Rustler Mountain

Chapter 17

When I held my son in my arms for the first time, my world changed. I am caught between wanting to change myself, and wanting to be certain he never lacks for anything. My own bad road was paved by need. I never want him to go hungry.

—Austin Wilder’s journal, July 5, 1857

M illie felt sore, and conspicuous as she slunk into the library and flicked on the lights.

She was a little bit early, but she knew that Heather was already out and about and would be stopping by. And unfortunately, she had a lot to talk to Heather about. Part of her wanted to keep last night a secret. But there would be no keeping something like this from Heather, and besides, she needed advice. Her insides felt completely messed up. Mangled.

Her body still felt electrified, and she was . . . not embarrassed, not really. It was just that he was so frank. About everything. She had wanted to minimize the intensity of her response; she hadn’t wanted to let him know that he had completely upended her. Ruined her. That he had shown her pleasure she hadn’t really believed could exist.

But he hadn’t seemed embarrassed about any of it. His reaction had both reassured her and left her feeling wired.

Heather texted her to let her know she was close, and Millie unlocked the door for her. Heather handed a cup of chai straight to Millie. She didn’t even look to see what animals were on it.

“Oh dear,” Heather said, regarding her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m. . . .” She stared at the back wall, trying read some of the titles on the books, or just guess what they were. She ought to just know them all by heart.

“What happened?”

“Well, I went into the attic.”

Heather’s gaze was level. “I do know that.”

“I found something up there.”

“Okay.”

She took a deep breath. “Something relating to Lee Talbot. And his not actually being a great guy.”

Heather nodded. “Old white guy with power not actually that awesome. A deep shock.”

Millie let the breath she’d just taken in out in one gust. “I know. I know. But you also know the weight given to my family name, and to the lore and to. . . .”

“I’m sorry,” said Heather, putting her hand over Millie’s arm. “I get that it’s personal to you and not a generic unsurprising truth about humanity.”

“It’s just, that’s my family history.”

“I know.”

“So anyway, I called Austin and told him he needed to come and see the documents I’d found.”

Heather’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, then you called Austin.”

“Yes.”

“And you had him come to your house?”

“I did.”

“You’re not upset about the thing with Lee Talbot.”

“I’m a little upset about it.”

“You slept with Austin, didn’t you?”

Millie sighed. “Yes.”

Heather stared at her for a long moment. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I really don’t.”

“Was the sex not good?”

“We’re really not passing the Bechdel test right now, Heather.”

Heather let out an exasperated sigh. “What is the biggest thing happening in your life right now, Millie Talbot?”

“I. . . .”

“I believe it’s your entanglement with this man—historical mystery notwithstanding. If we studiously avoided the conversation, just to pass a narrative test that applies to fictional characters, then we would be disingenuous, wouldn’t we?”

Millie huffed. “I want to talk about it. I just don’t know how to do it.”

“That’s fair.” But she was staring expectantly.

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I’m aware.”

“And I didn’t really plan on doing anything like it. But I made that discovery, and he was angry. Oh, he was so angry. Then he kissed me.”

“It was angry sex?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t realize you had that in you.”

“Apparently I do. I feel like a different person. I feel like maybe I’m losing my mind.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“Do it again?”

Heather sipped her drink thoughtfully. “I’m a little worried about you.”

“I’m a little bit worried about me too.”

“That actually makes me feel significantly less worried. Because at least you’re still thinking clearly enough to know that maybe you need to keep your guard up a little bit. Just have some self-awareness about what you’re doing.”

“I do. It’s not like with Michael. I don’t think I need to be in love to make it okay. I don’t feel like I should thank him. Even though actually, I kind of want to thank him. Because that was. . . .”

“Millie, of course you don’t need to thank him. A guy is not doing you a favor by being with you. I hate this town sometimes. Because everybody decides who you are, and you never got to leave. You never got to see who else you could have been with people who didn’t know you from the time you were a child.” She shook her head. “You didn’t get to see who you would’ve been if people didn’t think of you as Sheriff Talbot’s daughter, or the librarian’s daughter. I just don’t think it’s fair.”

“I didn’t want to leave,” she said.

