Frog

Chapter 3 #2

The cowboy boots at the department stores would not make it a week on the range, so I passed.

But I got a pair of running shoes and a pair of heavy hiking boots Cy insisted on because the leather was thick and the sole was sewn on, not glued, which made it more durable.

I also got a pair of harness boots that I made the mistake of looking at too long.

“I know you like them,” Cy said with a daring grin. “And you need something casual.”

Being in no mood to argue, I just said thank you.

I’d left my cowboy hat at Cy’s place, but my head was cold, and I felt naked without it. He got me a wool beanie.

“This is gonna fix things?” I asked him as he wrapped a scarf around my neck and his sister helped me on with a peacoat.

“Yes.” He beamed. “You look good. That coat is hot.”

I glowered at him.

“What? It is.”

“It’s a coat,” I grumbled.

“Can I get you dress shoes?”

“No.”

“Just a pair of black lace-ups to keep at my house?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please. You’ll need them.”

“For what?”

“I have a dinner to go to while you’re here.”

“I’ll stay home.”

His eyes softened.

“I mean, I’ll stay at your house.”

“You said home.”

“You know what I meant.”

“It was nice, how it sounded.”

“Oh, for crissakes, Cy, you know I would stick around if there was shit I could do in San Francisco, but there ain’t, and I won’t live on you and be a whore!”

“Jesus,” Lyn gasped.

“Shit,” I muttered because I forgot she was there, as well as where I was. Thank God the boys were across the aisle looking at sneakers.

“Letting me take care of you would not make you a whore,” Cy said tightly, his jaw clenched.

“But if I can’t provide for myself, I can’t respect myself. And how can you respect me if I don’t? It won’t work, and you’d come to hate me.”

He shook his head.

“You would,” I assured him. “And I won’t take that chance.”

“Why?”

I leveled my gaze at him. “I just won’t.”

He sighed heavily. “Well, I want you at that party with me, you stubborn, infuriating man, so I’ll get the shoes, you’ll wear them, and then I’ll keep them. How’s that?”

“Infuriating?” I baited him.

His glare should have killed me with how dark it was.

“So they’d be yours.”

“Yes.”

“Then I agree.”

The muscles in his jaw flexed.

“Let’s go already,” I told him. “The kids are restless.”

“Fine,” he groused.

In the car after lunch, on the road toward Half Moon Bay, Tristan was asking Cy about leprosy for some reason, Pip and his mother were playing I Spy, and I was watching Micah draw me in his sketch pad.

“I like that rhinoceros,” I told him. “I’ve never ridden one of them before. Probably like bull ridin’, ya reckon?”

Micah nodded.

“Yeah.” I yawned, leaning closer to him.

He reached up and, not looking away from his page, put his left hand around the side of my face and smoothed his fingers over my cheek. I let my head clunk gently against the top of his and heard him sigh before I closed my eyes. I had no idea I was this tired…

I felt a hand on my knee, shaking gently, and when I opened my eyes, Cy was there, looking down at me.

“We here?” I asked, sitting up and stretching.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding miserable.

I caught hold of his arm and pulled him close, our faces inches apart. “I don’t want us to fight no more. Let’s stop fussin’ at each other and kiss and make up.”

His smile was sweet and sad and happy all at the same time. “I would love that.”

I puckered up, and he started laughing. “So not hot.”

“No?”

He lost it, and I grabbed him and pulled him into my arms and kissed him until it wasn’t funny anymore. I made sure when he got out of the SUV, he was uncomfortable and squirming and cursing my name and promising retribution.

“Oh yeah?” I teased him.

“Oh, cowboy, you’ll be so sorry we’re not alone,” he threatened, eyes still cloudy with passion, his lips swollen and dark and bruised. He looked like I’d mauled him.

“Why’s that?” I asked, following him up the cobblestone path to the front door.

He grunted. “Because you are so going to want my ass, and I’ll be damned if you’ll get it.”

“Maybe it’s about time you had mine,” I said softly.

He froze.

I was proud of myself for not laughing, and when he turned to face me, mouth open, his eyes round with shock, I casually asked him what was wrong.

“You?”

“Me?”

“You.”

I grinned. “We’ve established this.”

“You—” His breath came out in a rush. “You said you’ve never trusted anyone enough to bottom.”

“That’s right.”

“So you’re saying what? You trust me enough?”

“That’s what I’m sayin’. Yessir.”

“Jesus, Weber,” he groaned, reaching for me, leaning hard, hands fisted on my chest, in the henley I was wearing under the new peacoat he’d just bought me. “Don’t tease me.”

