Epilogue
Bryn
“Wy!” I shout with laughter, finding myself upside down over his shoulder, ass pointed towards the bright blue Montana sky. Grabbing onto his hips to steady myself, I let out a yelp when his hand swats my backside. “What are you doing?”
The chuckle is in his words. “You said you were tired. I’m helping.”
“I think I can make it to the house.”
“I’m helping,” he reiterates, this time squeezing my ass cheek.
“Helping yourself to my ass?” I ask, bobbing along with each step he takes through the crisp snow on the ground. I give his own ass a smack. It’s right there for the taking, so I might as well.
“You know I can’t resist it,” he confirms, giving mine a soft pat.
Nor do I want him to. We’re insatiable for each other.
In the last couple of months I’ve spent more time naked than I have clothed.
At least that’s what it feels like because any time we’re alone, we’re all over each other.
I’m not sure how we spent all afternoon on horseback without getting off in the field somewhere to ravage each other.
Then again, he knows I wasn’t feeling well this morning, so maybe that’s why he didn’t try.
Doesn’t explain why I didn’t. God, he looked good on top of Boone’s horse, Maple. He let me ride Rosie, his sweet-as-pie mare, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The way his body moved effortlessly in sync with his horse. It was so fluid and natural, as though the two of them were of one body.
I was mesmerized.
Kind of like now with his ass. Two things would make it even better. First, if he wasn’t wearing a jacket, though the weather dictates he must. Second, if I wasn’t suddenly feeling nauseous again. Just like this morning, the feeling is strong and quick.
“Wy,” I say, pushing against his hips to try and lift my upper body. “Let me down.”
I’m on my feet two seconds later, grateful when his hands grip my waist and don’t let me stumble over the sudden change in equilibrium.
A wave of dizziness hits, and I hold onto his upper arms, closing my eyes while taking a breath through my nose.
It’s not quite cold enough to freeze the hairs inside, but the brisk January air is rather helpful for stilling my mind.
“You wanna throw up again?” he asks, concern rooted in his voice. “Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?”
Smoothing my hand over my jacket and pressing it against my abdomen, I shake my head. “No, I feel fine. I mean, tired, but after I was sick this morning I felt okay.”
“Maybe you should lie down until dinner. I’ll see if Mom’s got some soup in the freezer we can take out,” he says, cupping my cheek in his hand. When my eyes open after another calming breath, I find him studying me the way he would a patient. “You’re pale.”
“I’m okay. Come on, before we freeze.”
Taking his other hand, I turn towards the house, which isn’t far away after Wyatt carried me halfway across the yard from the stables where we left his brothers looking for hidden Moon Pies.
We’ve been here for two days now, and meeting and getting to know his brothers, as well as his parents, has been a lot of fun.
Even Wyatt’s dad hasn’t been as bad as what Wyatt prepared me for.
He made me swear if his dad said anything out of line that I’d tell him about it, but he’s been nothing but nice.
It might help that Wyatt’s mom has been happier than he’s ever seen her. Not surprising since we dragged Gran along with us, and the two of them have been coming up with all kinds of plans for our not-yet-planned wedding and the future of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
“Will you at least lie down for a little while with me?” he asks before we reach the house.
It’s adorable the way he frets. It was like this after the fire, too. Even after I’d been home for a few weeks, he wouldn’t stop. Besides Gran and Grandpa, Wyatt’s the only one that’s ever been invested in taking care of me, and I like it.
I give him a side eye. “You gonna keep your hands to yourself?”
“Are you?” he throws back at me with a grin. “If I recall, last night you had the wandering hands.”
The memory has me biting my lower lip. The first night we were here, there was no way I was letting him touch me, but after settling in and getting a little more comfortable, I couldn’t resist making him come in his old bedroom. Not that he did anything to stop me.
“And mouth,” I remind him.
He groans, tugging me closer to his body, his arm going around my waist. Slowly stepping towards me, I back up, and we make small progress towards the door that’ll lead inside to a mudroom-laundry room combination so we can wash up.
“That mouth,” he mumbles, kissing my jaw. “I’ve thought about that mouth a million times today.”
With a giggle, I dance away from him, calling over my shoulder, “Try not to come in your pants as you keep thinking about it.”
“B…” It’s a warning.
But I’m too far away when he goes to grab me, breaking into a jog towards the house, the nausea all but gone. He growls playfully as he tries to catch up, letting me reach the door before he finally grabs me around the waist.
