Rustler Mountain

Chapter 19

How can she love an outlaw? I ask myself that at least once yearly. I have lived in a way that doesn’t allow for fear. I fear asking her that question.

—Austin Wilder’s journal, January 9, 1859

M illie found herself piled into the back of a pickup truck that Cassidy was driving, with Flynn sitting across from her and Austin. There was a grin on his face, and her heart was fluttering wildly. This felt like the kind of teenage stuff she had never done. Like something dangerous and sort of special. Hanging out with her boyfriend and....

Not that he was her boyfriend .

The word boyfriend could never apply to Austin. It sounded juvenile and soft in a way he could never be. He was too much a man for a label like that.

When they had said sharpshooting, they weren’t kidding. They had old-fashioned holsters, and pistols just like the ones back in the good old days.

“This is the pistol that ended the first Austin Wilder’s life,” Flynn said theatrically. “Well, it’s the same kind anyway.”

“Yeah, Dad figured we’d better learn how to shoot. Since we had a legacy of being shot at,” Austin said.

She blinked. “But there are, of course, more modern guns.”

“Our dad wasn’t practical ,” Flynn said. “He was dramatic .”

Millie couldn’t help but think Flynn seemed to have inherited some of that flare for drama. He was very handsome and had an air of volatility about him that Austin just didn’t possess. Women loved Flynn, and she could see why, even though for her, Austin was definitely the prize.

But she could understand in that moment how their dad had managed to catch so many women. There was something intoxicating about the Wilder men.

“Oh,” she said.

The shooting range was out in a distant part of their property, with a big pile of gravel backing the targets, and mountains beyond that.

“We want to know that the bullets stop if we miss the target. You don’t want them flying past where you intend.”

She nodded. She knew the basics of firearm safety, though she had never fired one herself.

The little shooting range was surprising. With bright-colored targets in different shapes. It was almost like an arcade. Some were classic bull’s-eye targets in red and white, others the silhouette of an angry sheriff, and big grizzly bears.

She laughed. “This is . . . this is great.”

“Cassidy and I built it,” said Flynn. “Austin obviously thinks it’s a little bit too silly.”

Austin huffed. “Yeah, but I can outshoot all of you.”

Cassidy parked the truck, and they clambered out, making their way over to the targets.

“Who taught Cassidy to shoot?” Millie asked.

“I did,” said Austin.

“But you said it was silly.”

Austin shrugged a shoulder. “But if we knew how to do it, then she had to know how to do it too.”

Millie couldn’t argue with that logic.

Austin lined everybody up. “Okay,” he said. “Everybody get their ear protection out.” Cassidy opened the box she was carrying, which held big, brightly covered ear protection. She handed one to Millie, and everybody put a set over their ears.

“You stand behind us,” Austin said.

She scrambled back, moving to the bed of the truck. “No worries.”

He chuckled. “I’m not really worried.”

“All right,” he said. “We quick draw, and we fire. Ten rounds. Points for whoever gets them unloaded fastest, and then points for accuracy. When I beat your asses, don’t cry.”

Millie sat, rapt.

Austin turned to look at her and tipped his black cowboy hat, and she very nearly swooned. If she was honest, she very nearly had an orgasm.

“Oh my,” she said.

Then he turned his focus back to the targets.

She watched as they all did a quick draw from their holsters, extended their arms, and shot. Cocked the hammer again, shot. Austin’s movements were swift. Precise. He was firing off shots in rapid succession, his muscles flexing.

She bit her lip, uncertain when this sort of display had become sexy to her. Who cared? She just thought it was sexy.

It was over before she knew it. But Austin finished first.

“Fastest,” he said, when the sound of the shots had died down.

She took her ear protection off, and it pulled hair into her face. She fought to untangle herself as she spoke up on Austin’s behalf. “He was.”

Flynn looked at her. “You’re just saying that because he’s your boyfriend.”

Her face went hot, and she waited for Austin to correct his brother. But he didn’t.

He just gave him a withering look.

“He was fastest,” Cassidy said, nodding. “I’m woman enough to admit it.”

She followed them as they went to examine the different targets. Austin’s bullets had all hit dead center.

“You’re a sharpshooter,” she said.

“Yeah. I’m not bad.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Flynn. “Get a room.”

“Can’t I appreciate good marksmanship without it being prurient?” she asked, turning on her best stereotypical librarian’s voice.

Flynn straightened his shoulders. “Sorry.”

She suppressed a smile, her eyes meeting Austin’s.

It was prurient. She knew it. She was comfortable with it.

“You want a turn?”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said.

“I think you could.”

