23. Claire
23
CLAIRE
W e ride in silence.
Chaucer’s hooves click along the pavement, then thump down a dirt trail that cuts between the Preacher and Dagney properties. Ransom hooked a lantern to the saddle to help guide us, but even in the dark, Chaucer knows his way.
Ransom’s body is strong and solid in my arms. He’s like hugging a tree—thick and hard—and I rest my cheek on his back and inhale his scent.
We pass a familiar sight—a length of cornfield—and I say, “Stop.”
He pulls on Chaucer’s reins. I slide down first, and then Ransom gets off next.
The cornstalks shiver and rustle. They’ve set up an elaborate maze, decorated with fairy lights for the Belleflower Festival. Like a moth, I find myself drawn to the lights. I follow them, letting the corn maze swallow me whole.
The ground is soft, broken with the occasional scratch of fallen stalk. Crickets sing. Ransom follows behind me, letting me lead the way .
During the Belleflower Festival, there will be kids playing in here. Families. But at midnight, it’s just the two of us.
The maze drops us into a clearing. There’s a gazebo, tangled in ivy and drenched in the soft glow of string lights.
I’m spinning out underneath the nighttime sky. My lungs are so tight, and I can’t catch my breath.
My chest feels so empty I want to kneel on the soft dirt, rip my rib cage open, and shove cornstalks inside the hollow space just to feel something rattling around inside of there.
I enter the gazebo. I squeeze my eyes shut. I slip my fingers into my hair and grip until it hurts. I want to pull it off my skull.
Gently, Ransom’s hands slip over my wrists. He guides my hands behind my back. His big hands wrap around my wrists, holding me in place.
“This okay?” Ransom says.
A tickle of comfort in my chest. “Yes.”
This was our thing. I’d get overwhelmed and self-destructive. Ransom would tie my hands back until the episode passed.
I’d forgotten how much I needed it until this second.
With my back to him, lost in this private maze, there’s an uneasy truce. An openness between us.
“Did he hurt you?” Ransom asks.
I shake my head. “No. Nothing like that.”
Ransom holds my wrists. The tightness feels good. It feels healing.
I’m a moth that’s climbed back into my cocoon. I’m too tired to be a butterfly anymore.
“What was Daddy like?” I hear myself ask. “In the end.”
“Paranoid. Thought everyone was out to get him. ”
“Maybe it’s a curse, you know? Preachers can’t trust anyone.”
“You can trust me.”
I suck in a breath between my teeth. “That’s rich, after tonight.”
“You mean with Jade?”
I yank my arms. He releases me. I turn so I can face him. In the flickering lights, those brown eyes look haloed in gold. “Ransom. The other night, in the stables, you spun pretty poetry about how you only have eyes for me. And now I hear you’re some playboy, Wiley Riley , fucking married women?—?”
His jaw sets. “It ain’t like that.”
Angry heat licks my chest. “You made a promise.”
“You got engaged.”
“Yeah. After you abandoned me .” Rage makes my throat tight. The backs of my eyes sting. “You promised it would be only us.”
He shifts, uncomfortable on his feet. “I made a promise you’d be the only woman I’d make love to. And… technically …I ain’t broken that promise…”
His words whip through me. “Stop. Immediately. Stop talking before you put pictures in my head you can’t take back.”
Like a smart boy, Ransom shuts up.
I pace the gazebo. I want to tear at myself. I growl, “I hate it here. I hate Belleflower. And I hate you. The sight of you. The smell of you. Every goddamn thing about you that gets under my skin.”
I shove his chest, but he grabs me suddenly. He takes me by the arms and yanks me in so my body is flush against his. I have no choice but to meet his gaze now.
Just having him close makes the tips of my fingers tingle .
“You’ve got it twisted.” His voice is low. Serious. “Stop raging for a second and listen. I’m not a playboy. I don’t go after married women for the sport. I do it because they don’t ask anything of me. I’ve got nothing to give. Nothing. I can’t belong to them because my heart already belongs to you. So I go with women who have a family. Who have a husband and a life. Because I will never be that for them. I won’t ever be anyone’s husband or the father of their kids. I found my one. That’s it. That’s all it is for me.”