“I know you didn’t. I understand why you didn’t. I understand why your life went the way it did. But it makes me so angry that you. . . . You are one of the best people I have ever known. You care about this town. You care about fairness. You are sweet, and you are funnier than people realize. You’re loyal. And that wet lettuce of a man made you feel like something was wrong with you. He made you feel he was condescending to have sex with you. To be with you, and that . . . I wish I could do something to make you realize how much you matter. Not because of your last name, and not even because of what you do for the town. Because of who you are. You are better than ten thousand mediocre men.”

Tears stung Millie’s eyes, tears that she hadn’t realized were building. “Heather . . . I . . .” She knew that Heather liked her. Of course she did. They had been friends for so long. Heather had included her in everything, and Millie had always felt she didn’t have enough to offer in return. Millie had always . . . worried that she was a pity friend. And she felt guilty for that immediately, because Heather had never done anything to make her feel that way. And now Heather had made the most beautiful declaration, and Millie didn’t know how to respond.

“I just never felt good enough,” she said.

“I know. But you are. And then some. If something was in your control, and you wanted it, you made sure you got it. Like becoming a librarian. Do you have any idea how impressive that is?”

“I know, but nobody thinks just having the same job your mother did is all that impressive.”

“That’s because they’re idiots. Sorry. But it’s true. If it’s what you want, it doesn’t need to be prestigious. It doesn’t need to be impressive. What is the point of being impressive if at the end of the day you’re just Danielle. She’s the mayor, and I’m not impressed. Because everything she does is small, and it’s for her own benefit. I mean, except for Michael. He’s just small. I doubt he’s benefiting her that much.”

Millie blinked. “Well. I can now say with confidence that in comparison to Austin, he is in fact small.”

A look of surprised delight crossed Heather’s face. “I love this for you.”

Millie shifted, ignoring the infusion of heat in her face, and the pulsing between her thighs. “Well. I sort of do too.”

“You know, I’m sorry that I lead with concern. You can make your own choices. Because you’re strong enough. Because you’re not anybody’s mascot, and you are not mousy. You’re actually very brave. You have consistently stood up to the people around you when it was important to you. I don’t know why that fact isn’t recognized more. Maybe because as you said, people don’t value what you’re standing up for. They think that because you don’t walk around strutting, you aren’t bold. But you are. You’re one of the boldest women I know.”

“I think that’s a quality people have always called annoying. Or prudish. Or rigid.”

“So many fancy words to get around the fact that what you actually are is a woman with the courage of her convictions. Too bad if nobody wants to call it strong. Or certain. Or knowing your own mind.”

“We might pass the Bechdel test now.”

“I don’t care. What I care about is that you understand your worth. And that you understand that Austin is a lucky man to get to sleep with you. However long it lasts.”

“Right,” Millie said.

“And you have some control over how long it lasts too.”

She considered the idea.

They chatted for a while longer, about what was going on at Heather’s job, and her daughter’s upcoming second birthday party, which Millie would be attending. Later, Millie kept replaying their conversation, over and over as she saw to her duties for the rest of the day.

Alice came in to get more romance books near closing time, and Millie almost wanted to tell her she didn’t think they seemed so unrealistic now. But she didn’t.

When the door to the library opened and Austin walked in, dressed in all black from his cowboy hat down to his boots, she wasn’t the only one who froze.

Her mouth dropped open, and she openly stared at him.

Alice elbowed her. “ He might be a romance hero.”

And before Millie could respond, the older woman stepped aside.

Millie faced him, trying to remember what Heather had said earlier. That she was brave. That she had some control about what happened. That he wasn’t doing her a favor.

“Hi,” she said.

“Howdy, ma’am.”

Lord. She had to clench her thighs together to keep from falling over.

“You’re here.”

“Yes. I have some things to discuss. You want to do a walking tour, and I have some things I want to talk about on that tour.”

Oh great. He was armed with new historical information. That made him even sexier, honestly. He was one of the few people who took history as seriously as she did. Another way they were actually alike, and not all that different.

“I need to help Alice check out,” she said.

She took the stack of books from Alice’s arms and made her way behind the desk. Several of the books had cowboys on the cover, one depicted a shirtless man with a full sleeve of tattoos staring into the camera.

She glanced at Alice.

“I have a vivid imagination,” said Alice. “Honestly, why live one life when you can live as many as you want?”

Well, she had always felt that was the magic of books. Though Alice clearly took that belief to a more enjoyable place than Millie ever had.

When Alice left, Millie locked the door behind her.

