Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Abigail
The limo door opens, and cold Montana air rushes in.
For half a second, I just sit here.
Because if I move, this will be real.
The fundraiser. The whispers. The attention on our relationship.
My stomach flips—and not entirely from nerves.
The ride over replays in rapid, sinful flashes. Jasper’s mouth between my legs. Beau’s hand firm on my thigh. Lincoln and Lawson’s eyes locked on me as I came apart.
As dirty and depraved as the whole moment was, it did exactly what Jasper intended. It reminded me that I mean more to them than anything ever has—or ever will—and no dirty look or whispered insult can take that away from us.
The memory of his eyes blazing up at me makes my cheeks pink and sends a new wave of arousal to burn low in my belly. Because, despite the mind-blowing orgasm… I still want more. From Jasper. From Beau. From all of them.
And the fact that I’m about to step out of this limo with no panties on—in a dress with a very high slit, with a crowd of people waiting outside—and bite marks along my inner thigh makes sweat bead along my spine.
I repeat the mantra I’ve been telling myself the entire way over here.
I’m being ridiculous.
I know I’m being ridiculous.
I know they’re proud to have me.
I know they don’t want me to be a secret.
I know that what we have is real.
A movement beside me pulls me back.
Lincoln steps out first, tall and broad in his suit that fits him like it was stitched onto his shoulders.
I’ve seen him in suits before, but tonight is different.
His hair is styled instead of casually tossed back from running his hands through it.
His beard is trimmed sharp. And he looks less like the steady ranch lawyer and more like a man who owns the room he’s in before he even speaks.
Lawson follows. Charcoal jacket stretched across his chest, tie slightly loosened already, like he refuses to be completely tamed. He places his chocolate-colored felt hat on his head before adjusting his cufflinks with easy elegance—like he’s done this a thousand times.
Beau steps out next, smoothing a hand down the front of his navy suit.
The crisp white shirt under his jacket tightens across his broad chest when he moves, and the perfectly knotted tie sits clean against his throat.
His dimples deepen as he smiles at me from where I’m still hiding inside the limo, and just the sight of those damn things alone has me feeling more at ease.
And then Jasper follows. Black suit. No tie.
Black shirt and pants. Black Stetson. The silver chains at his neck—the one I gave him at Christmas and the one from his sister—glint against the dark fabric, and I have a desperate, reckless urge to see them dangling over me instead.
I bite my lip as he lifts his hat, drags a hand through his hair, and sets it back in place—slow, deliberate—the motion pulling his jacket tight across his shoulders, biceps straining the fabric like it’s holding on for dear life.
My god. How does one woman get so lucky?
Lincoln turns toward the limo door and reaches his hand inside. “Sweetheart.”
I smooth my palms down the fabric of my dress before I take it. He wraps his hand around mine tightly, silently giving me the last bit of courage I need.
And when I step out, he doesn’t let go as Jasper lifts my other hand and places a soft kiss on the back of it. Lawson shoots me one of his rare, true, and genuine smiles, while Beau looks at me as if I’d hung the moon.
For a second, standing between them, heels planted on polished pavement, I feel… powerful.
Confident.
Excited.
The venue rises in front of us—all stone columns and sweeping staircases, light pouring from the massive windows.
Crystal chandeliers are glowing through the glass, and valets and waiters move about like a perfectly choreographed dance.
Women in gowns. Men in suits. The low hum of wealth and influence.
It’s opulent in a way I don’t imagine most people picture when they picture Montana.
And yet… there’s no doubt in my mind that this state runs on functions like these.
I can feel Lawson’s eyes on me, so I look over at him and find him studying me. “You good?” he mouths.
I nod.
“Do you see him anywhere?” Lincoln asks his brother quietly. It’s so quiet that I almost wonder if he didn’t mean for me to hear it at all.
My pulse stutters.
Lawson’s gaze shifts, scanning the crowd. “No.”
Lincoln fixes his posture, and when he sees me looking up at him, he smiles back down at me.
Yeah, wasn’t supposed to hear that.
We move as a unit up the steps.
Inside, it’s even more than I’d originally thought. White linens. Gold accents. The expensive scent of perfume and aged whiskey hanging in the air.
“You’ve got this, Darlin’,” Beau whispers before kissing my cheek.
And then it begins.
The introductions.
“Abigail, this is Thomas Whitaker from the auction house,” Lawson says.
An older man with sharp eyes and a firm handshake smiles at me. He looks between the four men standing behind me, likely trying to figure out who I “belong” to. But instead of dwelling on it too long, he says, “Pleasure to meet any woman who can keep up with these four.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “It’s a very strenuous job, I will say that.”
Beau chokes out a laugh, and I look up to find Jasper curling his lips in, trying not to do the same.