I relish in his strength as we walk into the house, the warmth of his childhood home seeping into my bones even before my jacket and boots are off.
It’s well taken care of, with lots of it having been redone.
The boys redid it themselves as they got older.
Wyatt isn’t the only handy one in the family.
Beau, his oldest brother, even built his own place on the property with the help of his brothers.
And Gage built two cabins for the sole purpose of renting them out for extra income.
He didn’t bother building his own, preferring to stay in a fifth wheel nearby.
Only Boone still lives in the main house, occupying the walkout basement which he’s turned into a full suite.
It smells like Christmas dinner in the house.
Turkey, fresh bread, and spices drift through the air making me smile.
It might be nearing the end of January, but since we couldn’t make it for the December holiday, Wyatt’s mom decided we’d celebrate a little later.
There’s no tree or decorations up, but the company and food more than make up for it.
“Smells good in here, Mom,” Wyatt calls as we both pull off our jackets and boots.
The matriarch appears in the doorway to the mudroom, a bright smile on cherry lips, blonde curly hair piled on top of her head, a towel in her hands as she dries something.
I offered to help earlier, but she and Gran shooed us out, demanding we enjoy our time on the ranch instead of working in the kitchen.
“That’s probably Ruby’s cookies. She’s just pulling them from the oven.” Marilyn, Wyatt’s mom, waves a hand in our direction. “Wash up and you can both have one while they’re warm.”
We do, and once we’ve both got clean hands, we find our way into the kitchen where Gran is just sliding the last of the chocolate chip cookies onto a cooling rack.
“Looks like you two have been busy,” Wyatt comments, meandering towards the island in the center of the large kitchen where Gran is with the cookies.
My feet stop when my stomach churns at the new scent that hits me. The cookies. Sickly sweet, reminding me of vanilla and caramel, and for whatever reason, whiskey. Like the very first shot I took with Wyatt. Which is usually a pleasant thought, but right now is making me want to throw up.
I walk towards the kitchen table which sits between the kitchen and open living room. A large gray sectional fills the room, along with two recliners. Wyatt’s dad, Art, sits in one of them, watching the wall-mounted big screen currently playing a hockey game.
“Bryn, sweetheart, don’t you want one?” Gran asks, and I turn back towards the island as I pull out a kitchen chair. She’s eyeing me. Almost like Wyatt eyed me outside.
Shaking my head, I sink into the chair. “No, not right now.”
“I don’t think she’s feeling one hundred percent,” Wyatt comments around a mouthful of cookie, opening his mouth into an “O” and taking a couple of open-mouthed breaths. “Hot.”
“I told you to wait,” Gran chastises.
At the same time, Marilyn says, “She warned you.”
“So good, though,” Wyatt mumbles, taking another bite. Typical.
“Big hockey fan, Art?” I ask Wyatt’s dad, who glances in my direction.
He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t scowl, either. “I enjoy it. You watch any?”
I shrug. “Not really. I’ve got a couple friends back home who are big fans.”
“San Rocco with that big shot, Nicholas Austin?” he questions.
“San Rocco for sure,” I confirm. “Nicholas Austin, I’m not sure about. I don’t pay any attention.”
“Brody’s a big fan,” Wyatt chimes in, voice closer than a moment ago. When I look in his direction, he’s two steps away, another cookie in his hand. I eye it like it’s done something dirty, then turn back to the TV. “I think he goes into the city to watch them when he can.”
“He does?” I question, turning back to him.
He’s got a hand on the back of my chair, standing to the side of it. His mouth is full of cookie again, but when he brings his hand down after his bite, the cookie is practically in my face, and the smell hits me again.
Abruptly, I stand, forcing Wyatt back a step. A look of surprise crosses his face before concern replaces it. I shake my head, eyes flashing with a look that tells him not to say anything. His mouth opens, then closes, brows furrowing in confusion.
“Bryn, sweetheart? Are you okay?” Gran asks from across the kitchen. When our eyes meet, though, it’s not concern I see there. Not like I saw with Wyatt outside. It’s something else. “Still not well from this morning? I thought maybe you’d just decided you didn’t like Cheese Whiz and jam anymore.”
The mere thought of the toast from this morning makes me queasy, but I fight through it, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine. I just need to…” Trailing off, I point in the direction of the bathroom, making my way to the one on the main level of the house.