Austin raised a brow. “Alone?”

“Yes,” she said. “We are.”

“Lee Talbot was desperate to catch the Wilder brothers. He had begun to suspect that Austin was an outlaw. Based on the amount of money my ancestor had deposited in the bank. Talbot was watching him. He knew that his import business was just a front.”

She nodded. “I know this much.”

“But he didn’t just want to arrest Austin, he wanted to put an end to the Wilder gang. He caught Butch Hancock burglarizing the general store, and Butch started talking. He was drunk, but the information was still valuable. From what I’ve gathered, Lee told him to sober up and they’d talk again later. Which was where the letters came in. But what Lee really wanted was trumped-up charges. He wanted to be able to execute them.”

“There was no evidence of murder?”

“No. I don’t believe there ever was. There was only Butch’s testimony. Saying that he had witnessed the Wilder brothers executing a stagecoach driver.”

“And that was all Lee Talbot needed?”

“It was all he needed. They raided Austin’s house. They.... Now, this is all reading between the lines, but it sounds as if he believed Katherine’s life was in danger. I think that’s why he got his gun. Honestly, even if there was no explicit threat, they had broken into his home.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Of course, he would do anything in his power to protect his wife and children.”

“And that was when . . . it all went into the street, and they both had their guns drawn. Now, I do believe that Austin would’ve killed the sheriff. I believe that he would’ve done anything to get away. To protect his family.”

“But Austin was fighting for his family,” she said, her heart twisting. “Lee Talbot was fighting for his reputation. For his personal gain. And I understand that it’s complicated. I understand that Austin was still an outlaw. That he stole money from people. I get that. The Wilders terrorized people as part of the robberies. But . . . at the end of the day, what he did. . . .”

“He did for his family. Always. From the beginning. He stole to keep his brothers from starving; he did it so that he could have a wife. So that he could build her a house. There are plenty of people who struggle and never steal a damn thing, Millie. He was an outlaw. I’m not erasing that.”

“No. Of course not. But there were no heroes here.”

“It turns out we were all outlaws. All along.”

She let his conclusion sink in for a long moment, and he seemed happy to let the silence reign.

“We’re going to have to bring this to the town council. Because this new information changes everything. We’re going to have to get a new plaque.”

He chuckled. “I love that you’re worried about the plaque.”

“I am. We need lots of updated plaques, actually. I love the history of this town. Loving history means accepting all of it. And that means the deep imperfections of the people who founded Rustler Mountain. It doesn’t benefit anybody to make icons out of men. They were just people. At the end of the day, they were all flawed, some of them more than others, to be sure. But how are we ever supposed to learn something from history if we cling to outdated mythology? And that’s what it is. This is mythology . It isn’t history. And it needs to be corrected.”

“That’s what we’ll do with Gold Rush Days—we’re going to correct it. We are going to give honest tours. We’ll do that until we can get the plaques updated.”

“It doesn’t give you back your life.”

He shrugged. “We Wilders stayed for a reason.”

“You were fighting for what you were owed. I understand.”

“I’m glad you do. Because sometimes I feel like nobody in their right mind would.”

She laughed. “I’m not convinced I’m in my right mind, Austin Wilder. Because here I am, learning the real truth of my family, standing across from the man who was named after the man my ancestor murdered in cold blood in the middle of the street, and . . . I’ve seen you naked.”

He laughed. And the grin that flashed across his face was almost too beautiful for her to bear.

“I’m glad you think that’s funny.”

“I fucking do.”

“You’re just like an outlaw,” she said.

“You wanted to know if I had a costume, so I dressed the part.”

“There’s a prairie dress in the box over there.”

“Well, you’re obligated to show that to me.”

“Am I?”

“If you don’t, I’ll tie you to the train tracks.”

A little erotic thrill shot through her, because she knew he was kidding, but she heard an innuendo that was maybe a little bit naughtier than he intended. Or maybe he did intend it.

She went back to the crate of costumes and picked out a blue dress with pink flowers, then ducked into the bathroom. With shaking hands, she put the dress on. They should probably mull over the truth of his revelations a bit longer. Before they went on to playing dress-up. Except . . . there was something intent gleaming in his eyes, and she wanted to follow. Wherever it went.

