Chapter 27 Lucy
Lucy
The morning air bites at my cheeks as I walk the two blocks from the diner to the police station, boots crunching on gravel still wet from yesterday's storm.
The bag of Gabriel's favorite breakfast feels warm in my hands, the coffee steam curling up into Montana's endless sky.
Briarhaven is barely stirring, just the distant lowing of cattle and the rumble of ranch trucks heading out for morning chores.
It should be peaceful, but my pulse hammers against my throat like a caged bird.
What if Gabriel can't handle this?
The thought hits me sideways, stealing my breath. What if the possessive, commanding man who claimed me so thoroughly decides sharing isn't worth the complication?
My grip tightens on the paper bag until I'm probably crushing the pastry inside. Because I'm not ready to choose. I don't want to choose. For the first time in my life, I want it all. Every rough edge of Colt, every controlled burn of Gabriel, every quiet storm of Beau.
But maybe that makes me exactly what uncle Richard always said. Selfish. Broken. Too damaged to deserve good things.
"Lucy! Perfect timing!"
I nearly jump out of my skin as Emma materializes beside me, pushing a stroller with one hand while bouncing on her feet. Her honey-blonde hair escapes from a messy bun, and she's wearing yoga pants with an oversized ranch sweater.
She looks exhausted and radiant in that new-mother way that makes me ache with something I can't name.
"Emma, hi." I force my anxiety down, painting on a smile. "Early morning walk?"
"Little Nathan decided six AM was party time." She glances down at the bundle in the stroller with pure love and exasperation. "Sometimes this is the only thing that settles him. Magic of fresh air and movement, according to every mommy blog on the internet."
I peek into the stroller at the tiny face, peaceful now in sleep. Something warm and painful twists in my chest. "He's beautiful."
"He's a terror, but he's my terror." Emma grins, then gives me a look that's far too knowing.
"Speaking of terrors, I heard about your run-in with the Cutter brothers. Are you okay? And please tell me there's some dramatic story about my brother and his complicated friends swooping in to save you."
Heat floods my cheeks. "It wasn't exactly a rescue—"
"Honey, you're blushing like a virgin at a honky-tonk. There's definitely something." Emma leans closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Is this about you spending the night at Beau Blackwell's ranch? Because Mrs. Henderson saw Colt's truck there yesterday evening, and it sure as hell didn't leave until this morning."
"Mrs. Henderson needs a hobby that doesn't involve binoculars."
"Mrs. Henderson is better than cable TV around here." Emma's voice softens with genuine affection.
"But seriously, Lucy, I need details. Are we talking about what I think we're talking about? Because if my emotionally constipated brother has finally figured out how to share nicely with others, I might actually cry from happiness."
The way she talks about Colt, like she genuinely loves him and wants him happy, makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
"It's... complicated."
"The best things usually are." Emma reaches out and squeezes my arm, her touch gentle but grounding.
"Look, I don't know the whole story, and I won't pry. Much. But you've got a friend here, okay? Whatever's happening, however messy it gets, you don't have to navigate it alone."
The kindness in her words makes my throat tight. When was the last time someone offered friendship without wanting anything in return?
"Thank you. That means more than you know."
"Good. Now, I'm serious about another girls' night like we talked about. I need adult conversation that doesn't involve bodily fluids or sleep schedules, and you look like you could use someone to talk to who isn't a complicated cowboy."
Despite everything, I laugh. "You're terrible."
Emma starts pushing the stroller again as Nathan begins to stir. "Call me, Lucy. I mean it. We complicated women need to stick together in this town full of stubborn men."
She heads off down the street, leaving me standing on cracked pavement with a lighter heart and the strangest feeling that maybe I'm not as alone as I thought.
The police station sits quiet in the early morning light, its windows glowing amber against weathered brick.
A sign on the front desk announces office hours don't start until eight, but I can see light spilling from under Gabriel's door at the back of the building, hear the soft crackle of dispatch radio.
My heart starts racing as I approach, that familiar cocktail of want and nerves flooding my system. Through the small window in his door, I can see Gabriel hunched over his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose as he studies what looks like case files.
Jesus. The glasses are new to me, and the sight of him wearing them does something liquid and dangerous to my insides. He looks scholarly and serious, but they can't hide the underlying intensity that makes my pulse race every time he looks at me.
I knock softly on the doorframe, and when he glances up, his whole face transforms. The focused, professional mask melts away, replaced by a smile that's pure warmth and genuine wonder, like he can't quite believe I'm real.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, pulling off the glasses and standing in one fluid motion. Even that simple movement is controlled, predatory grace that makes my mouth go dry.
"Brought you breakfast." I hold up the bag, trying to ignore the way his eyes track the movement. "Thought you might need something more substantial than whatever vending machine disaster you've been surviving on."
"You figured right." He moves around the desk, and suddenly he's crowding me against the wood, his hands coming up to frame my face with gentle reverence. "Though I'm happier to see you than the food."
The simple honesty in his voice makes my knees weak. Before I can respond, he's leaning down until our foreheads almost touch, his breath warm against my lips.
