Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
RAE
The first thing I notice when I wake up is warmth.
Not the kind that comes from blankets or the sun creeping through the window.
This warmth is heavier than that, solid and steady, like I’m pressed up against a living space heater that also happens to breathe slowly against the back of my neck.
For a few seconds my brain floats in that quiet place between sleep and fully waking up, trying to figure out why I can’t roll over without something tightening around my waist.
Then the memory of last night slides back into place. Cole.
My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim gray light filtering through the thin curtains over the window.
The bedroom still feels wrapped in early morning quiet, that soft moment before the farm fully wakes up.
I can smell hay drifting in faintly through the cracked window, mixed with dog fur and the citrus shampoo I used before collapsing into bed last night.
Behind me, Cole is still asleep.
His chest is pressed firmly against my back, one arm wrapped around my waist like he fell asleep holding me there and never once considered letting go.
His hand rests low on my stomach, the weight of it heavy and warm through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt.
His breathing is slow and even, each exhale brushing against the back of my neck and sending little shivers down my spine.
For a moment I don’t move at all.
Partly because it’s comfortable.
Partly because the man is basically a human furnace.
I glance down at the arm wrapped around me, studying the rough hand resting against my stomach.
His fingers are relaxed but strong, the kind of hands that come from years of working with tools and engines and whatever other dangerous things men like Cole tend to do for a living.
The sleeve of his T-shirt stretches tightly over a bicep that looks like it could probably lift half the equipment in Wayne’s bar if someone asked nicely.
I shift just a little, testing whether I can roll over without waking him.
The arm tightens instantly.
Not rough. Not even really conscious.
Just instinct.
Like his body noticed the movement before his brain caught up.
My mouth twitches slightly against the pillow.
Well.
That’s new.
I tilt my head slightly and glance around the room, and that’s when I realize something else.
The bed is full.
And not in the romantic, two-people-tangled-up-in-sheets kind of way.
Moose is sprawled across the foot of the bed like someone dropped a furry sack of concrete there in the middle of the night. One of his back legs hangs halfway off the mattress, and every time he exhales his whole body shifts slightly with a deep, rumbling snore.
Daisy is curled tightly behind my knees, her tail occasionally twitching against the blankets like she’s chasing something in her dreams.
Cricket, apparently having made a very important life decision sometime during the night, is perched squarely on Cole’s shoulder. Not curled beside him. Not near him.
On him.
Like she climbed up there and decided she lives there now.
At the top of the bed, Bandit is loafed comfortably on Cole’s pillow with his paws tucked under his chest, watching me with the smug expression of a cat who clearly believes he chose the best spot in the room and everyone else can deal with it.
And on the floor beside the bed, Outlaw is stretched out on his back with his belly fully exposed like a dramatic Victorian painting of a fallen hero.
I blink slowly.
Then glance back over my shoulder at the man currently buried in the middle of this animal pile.
Cole is still completely asleep.
His dark hair is a mess against the pillow, one arm still locked around my waist while Cricket balances comfortably on his shoulder like she’s been doing it for years.
Moose is snoring, Daisy is twitching in her sleep, and both cats have apparently decided this large, dangerous biker makes a perfectly acceptable piece of bedroom furniture.
I press my lips together.
Mostly because I’m trying not to laugh.
The man looks like he accidentally wandered into a farm sleepover.
I shift slightly on the pillow so I can see his face more clearly.
Up close he looks… different.
The hard lines around his mouth have softened in sleep, and the crease that usually sits between his eyebrows like he’s permanently evaluating every situation in the room has smoothed out. He looks younger like this. Not dramatically, but enough that it catches me off guard.
My chest does a strange little squeeze.
Because two weeks ago this man was just some quiet biker sitting in the corner of my bar.
Now he’s asleep in my bed with half my animals piled on top of him like he’s been part of this chaos forever.
Life is weird.
Moose suddenly snorts and kicks one of his back legs.
The entire mattress shifts.
Cole’s arm tightens around my waist again.
And then, from outside the bedroom window, Sheriff opens his beak and unleashes the loudest, most offended crow known to mankind.
I squeeze my eyes shut immediately.
“No.”
Sheriff screams again, louder this time, like the sun personally insulted him.
