Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Jude
Tired and wired. I’d told Carson that stress tended to hit me after an emergency, so I shouldn’t have been surprised by my jangling nerves as we turned onto the long drive that led to my house.
“So this is my place.” I parked near the side of the house.
“It was your parents?” Carson likely knew that fact from his mother and aunt, but given land prices around the area, he’d also be justified in assuming a vet couldn’t afford even a small rural spread.
“And grandparents. And great-grandparents.” There were times that my legacy felt like heavy wool socks in August, but I also took pride in our history.
“Our family arrived in the early 1900s, but the original homestead has been substantially sold off over the years. I lease haying and water rights to the rear parcel.”
“Nice extra income.” Carson was undoubtedly familiar with the endless local discussions around water being more valuable than the gold settlers had sought way back when.
“Yeah. It’s part of why I have more breathing room financially.
” I hopped out of the truck. Mild guilt over the big purchase continued to prick at me.
And when I parked at home, my parents’ thrifty ways haunted me.
“My father was reluctant to do the land lease. He tended to be even more set in his ways than I am.”
“That’s possible?” Carson snorted, the sort of good-natured ribbing of a longtime friend.
“Oh yeah.” I chuckled because Carson had no idea the lengths my father had gone through to pay land taxes without leasing water rights and to keep his veterinary fees low.
“Modernizing the practice some also improved finances, and Luna’s been terrific at bringing in the small animal clients.
Dad only brought her on because my mom insisted before she passed.
I made Luna a full partner after Dad died. ”
“Some change is good.” Carson’s voice held the weight of experience. He’d certainly been through enough changes this year. I admired his resilience, but it was his compassion I appreciated the most.
I wasn’t entirely certain why I’d confessed my suspicions about Dad’s death to Carson, but unlocking that secret from the vault in my chest had felt like taking off a hundred-pound pack in the desert. Sharing with Carson was a pleasure I hadn’t known existed, let alone how much I needed it.
Carson followed me out of the truck and toward the house. I was about to unlock the side door before I caught sight of the garden, glittering beneath the last of the sunset.
“Wait.” I groaned, hunger battling with obligation. “I need to water before I forget.”
“You garden?” Carson didn’t sound terribly put out at this change in direction and trotted after me. I flipped on the rear porch light and collected the hose.
“Mom did.” I gestured around us before flipping on the hose to take care of the raised beds. “I try to keep it going. Nearing the end of the season, but it was warm this week. I can’t let the garden die off yet.”
“Beautiful.” Carson drew out the word as he looked around the garden, which even in the fading light was pretty.
All the late-summer plants were in full bloom, with a few of the autumn bloomers also coming along.
I hadn’t expected Carson to appreciate my efforts, but he nodded approvingly. “My mom does tomatoes.”
He put a novel’s worth of meaning into that single sentence. He got it. The bond between sons and mothers, the urge to keep part of her alive, the need to honor what had been important to her.
“There used to be more vegetables and herbs over there.” Voice thick, I pointed to the rear of the garden space. “Keeping the perennials going gives me enough fits.”
“You’re doing good.” Carson’s praise hit like cool water on a parched plant on the hottest of days. Lord, I’d needed to hear that.
“Thanks.” I moved the hose, narrowly avoiding Carson, who had stooped to pull some weeds from one of the lower beds. “You don’t have to help.”
“I want to.” He sat back on his heels, seemingly content to stay awhile. “Peaceful out here.”
“Yeah, but I promised you food.” Task minimally accomplished, I flipped off the hose. “I bought steak for tomorrow, but there’s enough meat for both nights.”
“Sounds good.” Carson brushed off his hands and jeans as I returned the hose. He followed me through the side door into the kitchen, striding over to the sink to wash his hands like this was his hundredth visit. “Can I help?”
“Sure.” As with other tasks, we worked well together. I preheated the grill while Carson seasoned the steaks. Then I did a fast chop of some vegetables for an easy salad while Carson watched the grill.
Having someone else in the house again was nice.
Comforting even, the walls seemingly relaxing from their years-long silent tension to a homey familiarity.
Setting the table was another novelty, and my mother’s voice echoed in my mind, prodding me to use the nicer dishes and glasses and real napkins from the hutch where she’d kept such things.