The dress was tight, and it made her waist look tiny, the skirt flaring out around her. She took her hair down, moved her fingers through it, looked at her reflection in the mirror and found she didn’t recognize that woman. Because in this demure dress, she didn’t look like mousy Millie Talbot. Right now, she definitely looked like an outlaw herself.

She walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her firmly. And there he was, standing in one of the aisles with two shelving units on either side of him. The long stretch of floor between them looked a lot like the main street. And this felt like a showdown once more.

The question was which one of them would pull the trigger first.

Because one of them would. There was no question about that.

“Well,” he said. “You really do look the part.”

Her heart was pounding hard. “So do you.”

She went over to the costume crate again and rummaged until she found the black vest she’d been thinking of when they’d talked costumes this morning.

She held it up and he arched a brow, unmoving.

She held it out to him. “Complete the look?”

“Sure.”

The way he looked at her made her feel electric. Made her feel like something so much bolder and edgier than she was. Her heart was hammering. She wondered if this was how Austin Wilder’s wife had felt when she had first seen that dangerous man looking at her. It was hard to understand what he saw in her. She supposed it was just that he was a man. And men enjoyed sex. Whatever form it camein.

It didn’t feel like that between them, though. He hadn’t left last night. He had stayed.

And now he was here. He didn’t have to be.

In his eyes, their shared history made them a unit, rather than pitting them against each other. He was pulling her over to his side. He didn’t have to do that.

So maybe he felt the same things she did.

The connection. The common bond.

Maybe he didn’t.

But it felt . . . possible.

He began moving toward her.

She started to walk toward him, the two of them obscured by tall bookshelves on either side. Nobody who walked by any of the windows would see a thing.

She reached out and handed him the vest, and he shrugged it on. It fit perfectly.

Then he turned his focus straight back to her, moving closer. “This is a fantasy I have.”

“Surely not of me,” she said.

“I don’t know about that.”

He cupped her cheek, leaning in and kissing her slowly, deliberately.

She gasped.

Being kissed in the library was tantamount to being kissed in church, she thought.

It was a sacred space.

It was hallowed.

But this didn’t feel sacrilegious, not really.

It felt like a reckoning.

Millie and Austin, in the stacks, her in this prairie dress, him looking like a dangerous outlaw.

This was never how she’d thought the feud would be settled.

Who would’ve ever thought that?

She moved her hand up his chest. It was firm and hot, muscular.

And images of last night bombarded her.

They had been everything.

Perfect. They had been beautiful.

And this was....

Everything.

It was indulgent, luxurious. He swept his tongue against hers, and she very nearly swooned. He moved his hand around to cup her head, and she was lost.

He was so strong. Perfect.

He nuzzled her neck, trailed kisses down to her collarbone, to where the very top of her dress met her skin.

“I didn’t realize I had a schoolmarm fantasy. But it’s been there. Buried.”

“I’m not sure how to feel about that.”

“Flattered,” he said. “I’m kidding. Don’t feel flattered. Just enjoy it. I know I am.”

“I didn’t know I had a bad-boy fantasy.”

“You didn’t. You said yourself, you were warning everybody off me.”

She scowled. “I just wanted them to be careful.”

“Oh, you didn’t want me to get my rough outlaw hands all over them?”

The question made her shiver. “No. Because I didn’t understand the benefit of rough hands at the time. I didn’t understand the benefit of any hands.”

“Oh, Millie,” he said. “Not even your own?”

She wrinkled her nose. “That always seemed like more trouble than it was worth.”

“Why? Why is something that makes you feel good more trouble than it’s worth?”

She didn’t have an answer to the question. It was a good one. She didn’t know why it didn’t seem worthwhile to bring herself pleasure. But then, she lived in an endless cycle of feeling that she was underachieving, and then feeling that she couldn’t rest at the end of the day, because she had to do just a little bit more. A little bit of community outreach, a little bit of updating the historical records for the county. Something. Anything.

To make her feel useful. To make her feel . . . at this point, she wasn’t even sure. She had been trying so hard . . . for what?

So maybe this was deep. The fulfillment of long-held fantasies that were meant to be. The burying of old hatchets. Or maybe it was just Austin getting his own.

And maybe it was just Millie getting hers.

She couldn’t discount that possibility. Maybe, right now, they were the only ones who mattered. So she kissed him as if there was nothing beyond the two bookshelves they stood between. As if there was no history other than theirs.