Cole jerks awake. Not slowly, either. One second he’s completely still behind me, and the next his entire body goes rigid like someone flipped a switch in his brain.
His arm tightens around me instinctively, his shoulders shifting like he’s ready to roll out of bed and deal with whatever threat just screamed outside the house.
Cricket scrambles across his chest in panic. Moose lifts his head with a confused grunt. Bandit launches across the bed like a gray missile. And Sheriff crows again.
Cole freezes completely. “What,” he says slowly, his voice rough with sleep, “the hell was that?”
I bury my face deeper into the pillow. “That’s Sheriff.”
There’s a short pause. Then another crow echoes through the window.
Cole slowly lifts his head and looks toward the sound. “That’s a chicken.”
“Rooster,” I mumble into the pillow.
“It sounded like someone was dying.”
“That’s just how he wakes up.”
Cole drops his head back onto the pillow behind me and stares up at the ceiling like he’s reconsidering several life choices. The room settles again for a moment. Then something jumps onto the bed.
Outlaw walks calmly across the mattress, steps directly on Cole’s ribs, and continues his journey without even acknowledging the human underneath him.
Cole watches the cat place one deliberate paw after another across his chest. Then the cat sits. Right on top of him.
I bite back a grin.
Cole looks down at the cat sitting squarely on his chest like he’s trying to process how his morning turned into this. “…that one’s new.”
“That’s Outlaw.”
Outlaw blinks slowly at him like he’s been living there his entire life. Sheriff screams again outside. Moose flops back down with a heavy sigh. Cole’s arm is still wrapped around my waist.
I turn my head slightly so I can look back at him. Our eyes meet. For a moment neither of us says anything. Then I smile. “Morning.”
Cole slowly looks around the room again, his eyes moving from the dogs sprawled across the bed to the cats who have apparently decided he’s a perfectly acceptable piece of furniture, then toward the window where Sheriff is still losing his mind outside like the sunrise personally offended him.
His gaze drifts back down to me, something halfway between disbelief and amusement settling on his face as he exhales softly and asks, “…you wake up like this every day?”
I shrug a little against the pillow, trying not to laugh at the way Outlaw is still sitting squarely on his chest like he pays rent there. “Pretty much. Sometimes the goat screams too, but you got lucky today.”
Cole lets out a quiet breath through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh I’ve heard from him this early in the morning.
His hand shifts slightly on my stomach, fingers flexing like he’s just now realizing he’s still holding onto me.
For a second he doesn’t move it though, like he’s deciding whether he actually wants to let go.
Sheriff crows again outside.
Cole’s eyes flick toward the window. “That thing ever stop?”
“Nope.”
“That’s… aggressive.”
“Sheriff takes his job seriously.”
Outlaw stretches lazily on Cole’s chest, kneading once like he’s settling in deeper.
Cole looks down at the cat again. “This one’s judging me.”
“He judges everyone.”
“He’s winning.”
I grin and finally shift enough to roll onto my back so I can look at him properly. The movement makes his arm slide slightly but he doesn’t pull away, it just ends up draped loosely across my waist instead.
Up close he still looks half asleep, hair a mess, eyes a little darker than usual from the low light in the room.
He glances down at me again.
Then around the room.
Then back at me.
“This is a lot of animals for one bed.”
“Only the important ones get bed privileges.”
“Define important.”
I point lazily toward Moose. “Moose thinks he’s a bodyguard.”
Moose snores louder in agreement.
“Daisy is emotional support,” I continue, nodding toward the little golden ball behind my legs. “Cricket is… chaos management.”
Cricket bounces across the blankets like she heard her name.
Cole watches her for a second before looking back down at the cat sitting on his chest.
“And this one?”
“That’s Outlaw. He commits crimes.”
Outlaw blinks slowly at him.
Cole shakes his head slightly like he’s accepting that explanation even though it makes absolutely no sense.
Another crow explodes from outside.
Cole sighs and rubs a hand over his face before glancing toward the window again. “Your rooster hates mornings.”
“My rooster loves mornings.”
“That’s worse.”
I laugh softly and prop myself up on one elbow, studying him for a second. He still looks slightly disoriented, like waking up in the middle of a small farm zoo wasn’t exactly part of his normal routine.
“Welcome to the farm, Cole.”