CHAPTER NINETEEN SABRINA
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SAbrINA
When he comes back, he has three sizable fish, scaled and gutted. I’m impressed he just went out and got a meal, almost as impressed as I am at seeing him all dirtied up in his t-shirt, mud on his forearms.
“You mind getting the pan from the tent so we can get this going?” he says. “I need to wash up.”
“I think I can handle that.”
He disappears into the bathroom, dirt and scales all over.
I locate the pan in the Walmart bags, along with some seasonings and oil, and go back to the fireplace.
The pit still has some hot coals from last night.
I dig around in the sandy area behind the tent and bring back handfuls of dried grass to twist into little logs for kindling.
Then, the real kindling goes on top of that.
Pretty soon, there’s a fire I’m proud of flickering under the pan.
“Look at you.”
Crouched, I look up at him. He’s drying his hands and arms, clothes still dirty but the rest of him clean.
“Thanks,” I say primly.
“You camp a lot?” He crouches to my level, elbows on his knees.
I shake my head. “Only when we’re working pretty far out in one of the fields. Sometimes, Serena and I would spend the night so we didn’t have to ride all the way back if we had a job that was almost finished.”
“You and your sister do some heavy lifting.”
I’m quiet, watching the oil start to bubble. He waits, letting me think, which I appreciate.
“Yeah, but it’s okay.”
I drop the fish in the pan, and they make a satisfying sizzle.
Tending fires and camping aren’t second nature to me.
I have no trouble with them, but the cooking, I can do with my eyes closed.
It was always me after Mom moved out, and every day ever since, except for when Serena takes a stab at it, but that’s rarely a good thing. The cooking talent skipped her a bit.
That sobers me right up. I’m not ready to get into all that now, so I take a second to wipe my face clean before looking up at him.
“You go camping a lot?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t had the time. But I’m used to sleeping upright in a tour bus.”
“You mind that?”
He’s silent for a little bit. The fish crackles. I use the metal camp spool to flip it over, managing to keep the flaky meat from sticking. This smells like some of the best fish I’ve ever had. Or maybe I’m just starving from how hard he worked me over last night.
Heat flares, deep inside. A shiver goes through my limbs.
He’s good at what he does, that’s for sure.
“I think it’s done,” I say, keeping my head down so he doesn’t see my blush and ask about it.
We eat, and I was right. The trout is delicious.
Afterward, he cleans up, and I go down to the lake.
He says he doesn’t want to leave just yet, so I change into my swimsuit before I go and lay out a blanket by the water’s edge.
Some of the people we saw last night are back, diving and swimming through the crystal blue water.
I wonder about them. Who they are, what problems they have. Where they’re headed, where they’re from.
It’s strange to think about how each of them has a life as complex and delicate as mine. We’re all just sitting out here, under the sun, full of little parts and pieces. Even far from home, we still carry them all with us.
I close my eyes, enjoying the soft warmth of the sun.
In a little while, I might go swimming. It’s strange, not having anything I have to do.
Usually, I’m go-go-go around the ranch, barely making it back to the house in time to help Dad upstairs before cooking dinner.
Then, it’s cleanup time, time to lock everything up, and finally, it’s bedtime.
Night feels like a quick breath before the sun cracks over the horizon.
It didn’t feel like that with him, though, I remember.
The night he first slept with me was just long enough.
It’s the middle of the afternoon when I return to the campsite. He’s got a notebook in his lap, and he’s scribbling away. When I come up, he shuts it and pushes it into his back pocket.
“Work?” I ask.
“Yep.” He squints up at me, reaching out to put his hand on my leg.
God, I just love it when he touches me. He’s so good at doing it casually, as if it doesn’t stop me in my tracks and turn my world upside down.
“I gotta run into town and get some supplies. You want me to pick up dinner?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“They’ve got a Mexican restaurant or fast food.”
“I’ll do the first option.”
“Good choice. It might take me a little bit. You sure you’re good?”
I nod, and he gets to his feet. He swings his keys and catches them in his hand, leaning in.
Automatically, I turn my face up and let him kiss me.
My stomach jerks. It’s not about the kiss.