I’m shivering. My teeth chatter.
Not from the cold but from the pure, undiluted adrenaline whipping through my veins.
I curl my fingers in his shirt. I inhale deeply.
Earth. Embers. Home.
Riley Ransom is my own personal calming scent. One deep breath and my feet are on firmer ground.
I rest my head on his chest. “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” I whisper.
His thumb rubs against the base of my skull, the pressure dissolving a headache pinching the edges of my vision. “If you lost it, we’ll find it together.”
“James will?—”
“You don’t gotta make any decisions about James right now.” Ransom cradles my head in his hands, and he tilts my chin up gently. Those chestnut eyes look down at me. “You don’t gotta make any decisions at all.”
A strand of hair sticks to my lips. He brushes it off. His hands are so big, and I feel protected in them.
Ransom lets out a sigh. “You carry so much, princess.”
“Someone has to.”
“So let that someone be me.” He drops his forehead against mine. I close my eyes. The air is mixed with autumn and Ransom. His hands drop to my arms, and he squeezes me there. “I’ve got you,” he says, and I believe him.
Oh, God. I believe him.
Before I can second-guess myself, I take his face in my hands and pull him in.
His mouth presses against mine. The prickles of his stubble scratch my cheek. Ransom is hard and rough in every inch of his body.
But…
He’s gentle with me.
He unlocks. Our mouths meet, and I open to him. He’s hot and intoxicating, and when he kisses me, my chest isn’t full of thorns anymore.
My heart is a seed. Planted, rooting in the deep, warm earth that is Ransom.
I crave him. Years of longing crack open inside of me and spill out. I need more of him. I need his heat. His raw body against mine.
The way he kisses me, he needs it, too.
This isn’t the shaking, sweet boy I used to know.
This man is strong, and confident, and he takes what he wants.
Me .
Our bodies crash against the railing, and it’s a miracle the old bones of this gazebo don’t crack underneath us. I rip at his shirt, eager for the hard, warm flesh underneath. His body presses against mine, and I nip at his throat as I run my fingers down those hard, strong muscles, made tight with the backbreaking work he does day in, day out.
But when my hands pull at the buckle of his belt, he stops me, cuffing my wrists in his grip. “Hold up,” he says. “Slow down.”
My throat squeezes. You idiot, Claire .
You’re five years too late.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. My voice hitches on the words.
Something has broken inside of my chest, and it burns the backs of my eyes.
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey.” Ransom takes my face in his hands. I hate the heat that burns my cheeks. His thumb brushes my tear away. “Dammit, woman, you make me dizzy,” he sighs. His forehead drops against mine again.
For a second, we breathe together in the silence. And ache. This longing is like a third heartbeat pounding between us.
Then, beyond the bubble of our little gazebo, we hear, “Bit late to be wandering about, isn’t it?”
The presence of strangers makes my bones turn brittle. Two men walk through the maze, entering our little clearing.
What are they doing here?
It’s late. And there’s no reason for anyone to walk this way…unless you intend to neck in the gazebo.
And they don’t look like they’ve come to neck.
Something about the way they’re looking at us makes my blood go cold.
I quickly turn away. Strangers don’t get to see me cry. I lock it up, pushing back my tears.
“You’re on private property,” one of them says.
“Yes, sir,” Ransom replies, ever congenial. “Sorry about that. We’ll be on our way.”
“Is that Claire Preacher with you?”
Fuck me .
I turn and peel on a smile. “Hi. We’re just leaving.”
“Ma’am.” He tips his hat. “Where’s that fancy husband of yours? ”
Nettles climb my skin.
This feels very, very off.
“We’re just having a conversation,” Ransom butts in.
“Uh-huh.” A leery grin cuts across his face. “How about that?”
My stomach is churning. Fuck them . Fuck this whole town and their puritanical mindset.
“Have a good night,” I tell them, clipped. Which is Southern for go away now .
“Actually, Ms. Preacher, we’re all about to have a very bad night.” Then he takes a pistol out of his holster and aims it at Ransom. “You’re coming with us.”