Chapter Eleven #2
“Thanks for the beer, the game, and good conversation, he extended his arm and shook Colton’s waiting hand with a sloppy smile.
You all right.” He grabbed his Stetson from a nearby tabletop.
It was big and ill-fitting like the rest of his loose uniform and Colton had to strain to keep himself from laughing at the pitiful sight the man made.
“Got an early start tomorrow. But I usually stop in here for a game and a cold one before I head on home. If you ever want to let some steam off again, feel free to drop on in.”
He walked out of the pool room and into the main section of the saloon, hollering, “Night, Bobby,” to the bartender as he headed for the door.
Storm smiled and Colton matched it. “Why, Colton,” Storm said gleefully, “I do think you’ve just made a friend. And I say you because he pretty much ignored my Puerto Rican ass the entire time unless he was putting in a beer order.”
Storm sat at a table in the corner giggling like a kid who’d gotten away with the sweetest prank. “Man, watching you lull rednecks into believing you’re one of ’em is twisted and yet so much fun. Think he would’ve been that friendly if he knew you were Black?”
Colton tipped his beer and took a quick swig. “Probably not. I reckon it’s best we don’t tell him then. At least not until I get a call from this number. According to him, it’s an invite to do some ‘unconventional work.’ And certainly not before I get what I want.”
“What do you want, Colton?”
“That son of a bitch in a cage.”
Storm stood, playfully slapping Colton on the arm. “I’ll gladly help you lock that cage and throw away the key.”
*
Colton parked his truck in front of Seneca’s cabin. He’d just dropped Storm back to their shared bunkhouse and now, he was where he’d wanted to be all night: alone with Seneca.
He made quick work of the stairs and tapped on the door twice before twisting the knob to enter.
The lights were low, and his eyes were instantly drawn to the flickering of the television screen. He caught sight of subtle movement on the couch and saw Seneca, stretched out on the cushions.
She was a vision with her dark curly strands spread out across a throw pillow, one thick leg bent and the other stretched out revealing so much silky brown skin he ached to reach out and touch it.
He moved closer to her, sitting on the edge of the couch, balancing himself with an outstretched arm to its back.
“Seneca, baby.” He touched the back of his hand to her cheek expecting to slowly rouse her from her slumber.
But the light touch made her bolt upright with outstretched hands as if she was prepared to defend herself.
When he instinctively grabbed her wrists to keep her from striking him, she fought to free herself from him.
“Seneca, it’s Colton. Wake up.”
Her eyes snapped open and she fought to focus them in the dark. Even without the lights he could see wild fear in her unfocused gaze.
Tension settled in his body as he tried to figure out what was happening.
He called her name again, hoping she would finally see him. She blinked a few times before her eyes widened and locked in on his face, her struggling form relaxing as she made out his features.
“Colton?”
He took a breath, releasing her wrists, cupping her cheek.
“It’s me. You okay?”
“Sure,” she answered tersely. She pulled herself out of their awkward positioning and stood, heading directly for the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and swallowed earnestly from it.
He took careful steps toward her, trying his best not to spook her. “Seneca, what was that?”
“What was what?”
She turned her back to him, continuing to drink her water. He was certain she wasn’t as thirsty as she made out. But he didn’t say anything, just watched her commit to avoiding his question.
“Seneca, you nearly took a swing at me in your sleep. Were you having a nightmare?”
She threw the now empty bottle into the recycling bin and braced herself against the counter with outstretched arms.
He took in the sight of her, stoic and still, save for the tiny, almost unnoticeable tremors in her arms.
He moved closer, placing his hands slowly on hers and waiting until she laced her fingers through his, giving him permission to draw her into his chest.
What looked like small tremors turned into hard shivers as he pressed her body against his.
He gave her a minute. Whatever this was, she needed to work herself through it.
It wasn’t like the night before when she cried in his arms because of Hastings.
This was something different altogether.
And quite frankly, it scared him a hell of a lot more.