It’s about the way he makes it…possessive.
I don’t pull away, and he doesn’t either, kissing me until my lips part.
The tip of my tongue brushes his. He makes a hungry sound in his throat.
I pull away because there’s a visitor in his pants, pressing against my hip.
“You just excited to see me?” I whisper.
“Always.”
He kisses me again, softly. I’m on fire, heat sizzling through my veins. Between my thighs, I’m hungry for him to do more of what he did last night. The way his head feels, the little raspiness of his beard against the sensitive skin… God, it turns my head.
“I’d better hit the road,” he murmurs.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m gonna be starving by the time you get back.”
He leaves, and I have to take a lap around the campsite to cool down.
To kill time, I clean everything up and sort through our camping things, organizing them into different bags and gathering any stray trash.
I’m not sure if we’ll camp again before we hit Nashville, but chances are, we will.
I’m perfectly fine with that. The more time I spend in a little tent with him, curled up against his very firm chest, the happier I’ll be.
I falter as I walk back from throwing out the trash.
This isn’t just being horny.
I…I like him. Maybe more than a little bit.
The heavy realization is broken by the rumble of truck tires coming up the gravel road.
I swallow hard. He cuts the engine and swings out.
He really looks the country music star part right now, a perfectly white smile and sunglasses on.
That brings me down to Earth hard. He might be a nice guy who’s been nothing but kind, but we are from different worlds.
I can’t leave the ranch for good anyway.
I lift my chin and smile back. I can keep control of myself.
“Better be hungry. They gave me a shit ton of food,” he says, grabbing two enormous paper bags.
“Starving.”
He spreads a blanket in the back of the truck and lifts me, swinging in to sit against the opposite end. He stretches out his long legs and boots and starts going through the bags, passing me three foam boxes and a bag of chips. I swipe some guac and take a bite.
“God, this is so good,” I sigh, leaning back.
He smiles, lines creasing by his eyes. He’s so damn handsome; I’m getting dinner and a show. Neither of us talk too much as we work through the mountain of food. I’m satisfied and happy, a little burnt from lying by the lake.
Honestly, this is the most relaxed I’ve been in my entire life.
“I can’t eat any more,” I say finally, closing my box. “That was the best thing I’ve had in…forever.”
“Yeah, pretty damn good. If we have time when we leave, we can stop by again.”
He swings out of the truck bed, reaching into the back seat to grab a trash bag.
I help him gather things up, and he heads off to the campsite trash.
He’s just out of sight when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out, and my good mood evaporates as I realize who it is.
Taking a deep breath, I swipe the screen and put it to my ear.
“Hey, Dad,” I say.
“Brina,” he says, voice flat and controlled. “If you don’t come back, I’m cutting you off.”
My jaw drops. Dad never talks to me like this.
“What? Cutting me off from what?” I shoot back.
“Everything,” he says. “The damn phone plan, your credit card.”
“Dad!”
My chest aches. Never in my entire life have Dad and I disagreed like this, and I never imagined he would say something like this.
It takes a second for me to gather myself and blink back the tears flooding my eyes.
It’s been a long time since I felt this hurt.
Usually, it’s him standing between me and whoever wants to make me cry.
I don’t know how to handle it when it’s him.
“He’s gonna fuck you over,” Dad says, unrelenting. “You don’t understand.”
Anger sweeps through my shaking chest.
“I’m sure you do,” I whisper.
I expect him to lash out, but he’s quiet for a beat.
“Yes, I do. And I’m telling you as someone who regrets a lot of shit…you need to come home.”
My mind goes back to last night, when Coen held me like this meant something. In that moment, I believed his hands, his mouth, how deep he breathed, sleeping at my side. In the light of day, I wonder if Dad is right, and I’m being used.
But for what? I’m going into this with eyes wide open.
I’m not asking him for commitment.
“Dad,” I say, forcing my voice to stop shaking. “This is my business.”
“And you’re my baby,” he says.
God, I want to sob. I lean back and look up at the sky. There’s not a cloud in sight; they’re all hovering right over my head.
“I get it,” I whisper. “Please let me do this.”
