust and friendship.
She wanted casual, and I can give her what she wants. I can smile. I can tease. I can fuck her like it’s only about the list. I can pretend my chest doesn’t ache every time I think about losing her. She’ll never have to know.
And when it’s all said and done, I’ll walk away knowing I gave her what she needed before letting her go off to the bigger and better things she was always meant for.
This was always supposed to be about giving her what she needs—about being someone safe she can explore with.
I haven’t finished giving her everything she asked me for on that list. But God help me, I don’t want to cross anything else off because it will mean I’m one step closer to losing her. And damn it, I’m not ready for that.
But I can’t last another day without trying to mend things with Quinn, so when I see her alone in the barn after we’re done driving cattle, I decide to corner her.
If she wants to fight fixing this, then fine. She can fight it all she wants. But I’m done giving her space.
She’s crouched beside one of the bottle calves, stethoscope in her ears, completely focused. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, wisps coming loose and framing her face. She looks so damn sure of herself when she’s working. I love getting to see this version of her.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” I say, leaning against the stall door.
She jumps, stethoscope nearly flying out of her ears. “Shit. You scared me.”
I can’t help the smirk tugging at my mouth as she drapes the stethoscope around her neck. “I’ve been busy with Pops,” she says quickly, eyes darting away.
“Bullshit,” I say, pushing off the wall. “He’s doing fine getting around on his own, and I know he only has his therapy twice a week.”
She folds her arms, defensive. “I still need to help him do his exercises at home. And Dr. Dillard’s been calling me to consult on some things too.”
I lift a brow at the weak excuse. “And that takes all day?”
“Tripp…” she starts, voice soft gentle, like she’s about to let me down easy. But I’m not about to let her push me away. The distance between us is already unbearable, like a chasm yawning wide before me.
“Come over tonight,” I say, closing the space between us. “I’m sick of it being like this.”
She sighs and I can see her turning it over in her head—probably making a list of pros and cons.
“You’ve been dodging me all week,” I press, trying for light but feeling too damn raw. “The least you can do is come over and watch a movie with me.”
She hesitates, lips pressing together. “I’ll think about it.”
I roll my eyes. She’s always been a terrible liar. “Uh-huh. You act like I don’t know you well enough to know that’s a definite no.”
“It’s not definite,” she mutters. “I’m just not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Quinnie, please?” I take off my hat and rake a hand through my hair. “Just because Sawyer and Allie know doesn’t mean we can’t still hang out. I’m sorry I fucked it all up and made it weird.”
Her expression softens, and the little flicker of guilt I catch hits me right in the gut.
“You didn’t make it weird,” she says. “This one’s all on me.”
I don’t want her to feel bad. I just want her. However long I get to have her.
I step close enough to smell her shampoo. My hand slides around her waist, fingers splaying across the small of her back. She’s warm against my palm, and within seconds the tension seeps out of her body and she leans against me, eyes going hazy.
I’m done for. No matter how many times I tell myself I can keep my feelings in check, the second she melts into me, I’m at her feet begging for any piece of her she’s willing to give.
“Come over tonight once Pops goes to bed,” I say quietly. “We’ll talk it out.”
Her eyes lift to mine, searching. For what, I don’t know. Maybe for a reason to say no. But instead, she just nods. “Alright.”
I give her hip a gentle squeeze before forcing myself to let go. “Alright. I’ll see you tonight.”
When I walk out of the barn, the air feels colder. I know I’m only making it more difficult for myself—falling harder every minute we spend together. But I’d rather take the pain later than miss what’s right in front of me now.