“Nice job.” Carson smiled approvingly at my efforts as he took a seat opposite me at the table.
The steak had turned out decent if a bit hard to cut, and Carson struggled to work the fork and steak knife. I watched him a second too long. He made a frustrated noise.
“Sorry.” Frowning, he glared down at his knife. “Hands don’t listen.”
“No worries.” I knew better than to offer to cut for him, so instead I kept my tone light and my gaze on his face rather than his hands.
“Take your time. My stare was because I was just thinking how brains are tricky beasts. Improvements are seldom linear. Take Linus and his progress, and also, how far you’ve come. ”
“Getting there.” Carson’s voice was tight before he succeeded in taking a bite of steak. “More to go.”
“Don’t forget to celebrate the wins along the way.” I used an encouraging tone, but Carson merely rolled his eyes.
“You sound like Simone.”
“Guilty.” My smile turned sheepish. Figuring out what to say and how to act around Carson’s limitations was a challenge. I called out others on ableism, yet my own responses were also a work in progress.
After dinner, Carson insisted on helping me with the dishes.
Toward the end of my mother’s illness, my father had finally relented and added a dishwasher to the old farm kitchen, one of his few nods to twenty-first-century living.
Accordingly, cleanup was relatively fast and easy.
My dad’s hat sat on his wall hook, quietly observing our work.
What he’d think of Carson, I had no idea, but I preferred to believe my parents would be happy because I was happy.
And I was, a deep satisfaction that went beyond the enjoyment of having a rare guest. Carson wasn’t simply any other friend, a truth made painfully clear as we stared expectantly at each other after putting the last dish in the dishwasher.
“You need to get back?” I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “We could game or…”
“Or.” Carson closed the distance between us with a decisive kiss.
Well, that answered that question. I greeted his kiss with a happy sigh.
Carson was my favorite kind of kisser, unrestrained and passionate, matching my hunger.
His lips were salty, making each kiss like a shot of tequila.
Warmth spread throughout my body, muscles loosening and limbs growing heavy.
Still kissing me, Carson fumbled for my shirt snaps, closing off any doubt as to his intentions for the evening.
“I have a bed,” I gasped as he pushed my shirt off my shoulders.
“Show me.” He released me long enough to follow me to the stairs.
I’d needed several years before I’d been comfortable reclaiming my parents’ room. A doozy of a snowstorm had given me the time I needed to clear and paint the bedroom, and a new mattress and bedframe had helped the space slowly feel like mine.
As I opened the door for Carson, though, I was glad I’d made the effort. My queen bed with its polished pine frame was certainly more inviting than the twin in my old room.
“Nice color.” Carson took the barest of seconds to appreciate my light-blue walls before resuming his mission to get me naked. No objections here as long as he did the same. I pulled at his T-shirt as he pushed my jeans down. Helping each other, we fumbled out of our clothes.
Carson clothed was pretty darn awesome. He filled out a T-shirt and jeans with the sort of muscular definition that gave away his ex-military status.
Carson naked, however, was simply spectacular.
He had less body hair than I did, which meant that much more golden skin to admire.
No tats or piercings, but he didn’t need extra adornment to be as appetizing as a porterhouse.
As soon as we were both naked, Carson shoved me to sit on the bed, a meaningful glint in his eye.
I stopped him before he could kneel, tumbling him onto the bed with me.
His mouth had been wonderful, but I’d always preferred giving to getting.
To that end, I had enjoyed showing Carson new things at the hotel in Fort Collins, helping him make up for lost time.
That I wanted to be more than a notch on his belt buckle went without saying, but being his first also had appeal.
“Anything else on your bucket list you’d like to try?”
“Everything.” He rolled onto his side so he could grin at me.
“That’s no help.” I groaned. Direction would be nice.
“Fucking?” Carson raised an eyebrow.
“If you’re wanting to try, sure.” I reached into the nightstand for the condoms and lube I’d picked up along with the steak earlier in the week. I also grabbed a small washcloth from the supply I kept stashed there.
“Yep.” Carson gave another broad grin. “You usually top?”
“Usually.”
“But not always?” He tilted his head, considering me closely.
“Not always. Mostly though.” My conflicted feelings around fucking crept into my ambivalent tone. “People tend to see a bigger dude and make assumptions.”