The man excuses himself after another minute of polite conversation. Once he walks away, Lawson growls playfully in my ear. “And here I thought Beau and Jas would be the biggest trouble makers tonight.”
I smile widely. “Looks like you got your hands full, old man.”
His eyes narrow. “If I recall, we’re the same age.”
“Yeah, but I’m prettier, so it doesn’t count.”
He barks out a laugh, and it soothes something deep in my soul.
The next few hours go about the same. All four men take turns introducing me to various people. Each of them seamlessly filling their own roles.
Lawson handles the conservationists and major investors in the area.
Lincoln talks policy and land rights.
Beau charms the pants off of anyone who will listen to him talk about the animals.
And Jasper stays close while speaking to any of his sponsors, as well as anyone interested in wanting the rodeo superstar in attendance at their events.
People’s eyes linger with every introduction.
Some curious.
Some calculating.
Some surprised.
But no one says anything outright.
My assumption is that it’s because they know the four men that keep my company.
They know any blatant disrespect won’t be tolerated.
No, they’ll just keep their insults and snide looks for when we’re not around—if there’s any at all.
And honestly… I don’t really mind. Seeing how each of them beams with pride when they introduce me pushes the self-doubt further and further away each time.
Dinner’s a blur of candlelight and soft laughter.
Lincoln’s hand brushes mine under the table.
Jasper leans back in his chair every so often, reaching around Lincoln and brushing his fingertips along my shoulder.
Beau feeds me a bite of his chocolate mousse in exchange for a bite of my crème br?lée.
And Lawson’s eyes hardly ever waver from staring at me.
And suddenly… I’m the one feeling proud.
Proud to be loved by them.
Proud to be here with them.
Proud that these four intelligent, caring, loving, hard-working men want me for everything that I am—regardless of what came before them.
In New York, my life was chaos and fear, but I was used to rooms full of people. Used to just blending in and observing. All while being exactly who I was “supposed to be.”
Here though?
I’m not blending at all.
Here, I’m seen.
With them… I am seen.
When the music shifts after dessert, Jasper stands first, holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”
It isn’t a question. I laugh softly but go.
His palm settles firm at my waist, pulling me flush against him as we move to a cover of “Sweet Symphony” by Joy Oladokun featuring Chris Stapleton. Jasper doesn’t spin me dramatically or show me off.
He just holds me.
Safe and secure.
Like he isn’t worried about a single other soul in this room besides me.
Jasper doesn’t say a word as the two of us move throughout the room, but his emerald-green eyes never leave mine.
And as the last chorus starts, he surprises me by singing along softly to the words.
His voice is raspy and rough, but it washes over me in a way I’d never expected.
So much so that I don’t notice the tear that rolls down my face until Jas smiles and wipes it away gently with his thumb before placing a soft kiss on my lips.
“Bet you didn’t know I could sing better than Beau, huh? ” he murmurs against my lips.
My smile nearly splits my face in half, and a laugh bursts free.
When the song ends, Beau steals me from his arms with a dramatic flourish, dipping me backward the second our hands connect
Those damn dimples practically knock the wind out of me as he looks down at me. “He was trying to steal my thunder, wasn’t he?”
“Claims he can sing better than you,” I tease, still bent backward in his arms.
“Phssss. He fuckin’ wishes. Wait—do you think he can?”
I shrug. “I dunno, Mr. Saint John. Might have to refresh my memory.”
His eyes gleam with excitement. “Oh, challenge accepted, Darlin’.”
With lightning speed, he stands me up and spins me once more before holding my body tight to his.
Unashamed of who’s watching, Beau two-steps me around the room to “Diamond In My Pocket” by Cody Johnson, all while belting out every single word.
I laugh the entire time, and when he asks me if he sounds better than Jasper, I only wink before crashing my lips to his.
Lawson’s dance follows. It’s steadier and more protective, but I can feel every bit of his love as his heart beats beneath where he has our two hands resting against his chest. As our song ends, he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and whispers, “I love you, Honey.”
My cheeks are starting to hurt from how much I’m smiling. “I love you, Lawson.”
“May I have this dance?” Lincoln interjects just as the music changes to James Otto’s “Just Got Started Lovin’ You.
” Lawson claps his little brother on the shoulder, kisses my cheek, and rejoins Jasper and Beau at the bar, who have stared at me through every dance.
My skin feels flushed, and I’m desperate for a glass of water, but I don’t dare ask to leave the dance floor until Lincoln has had his turn.
Our dance together isn’t anything extravagant; hell, we hardly even move from the spot we’re in, but he doesn’t leave any space between his body and mine as our hips sway in rhythm to the song.
“You’re doing incredible, Sweetheart,” he murmurs.
And I believe him.
I’m having fun.
Real fun.
I’m not pretending.
Not surviving.
I’m thriving.