Chapter 12 #2
He wasn’t kidding himself. There was nothing sudden about his feelings for Emory. He was just finally, for whatever reason, letting himself feel them. He’d have to stop, though. He needed to rein himself in and remember just how this whole situation was bound to play out. How it had to play out.
His bare feet padded across the carpet of his bedroom to open the curtains.
The floor-to-ceiling window looked out past the back yard and into the paddocks beyond, and although the sky was now clear, the signs of last night’s storm were glaring.
Thick branches and leaves were scattered across the yard, and the old gum tree looked more than a little lighter.
Beyond the shed, where the yard started sloping down into a valley, Byron could see the water beginning to fill.
It was a shiny glaze over the grass, but it spread wide.
All the way through the valley. Past it, the high paddock stood on its hill against a backdrop of deep grey clouds.
A new storm was brewing up north, sending more rain down the river.
If the gate had blown open in the wind, it didn’t matter anymore.
The cows were officially flooded in, and all he could do was hope none of them tried their hand at going for a swim.
Cows did well enough in water, but a flood that spread as far as this one was a hell of a lot different to the dam by the far paddock.
Byron pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and threw the first shirt he could find over his head.
It was a deep navy that, in hindsight, was probably an inch too small, but it was stretchy and comfortable.
The silence of his room was broken as he opened his door.
The high-pitched squeal of cartoons echoed down the hall, and although the TV was turned down low, the repetitive tune burrowed into his eardrums. He’d be humming this song all day.
Just like the past two mornings, Emory lay curled up on the couch, with Clayton between her legs. Byron wondered how long they’d been there. And how often this was the morning routine. He could get used to it, seeing the two of them all cosy in his living room every morning.
He thought the same thing as he ducked out to the henhouse for eggs. And again as he pulled bacon out of the fridge.
It was a worrisome thought because he knew he shouldn’t get used to them being there.
He knew that no matter how much it might please him, things between him and Emory were never destined to be anything more than whatever the next week brought.
Temptation was rising faster than the floodwater, but even if they did give in, it would be temporary.
She hadn’t said as much, but Byron couldn’t see Emory wanting to stick around in Gardner Creek forever, and he wasn’t going to be the one to try to convince her she should.
His son had tried, and look where that ended up.
With his head down as he whisked up the eggs, Byron didn’t notice her enter the kitchen.
Not until she yawned. He looked up to find her balancing Clayton on one hip while covering her mouth with her free hand.
But he could still see that cute as anything dimple on her cheek. She plopped Clayton into a chair.
“Can I help?”
He shook his head and turned to pull the breakfast muffins out of the toaster. “Nearly done.”
“I feel bad. You’ve cooked breakfast every morning, and all I’ve done is sleep on the couch.”
Byron cleared his throat. “You’re looking after Clayton,” he said plainly. “That’s enough.”
Leaning over the kitchen bench, Emory grabbed Clayton’s small plate of food.
Her breasts pressed against the counter, pushing up until her cleavage was spilling out of her dressing gown.
Byron caught a glimpse of the lace trim on her pink tank.
A lump quickly formed in his throat, and desire pulled at his balls.
He swallowed back the sensation and shifted on his feet.
She didn’t do it intentionally, don’t be a creep, he told himself. But he didn’t miss the twinkle in her eye as she stood back up and turned away. And there was an added sway to her hips as she took a step towards the table.
“Thank you,” she said with that same sultry smile once they were all seated with their food. “For moving us to my bed.”
“It was nothing,” Byron mumbled. He was having a hard time focusing on the meal and not staring at her chest. She hadn’t pulled the cord around her waist tight, so her gown hung open, revealing the front of her tank.
The pink lace dropped to a deep V between her breasts.
Byron found he had to constantly remind himself that Clayton was right there, so he didn’t do anything … crazy. Uninhibited.
“Well, my neck and back appreciate it all the same.” Emory arched her back against the chair and rolled her neck.
Did she know what she was doing to him? She had to know.
Byron felt blood rush. South. He shifted in his seat, dropping a hand below the table to adjust his rapidly growing length. He hissed at the contact. The friction of the fabric sent a shockwave through him. She’d bought condoms, he reminded himself. She wanted this just as much as he did.
They just needed to decide what, if anything, they were going to do about it.