He growled, and backed her up two steps, pressing her against the wall. She gasped.

She was on fire with anticipation. For what was to come.

For what might happen next. She just wanted him. Needed him. In a way she couldn’t describe. Because pleasure, her own pleasure, had just never been this important, and now it was everything. It felt like he might be everything.

Which was ridiculous. That couldn’t be right. They’d had a very reasonable discussion about all of that last night and this morning.

But. . . .

For once, don’t think.

She let her mind go blessedly blank, and she focused on his hot mouth against her skin. His hands moving over her curves. In the library.

They couldn’t have sex in the library.

Except she found that her hands were moving of their own volition, going to the buttons on his shirt, tugging wildly at the fabric. She shouldn’t be undressing him. She should let him do it. So that she could claim she had been led into temptation. But no. She was happily doing the leading.

Straight past temptation, right into indulgence.

His growl of appreciation echoed through her. And he pushed her skirts up, bunching the fabric in his fist as he brought it up around her hips, then moved his other hand to touch her bare thighs, and then in between them.

He found her wet and ready for him, and she couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it.

“This is the thing,” he said against her mouth.

Her heart fluttered. “Is it?”

“Millie,” he said, his tone low and indulgent.

And then, he was pushing a finger inside her, then another, working them in and out and driving her to madness.

She curled her toes tight in her shoes and held back a cry.

“Don’t do that,” he said, making his way to kiss her neck. “Let it out.”

He was right. There was no one to hear.

No reason to hold back. She was just doing it to herself.

She imposed so much denial on herself.

She decided to take so little. And now she was going to have it all. She let the cry rise in her throat, escape her lips. She clung to his shoulders and rode his hand as he brought her to a screeching climax, right there.

“Hang on,” he said.

He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet, removed a condom. He undid the front of his jeans, and she watched, rapt, as he rolled the latex onto himself.

And then he lifted her right up off the ground and urged her to wrap her legs around him as he thrust deep inside of her, using the wall to brace them both.

“Well,” she said. “I am more convinced than ever that size matters.”

“I’ll follow up on that when we’re done,” he said, kissing her, claiming her. She had never . . . in all her life.

She was looking at the spines of the books, looking at that black cowboy hat, the black shirt he was still wearing, and her pale hand up against the fabric. Until she had to close her eyes, because she couldn’t do anything but feel the rush of pleasure anymore.

Until everything started to shatter.

She couldn’t believe that she was about to come again. Not after she had already....

But then she shattered, her nails digging into him, her cry echoing in these hallowed, silent halls.

And he roared his own completion only a moment later, pulsing inside her as he gave himself up to the need that arced between them.

He set her down slowly, but her legs gave way, and she simply slid down the wall, feet out straight in front of her. “Oh,” she said.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m just going to need a minute to recover from that.”

Or two weeks of bed rest.

“I’ll be back.”

He turned away from her and she assumed he was going into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He returned a moment later, blue eyes far too sharp and searching for her liking.

“Now what do you mean about the size thing?”

She feigned a cough.

“Millie.”

“You scold me quite a lot.”

“You’re naughty quite a lot.”

She felt ridiculously pleased by that characterization.

“I only meant that, it did occur to me last night that perhaps it felt so good because the dimensions of things increased sensation.”

“Go on.”

“I also thought I might have been blinded by your overall skill level. That perhaps it wasn’t fair to simply attribute the difference to. . . .”

“My cock?”

Her cheeks went flaming hot. “Indeed. But, after this, I’m just saying . . . overall . . . were you a shorter man, were you a less muscular man, you could not have pinned me so effectively to the wall and. . . .”

“Screwed you senseless?”

“Yes,” she said, face going red all over again.

“The library,” he said looking around. “This feels like a full-circle moment.”

“It’s definitely a weird bibliophile fantasy.”

“I am into it,” he said.

“We really do need to plan this event we’re supposed to be planning.”

“Is the event not this?”

She laughed. “No. It’s not. I didn’t know you were funny.”

“You didn’t know me at all.”

His words made her sad. It wasn’t anything she didn’t know already. “I want to know you,” she said.

She was aware the words were heavy. That they were potentially ill-advised.

“I’m not actually that hard to know.”

“Hard enough.”

“And you? You’re really easy?”

“There isn’t really anything to know. You know everything.”