With the way his voice dropped when he said I was his baby, I thought he was going to relent.
Instead, he clears his throat, and I hear him moving across the kitchen.
His steps are firm, the way I remember they were before his health started failing.
He must be so damn mad at me, it has him up and moving.
Maybe I made a mistake.
“If you come home crying because he hurt you, I don’t give a fuck what kind of celebrity this guy is. I will get the Remington out of the safe,” he snaps.
“Dad, this is so inappropriate.”
“Brina,” he barks. “You have him take you to the closest airport and send you home.”
He hangs up, and I stare down at my phone, tempted to gather myself up and call back to chew him out.
Instead, I wipe my face and lean into the tent to shove my phone in my sleeping bag.
I’m scrambling out when I change my mind and slip into my sleeping bag, taking up the phone and calling Serena.
She doesn’t pick up, so I call her again, and this time, she does.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”
I sniff, pulling the sleeping bag over my head. “Yeah, but Dad is really mad.”
She’s quiet for a second. “Yeah, he’s way more mad than I thought.”
That’s not very reassuring.
“Is Aunt Eugenia around? Maybe she can talk him down,” I say.
I hear the bed creak, and Serena’s feet pad across the floor. Without being there, I know she’s in her room, listening at her door to make sure nobody can overhear our conversation.
“She’s trying,” Serena says finally. “I broke it off with Colin a few days after you left.”
“What? Why?”
She sighs. “I’m not sure he can take more. He’s about to blow a fuse.”
“Damn it. I was really hoping he would…I don’t know…understand?”
“Me too.”
Her feet creak across the ancient ranch house floor, and her bed springs groan.
I know she’s sitting up against the headboard, legs crossed, staring out the window facing the barn.
We’ve had a million of these conversations about Dad, about our family.
I’m just usually sitting on the end of her bed with my arms wrapped around my knees.
“Maybe I should fly to Mom’s when we get to Nashville,” I say.
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I’m ashamed of wanting to run from the mess of problems I made, that Serena is now dealing with firsthand.
“No, never mind,” I amend.
“Maybe Mom would have a better perspective,” Serena says softly.
“Maybe.”
We’re both quiet for a long time. Outside, I hear Coen’s boots crunch. Serena must hear them too, because she giggles out of the blue.
“How’s the cowboy?” she asks.
“Oh, you know.” I shrug, rolling to my back to look at the ceiling.
“How’s the sex? You getting it good?”
I laugh, not caring that she’s asking. We’ve always been open about this kind of thing.
“Well, I don’t have any complaints,” I admit.
“So it’s all worth it, huh?”
Crunch—Coen’s boots are getting closer. “I gotta go. He’s about back to the tent. Call me in a couple days, okay?”
She promises to call, and I hang up the phone just as the zipper comes down to reveal Coen.
I thought talking to Serena would help me even out emotionally.
For some reason, the second he appears, a lump in my throat rises.
My lower lip trembles. His brows draw together, and he steps in, zipping back up.
“Hey, you okay?” His voice drops.
I nod, blinking hard. “Yeah, sorry.”
He sinks down, boots and clothes on, to lay beside me. “You look like you’re about to cry, baby.”
He’s talking so softly, all my defenses crumble.
The tears come thick and fast. Dimly, I feel his arm slide around my body, and he pulls me to his chest. I forget how big and broad he is until his body is right up on mine, and then there’s nothing but him.
He’s everywhere, solid and smelling so good, I inhale through my tears.
“My dad called,” I manage.
“Hmm,” he says. “Still not happy with us leaving, huh?”
“Nope,” I sniffle.
His fingers tangle in my hair, stroking. “Do you want me to give him a call?”
I’m simultaneously horrified and a little turned on that he’s willing to speak to my father for me. It would be nice to let them talk through it on their own, but there’s a lot of history and difficult dynamics happening here, and he doesn’t know about any of them.
No, this is my mess to deal with.
“Can you just hold me while I fall asleep?” I whisper.
“Of course, baby.”
I wipe my eyes and squeeze them shut. My forehead rests against his chest, his hand on the back of my head. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around us but the flimsy tent walls, I’ve never felt more safe.