Chapter 11
Hayden
I’m somewhere in that weird space between sleep and consciousness when my eyes snap open. I can’t be sure if I heard a noise or if the feeling of being watched is what did it, but as soon as my eyes begin to focus, I see a familiar figure standing in my doorway.
“Miranda?” I call out. “Are you okay?”
She steps forward, stopping at the side of the bed. “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No,” I lie, raising the blankets in invitation. “Come on in. Talk to me.”
I don’t miss her sharp inhale when I use the same words I used the night I kissed her for the first time. “Talk to me.” That’s how this mess all started. I’ll blame it on the lingering haze of sleep.
“I know it’s stupid, but I could hear every single creak and groan of this old house. Every time I’d closed my eyes, something else would wake me up,” she says after a long silence. “So, I was just wondering if you were up.”
When I do nothing but nod in response, she finally accepts the invitation and climbs into my bed.
The urge to wrap her in my arms and pull her close is nearly irresistible.
Her fresh scent fills my nose, and I know I’ll crave it as long as I’m breathing.
Quickly losing my personal battle, I open my arms in invitation, the same way I did the blankets.
And just like with the blankets, she accepts.
I nearly groan at how good she feels in my arms. She’s back in sleep shorts and a tank top, and the heat of her body blends with mine.
I could stay like this forever. Somehow, she smells even better than I remember, and I’ve been thinking about her scent since the second we went our separate ways for the night.
“Anything you want to talk about?” I ask when the silence drags. “You sure everything is okay?”
Taking a deep breath, she nuzzles in closer.
“Yeah. That was just a lot. The weather was way worse than I have ever seen before. And worrying about the horses in the trailer. And…this place. I always need time after an adrenaline rush, and the rush didn’t stop for me until we came back up here for the night. ”
“Yeah. That storm was nasty. I don’t think I took a real breath until I saw the sign for this ranch.”
Another silence stretches between us. It isn’t uncomfortable like it was when we went to bed on the first night. I don’t have a desperate need to fill it. But it doesn’t bother me when Miranda does.
“So, friend…tell me about yourself. I feel like you know way more about me than I do you.”
I fight a chuckle. “Yeah, that’s because I watched you grow up.”
Her eyes grow wide in horror, and there’s no stopping my laugh. “You did not! Don’t be weird. I was even old enough to buy alcohol when we first met. Now, answer my question.”
She’s awfully sassy for a woman who came tiptoeing to my room. But I wouldn’t want her any other way. Relaxed and carefree looks good on her. “You didn’t ask a question.”
Her pillow comes flying from beneath her head and hits me in the face with a soft thud. “You know what I mean. My request. My demand.”
Once again, I find myself laughing. “Nothing exciting here. Forty-two. Single. Never married. Likely a newly retired bronc rider.”
I flinch at the last part, but Miranda doesn’t seem to notice.
Her large hazel eyes burn into mine, barely visible with nothing but the moonlight illuminating the room.
I nearly forget that I can’t have her. But I’m quickly learning that it feels pretty damn good just being fortunate enough that she considers me her friend.
I’m glad we’re finally able to be around each other without the painful ache crushing my chest. The ache is still there, but it fades with every smile she offers me.
“Never been married?” she asks. Her brows crease as she continues to study me. “Really?”
I turn to my side so I can face her, and she adjusts herself a bit further back to get a better look at me.
She is lying directly on my arm, but I don’t care if the damn thing falls off as long as she doesn’t move.
We are face-to-face with only inches separating us, and I’m not sure how I manage to keep from kissing her.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” I say, my voice low.
“I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not a man-whore.
I was engaged in my late twenties. We were together for several years.
Lived together. But she passed away. A freak accident while horseback riding.
Turns out she had an underlying condition, so an accident that would have been nothing for the average person killed her. It took me a long time to get over it.”
The sympathy in Miranda’s large eyes is nearly my undoing.
I haven’t spoken about Lisa in years. I think about her every now and then, but it’s not something I talk about, and the expression on Miranda’s face is why.
I don’t want sympathy. Literally every adult person on this earth has dealt with loss.
I’m not special. Not to mention I’ve had nearly fifteen years to get over it.
“I’m sorry,” Miranda finally says after a long silence. “That must have been awful. I had no idea.”
Swallowing hard, I don’t do much more than grunt in response. “It was a long time ago.”
Miranda doesn’t speak, but she moves in closer and wraps her arms around me.
She’s so much smaller than I am, she can’t exactly hold me close and make my worries disappear, but I wouldn’t trade her touch for the world.
Even if I don’t talk about it much, losing Lisa changed me.
Planning a life with someone and then having those dreams ripped away without warning isn’t something you just get over.
I may have moved on, but I’ll never be the same.
I wasted a lot of years being angry. Angry at God.
Angry with the world. But no matter how angry I was, it couldn’t bring Lisa back.
She is gone, and I’m here. As unfair as it may be, I know she wouldn’t want me to waste my years being pissed off at no one and everyone.
What happened was pure chance, and no amount of anger can change it.
“What about you?” I ask, beyond ready to change the subject.
“What about me?” She shrugs.
“Boyfriend? Married? Kids?”
Laughing, she lets out the cutest snort. “Yeah, I have a husband and a boyfriend. It works out because there’s always someone to watch all the kids.”
“And they were both going to let you take this trip alone? Shameful,” I tease.
When she playfully smacks my bare shoulder, I catch her hand, surprising us both.
I instantly become aware that I’m wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs as I silently beg my dick to stop getting hard.
Her eyes search mine, and I give her an easy smile, doing my best to come across as casual and relaxed while I’m anything but. I can’t have her.
“Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know,” I request.
I release her hand, but she doesn’t remove it from my shoulder.
Not right away, anyway. The heat of her touch travels down my body, and despite my best efforts, I imagine what her hands would feel like if they roamed my body.
My eyes linger on her lips, and I nearly groan when her pink tongue darts out to wet them.
I immediately miss her touch when she finally moves.
“My favorite flavor of ice cream is coffee.”
Chuckling, I hit her with a smug smile. “I already knew that. Next.”
She narrows her eyes at me as if she isn’t sure she believes me. “Fine. My favorite food is-”
“Chicken alfredo,” I answer for her.
Miranda’s jaw drops, but she quickly recovers and glares at me. “No, it’s not.”
Forgetting it’s late at night, and people are sleeping, I let out a loud laugh. “Ha! You’re so full of shit. Yes, it is.”
“And how would you know?”
“Because one night I was helping your dad with something, and it was late, so your mom insisted I stay for dinner. When I told her I didn’t want to impose, she assured me there was plenty because she always makes twice as much chicken alfredo since it’s your favorite.”
My mind goes back to that night. It was the first time I laid eyes on her up close.
I’d seen her in passing, but it was before she worked any of the rodeo nights and when I was still traveling the circuit.
The autumn night is just as vivid in my mind as if it were last week and not five years ago.
She’d come breezing into the kitchen wearing an oversized sweatshirt, black leggings, and a worn pair of Ugg boots.
Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and my heart nearly seized and quit beating when she smiled and nodded at me in greeting.
She blinks at me in surprise. “Why do you even remember that?”
“I remember everything about you.” My voice is gruff as I speak words that I know I should keep to myself.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t say things like that when you don’t even want me that way.”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I try to find an indication that she’s joking or just trying to get a rise out of me. But there’s no hint of that in her expression.
“I never said I didn’t want you. I said I can’t want you. I shouldn’t want you.”
“Well, do you?” she asks in a voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want me?”