She realized that she was still sitting on the floor, legs spread out in front of her like a debauched ragdoll.

She pushed her skirts back into place. “I was born here. Just like you. I had very few friends growing up.”

“Another thing we have in common,” he said.

“People already thought they knew who I was because of my last name.”

“Obviously,” he said.

“You fascinated me,” she said. “And I told myself that I didn’t have a crush on you. And I warned everybody away from you. But I really do know what you check out from the library. Because I always thought it was so fascinating. And I wanted to know more. Why you were reading, what you were getting out of it. Because . . . I know why I love to read. It’s because sometimes I don’t have an easy time connecting with people. And the pictures in my head, the people in my head, stories that I can step into, they feel safer. Yes, I love reading history books. But I also love being carried into a story where I can imagine myself being brave. Where I can identify with the hero. That’s what I love.”

“You know, I didn’t want to stay here when I was a kid,” he said, walking over to her and sliding down the wall, sitting right beside her. “And my dad was always on about something. Some woman he had met, a poker game he was going to play. The injustice of being born a Wilder. I found it easier to tune him out if I was somewhere else. And he didn’t understand books. He couldn’t understand why I wanted to do something as dumb as read when there was TV. And when I was a teenager, he would always ask if I shouldn’t be out having sex.” She looked up at him. “I assure you I have figured out how to do both. I read a couple chapters in my new Jack Reacher book today.”

She huffed a laugh. “Well. What a relief.”

“I liked books because they gave me a secret world that no one else knew anything about. My dad didn’t know that the things I was reading were actually interesting. That they had as much sex and mayhem as anything on TV. It was my secret. What I really liked was that I got to read about people who thought the way I did. And also people who thought about things differently than I did. It taught me a whole lot about the world off that mountain. And eventually, I didn’t feel like I wanted to leave anymore. Because I realized the story of our lives was too interesting. And if I really wanted to know the whole story, I was going to have to write it.”

“And that’s what you’re doing.”

“Trying to.”

“So you really did have to show up to that town council meeting. Because if you hadn’t. . . .” She blinked. “I even had to kiss you. It was what sent me up to the attic.”

“I’d believe in fate if she wasn’t such a bitch. In my experience.”

“Fair,” she said. “But I’m not sure fate is a bitch so much as the people in power have always been bastards.”

He looked at her as if he was considering the truth of that. “Well. That is a good point.”

“Lee Talbot wasn’t a hero,” she said.

“He probably thought he was. I mean, listen. All the money stuff, that was self-indulgent. I won’t give him a pass on that. But deciding that he was going to take the Wilder brothers out.... Well, maybe he thought he was protecting the town.”

She shook her head. “I can’t be okay with murder.”

“Mostly I’m with you. But just as Austin decided it was all right to steal from people because he needed it, I can sort of see how Lee Talbot thought he was justified in killing a man to remove a danger from the community.”

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re too empathetic?”

He looked as if she had clocked him upside the head. “No. No one has ever said that to me.”

“I’ve never known somebody to think so much about what other people are feeling.”

“Well. I found that life’s not very much fun when nobody thinks about you at all. I’ve tried to be different.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t try to be better.”

“I guess not. But what’s the point of being worse?”

He reached across the bare expanse of floor between them and locked his hands with hers. “Okay,” she said. “Now I feel like I know you.”

“I should hope so.”

“How about we present our new version of town history together. We’ll work on it. We’ll write it. We’ll bring it to the town council. But I’m the one who’s going to establish the museum. And we are the ones planning Gold Rush Days. So we can have the event with or without plaques. With or without permission. We know the truth.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They lingered like that for longer than they needed to.

“I need to spend the night at my place tonight,” he said.

“Yeah. That’s fine. Totally understandable.”

“Once you get the schedule nailed down, do you want to come over for dinner and see if Cassidy can actually drive the wagon?”

“I’d love that. Hopefully, I’ll have everything finalized tomorrow.”

“Perfect. Then I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Now he was having sex with her and leaving. He was kissing her goodbye. And she felt bereft. But she wasn’t going to go after him. She wasn’t going to be ridiculous.

She wasn’t.

She waited until she heard the door close behind him. And she still sat there, curling her hands into fists. She could feel him. The impression of his body, all over hers.

She could feel him.

And worst of all, she missed him. Even though he had just been inside her.