They stayed locked together in the middle of her kitchen for a few more long moments before her quaking form stilled and she was finally able to look at him.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For being like this.” She stepped out of his embrace and leaned her hip against the counter, looking down at the gleaming surface as she drew circles with her finger.
“I happen to like how you are. Or haven’t you noticed?”
“That’s only because you don’t know who I am, Colton. I’m a lot on my best day. On my worst… well, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone with good sense.”
He touched a light finger to her chin and lifted her eyes to his.
“If your record, your attack, your recuperation, or this business with Hastings hasn’t run me off, why do you think anything else will?
I’m here because I don’t want to be anywhere else, Seneca.
Are you ever gonna get that through your head? I’m here, because I want to be.”
He saw something soften in her eyes. The fire and joy that usually blazed in their depths was dulled down to simmering embers of sadness and vulnerability.
“You may want to rethink that. Especially if you’re thinking about spending any real time with me. If you ever find me sleeping and we didn’t fall asleep together, don’t wake me up by touching me.”
He could feel his brow furrow as he tried to read between the lines and understand what she wasn’t saying. Then it hit him like a Mack truck against a concrete divider on the highway.
“I was in prison for seven years, Colton. Someone touching you in your sleep could end up being a life-or-death situation.”
He nodded, taking in what she was saying. He wanted to ask more but could see by the stiff set of her shoulders she didn’t need to be interrogated right now.
“I haven’t had an episode like that in a while. I guess all this business with Hastings is fucking with me more than I realized. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“Scared me?” He took both of her hands into his, kissing the knuckles on each of them before letting his gaze meet hers again. “I was worried, Sen. But nothing about you scares me. Nothing.”
He gave her hand a supportive squeeze and he could see some of the tension bleed out of her. “Do you have problems sharing a bed with anyone?”
She tilted her head. “Don’t rightly know. I haven’t shared a bed with anyone in a long time.”
“Would you let me stay here tonight? I feel bad about waking you up and scaring you so badly. I just want to make sure you’re able to rest tonight.”
She seemed to be calculating things in her head he wasn’t privy to. Whatever pros and cons she was weighing, the hesitancy resting in her eyes receded and she nodded.
They walked hand in hand to her bedroom. She was about to move toward the big bed in the center of the room until he tugged her hand and started in the direction of her en-suite bath.
Although it was in a cabin, there was nothing rustic about this bathroom.
Expensive cream and gold tiles covered the walls.
An elevated Jacuzzi sat in the middle of the room with a large glass shower stall beside it.
On each end of the room were closeted stalls and directly opposite the large tub were dual vanities fashioned in the same cream and gold tiles and fixtures that decorated the rest of the room.
He turned on the water, testing it until it was the perfect temperature somewhere between comfortable and almost too hot. While the water ran, he undressed, and then pulled her nightshirt over her head.
He let the pads of his fingertips caress the delicate skin at the curve of her neck and her collarbone.
“Soak with me.”
“All right, let me put my hair up.” He nodded and returned to tending to the water, picking one of the various bath bombs she had in a jar nestled in the corner, and tossing it in and watching the resulting fizz in the water as it dissolved.
She pulled her hair into a bun high on top of her head, the muscles of her back flexing beneath smooth skin he couldn’t wait to have pressed against him.
When she was done, she returned to the tub. He took her hand, helping her into the water first, then joining her. He grabbed a nearby loofa sponge, dipped it into the soothing water and then grabbed a bottle of bath gel.
He had no idea what it was, only that it was hers and since she always smelled edible, he was pretty certain whatever this particular fragrance was would be to her liking.
He bathed her, not because she wasn’t able to do it herself, but because he needed to show her taking care of her, all of her, was his pleasure.
When she’d given him the slightest insight into her time in prison, she always spoke as if she was adding an unbearable burden to him. He wanted her to know there was nothing, absolutely nothing she couldn’t lay on his shoulders. He was here for her no matter what.
When he was done, he scrubbed himself quickly, then he pulled her into his arms. When she rested her head against his shoulder, she took in a deep breath and then breathed it out, releasing the tension bunching all of her muscles together into tight knots.