"Missed you," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and want.
"Gabriel," I breathe, and then his mouth is on mine and I'm drowning.
He kisses me like he's starving, like I'm oxygen and he's been suffocating. His hands tangle in my hair, and I can feel the barely leashed control in the way he holds me, like he wants to devour me but is terrified of being too rough.
I melt into him, my body coming alive under his touch, when he suddenly goes still. His thumb traces the side of my neck, and I know exactly what he's found.
Colt's bite mark. A purple bruise that speaks of possession and passion and choices I won't apologize for.
My face burns, but I force myself to meet Gabriel's eyes. I won't be ashamed. I won't apologize for wanting all of them.
"I spent the night with Colt and Beau," I say, my voice steady despite the way my heart hammers. "At the ranch. All night."
Gabriel goes very still, his thumb still tracing the mark. For a heartbeat, I think he's going to pull away, tell me this is too complicated, that he can't handle sharing after all.
Instead, he leans down and bites the other side of my neck.
The sharp pleasure-pain makes me gasp, my hands fisting in his uniform shirt as he sucks hard enough to leave his own claim. When he pulls back, his blue eyes blaze with something that steals my breath.
"Mine too," he growls, voice rough with possession. "You're mine too."
Relief floods through me so fast it makes me dizzy. "Yes," I whisper. "Yours too."
Gabriel's control snaps like a breaking rope. He lifts me onto his desk, stepping between my legs and crushing his mouth to mine again. This kiss is different, desperate and claiming and full of promises that make heat pool low in my belly.
"Fuck, Lucy," he breathes against my lips, his voice wrecked. "What you do to me. Want you so goddamn bad right now I can barely think straight."
"Then take me," I challenge, but he shakes his head, jaw clenched with the effort of restraint.
"Not here. Not in my office where anyone could walk in." His eyes are dark with regret and hunger. "You deserve better than being bent over my desk like some quick fuck."
The disappointment crashes through me, swift and sharp.
But then an idea forms. Wicked and bold and completely unlike the girl I was just weeks ago.
"Maybe," I say, sliding off the desk to stand in front of him, "I want to take you instead."
Gabriel's eyes go wide as I reach for his belt, understanding immediately. "Lucy, you don't have to—"
"I want to." My fingers work at his buckle, knuckles brushing the hard length of him through the fabric. "I want to know what you taste like. Want to make you lose control."
His breath comes out shaky as I lower his zipper, and when I sink to my knees in front of him, his hands clench into fists at his sides.
"Sweetheart," he says, voice strained, " Anyone could—"
I silence him by freeing his cock and taking him into my mouth in one smooth motion. The taste of him, salt and heat, makes me moan around him.
He's thick and hard and perfect, and the way he jerks at the first touch of my tongue sends power surging through my veins.
This is what I needed. This feeling of control, of choice, of being the one making him fall apart instead of the other way around.
I can feel his restraint in the tension of his body, see it in the way his hands remain clenched at his sides instead of touching me.
I pull off him long enough to look up and meet his blazing eyes. "Gabriel," I say, voice husky with want. "Touch me. Use me."
Something wild and desperate flashes across his face. "You sure?"
Instead of answering with words, I take his hands and guide them to my hair, then take him back into my mouth and start moving with purpose.
The effect is immediate and devastating. Gabriel's control shatters completely. His hands tighten in my hair, guiding my movements as I work him with my mouth and tongue.
The rough groans and muttered curses he makes go straight to my core, making me ache.
"Christ, Lucy," he pants, hips starting to move in short, controlled thrusts. "Your mouth. So fucking perfect."
I can feel him getting close, can taste the desperation building. When I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper than I thought possible, he breaks with a growl.
He comes hard, whole body going rigid as he spills himself down my throat. I swallow everything he gives me, holding him until the aftershocks stop and his breathing starts to return to normal.
When I finally pull away and look up at him, Gabriel's expression is pure awe mixed with something that looks suspiciously like worship.
"That was..." he starts, then stops, apparently unable to find words.
I stand slowly, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, watching as his eyes track the movement. There's something incredibly satisfying about seeing him rumpled and undone, his usually perfect composure thoroughly shattered.
"That was me choosing," I tell him, voice carrying a confidence I didn't know I possessed. "Choosing you, choosing this, choosing all of it without apology."
Gabriel reaches for me, pulling me against his chest and holding me tight. "Don't know what I did to deserve you," he murmurs against my hair, "but I'm not questioning it."
"Good," I say, smiling against his shirt. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
As he holds me in his quiet office, morning sun streaming through windows and the taste of him still on my lips, I realize something important has shifted. The doubt and anxiety that plagued me on the walk here are gone, replaced by something stronger.
I might not control everything about my situation. I might not be able to predict how this unconventional relationship will work, or whether the men will still want me when they learn the truth about my past.
But this part? This choice to be bold, to take what I want, to own my desires without shame or apology?
This part is completely, utterly mine.
And I'm just getting started.