“When have you ever known me to do such a thing?”

“Never.” He closed his eyes, inhaling me.

“So then?”

“Oh, baby, please let me have you,” he moaned hoarsely as I kissed his forehead. “I’ll be so… Weber, I’ll be your first.”

“And only, I suspect. Trust doesn’t come easy to me.”

He swallowed hard before opening his eyes and looking up into mine. “Do you have any idea how beautiful your eyes are?”

“Faded blue, like jeans, my mama used to say. They ain’t nothin’, not like yours, not brown and gold all mixed up together. Yours are somethin’ to see.”

He shook his head and then let his head fall forward against my chest.

“So now…” I chuckled. “Who’s gonna be sorry we’re not alone?”

“I really hate you.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Cyrus!”

We both looked toward the front door, where Lyn was waving us in. She appeared a bit frantic.

“Hurry up!” she yelled.

He grabbed hold of my hand and led me toward the house. Inside, it was enormous, made to look like a giant hunting lodge, all river rock and logs, the only thing that didn’t make sense being the skylights.

“Cyrus, honey?” an older woman, who had to be his mother, called over to him.

There were a lot of people converging at once, and I was jostled away from him, but then my arm was grabbed, tight, and Cy eased me back to him, to his side, not letting me go, like a lifeline.

He was not about to let us be separated, and damn if that didn’t make me feel special and wanted.

He always found a way to do that. Whenever we met his friends, or people from work, acquaintances, anyone really—like earlier in the day when he introduced me to his cobbler—Cy always held on and made sure people knew we were together.

Choked up a bit, I was glad when he started talking so I had a moment to take a breath.

“Everyone,” he began, his hand releasing my bicep only to quickly take my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. “This is Weber, he’s visiting, and I’m crazy about him, so let’s all be nice.”

I could have lived without all that. I might have groaned.

“What?” he asked me, eyes gleaming with happiness and mischief.

I shook my head at him.

“Web,” he continued, “this is my family.”

He was squeezing my hand, in front of everyone, showing them all how important I was to him, and really, it was hard not to love a man who made how he felt so abundantly clear.

Everyone looked a bit stunned.

I cleared my throat. “Nice to meet y’all.”

Instant smiling from all of them, and that was it for me.

I needed air. And because Cy knew me so well—which, honestly, was amazing, given the fact that we hadn’t seen one another that many times—he let go of my hand and gestured for the open sliding glass door.

I moved quickly and was outside on the back deck in under a minute.

I was taking deep breaths when the boys came into view, running around the backyard with two little girls and three German shepherds, two of the black-and-brown variety and one black.

“Weber!” Pip yelled, leading the girls over.

The dogs noticed then and ran toward me.

I went to my knees to greet them, and the warning barking became the joyous kind with wagging tails, wet noses jabbed into my eyes, tongues on my face, and general happy whimpering and whining.

Soggy tennis balls got dropped at my feet, and I worked the dogs hard while also playing tag with Pip and the girls.

I kept an eye on Micah and Tristan as they climbed the big oak tree, and when I thought they were high enough, told them not to go up any more.

The girls, Vanessa and Victoria, at five and seven years old, were as cute as they could be with their raven-black hair and big brown eyes. All the kids were adorable, and the sound of their laughter made me smile. I lost track of time, and it was nice.

“Hello.”

I turned to a man I’d seen earlier in the house. “Sir,” I greeted him, knowing of course who he was. There could be no mistake; this was the patriarch of the Benning clan. He was a bigger, more muscular version of the man I hadn’t been able to get out of my head since the first day I met him.

He came forward, hand extended, smiling at me. “Owen Benning.”

“Weber Yates,” I said, shaking his hand.

“It’s awfully nice of you to be the only one out here watching my grandchildren.”

Vanessa came up beside me and put her little hand in mine.

“Looks like you have a friend already.”

Vanessa passed me a muddy, slobber-covered tennis ball a second before one of the dogs came loping back. As I threw the ball hard, she squealed with delight.

“Once you came out here, my son put the fear of God into us.”

I grimaced. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No, not at all. I’ve never seen him…” He trailed off, as if unsure how to continue, then said, “So you came with Cy and Lyn.”

“Yessir.”

“May I ask how she seems to you?”

I turned back, for a moment, to him from watching the kids and the dogs. “Sir?”

“She’s putting on a brave face for her mother and me—that’s easy to see.”

“Well, I reckon however she’s feelin’, she will be a rock for her boys.” I wasn’t about to tell him how she’d broken down in front of me. That was for her to share with her father if she wanted.

“Of course,” he agreed.