Austin opened up the chamber of the pistol and reloaded it. She watched as he dropped each silver bullet inside. Then popped it back in place. “It’s easy. And I won’t let you get hurt.”

She put her ear protection back on.

“Never aim at anything you don’t intend to hit.”

“I know,” she said.

“Yeah. Well, knowing and doing are two different things. As I think you’re well aware.”

She shifted.

He came to stand beside behind her, his heat and strength enveloping her as he put the gun into her hand and showed her how to hold it. Then he had her raise her hands and aim directly at the target. “Now when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger. Don’t be shocked by the recoil. You saw how much power it had when I shot.”

She nodded. “See that bead there in the notch? There you go. Now squeeze.”

She took a deep breath, squeezed the trigger, and scooted back as the blast rang out. Austin braced her with his body, laughter rumbling through his chest. “That was a hell of a recoil.”

“Goodness,” she said.

“Go ahead. Take some more shots.”

“I don’t know.”

“An outlaw would, Millie Talbot.”

That did it. She raised her arms again, cocked the gun, and fired.

This time the recoil didn’t surprise her so much. This time, she didn’t nearly get knocked off her feet.

“Go on,” he said.

So she did. She fired again. And then again. Power coursed through her veins. A kind of giddy heat. She had never done this before. But what would her life have been like if she had known that her ancestors weren’t quite so perfect?

What if she had been free to be something a little bit wilder?

A little more free . What if she hadn’t spent so much time trying to be good? Trying to be safe.

She fired again and again, only dimly aware that Austin was no longer standing right behind her. That he wasn’t holding on to her.

She was lost in the exhilaration of it.

And when she was finished, she turned to him. “Thank you. I . . . I needed that.

She didn’t even know how to articulate what he was giving her. This man. This man she had known all her life but hadn’t known really.

“Are you feeling peckish?” Austin asked.

“A bit.”

She wondered for a moment if it was a double entendre, but if so, the answer was still yes.

“Well, let’s go back to the house for dinner. Perry and Carson are providing.”

They drove back across the ranch in the old pickup truck, the wind whipping through Millie’s hair.

Austin dropped his black cowboy hat right on her head. She smiled up at him.

“Outlaw,” he said.

And she let his approval warm her all the way to her toes.

This time, when she came into the house for dinner, she wasn’t sure if she felt more comfortable or less comfortable. She’d had sex with Austin twice. And as far as she knew, that made her the world record holder in repeat sex with Austin. He was much more experienced than she was, generally speaking. But she was a first for him too. And she clung to that. Cassidy and Flynn clearly knew what was happening between them, and they’d been....

They’d been so nice to her today.

But there was also Carson. And there was Perry, and even Dalton, who seemed to be part of the package deal with the Wilders. It mattered so much to her that they approve of her.

At dinner, she marveled once more at how they all shared.

Dalton was there again, and so was Perry, who seemed to act as an emotional support companion for Carson. She hadn’t yet witnessed any of Carson’s moods, but the way people talked about him, the way they moved as if on eggshells around him, let her know there was a lot of pain there.

Her own family had been structured so differently. But what struck her about this crew was the way they took care of each other. She wondered if that was a side effect of being on the fringes of society.

They couldn’t count on others’ help, so they came together themselves.

It created a tight-knit feeling that she had never experienced between family members before.

Not that her family wasn’t lovely. But . . . it wasn’t this.

“The covered wagon ride was a rousing success,” said Cassidy. “It’s going to be so much fun taking wagonloads of kids around.”

“Are parents going to have to sign a special permission slip?” Dalton asked. “Because I definitely would want to know who was driving my kids around.”

“You’d have to know who all your kids were first, Dalton.”

“Hey,” he said. “I don’t have any kids.”

Cassidy looked at him meaningfully. “That you know of.”

“I am a man who takes safety very seriously.”

“Sure,” she said. “Because accidents never happen.”

“Can you not,” Flynn said. “This kind of talk makes me nervous.”

Carson chuckled quietly.

“What?” Flynn asked.

“Oh. You people. Like having a child would be a terrible thing. I forget how young you are.” He shook his head and took a bite of his dinner roll.

“Feel free to go out and get some kids, Carson.”

“I’m just saying. Having to grow up and deal with life wouldn’t be the worst thing for any of you.”

“I think Carson just advised me to go out and get knocked up,” said Cassidy, looking directly at Austin.

“If that’s what you heard just now, then you’re beyond help. And not my problem.”

Millie smiled softly as she listened to the conversation.

She had hoped to have a baby in the next year or so. That was part of why she and Michael had finally decided to get married.

She couldn’t mourn the loss of a cheating future husband. But at thirty, her biological clock was beginning to tick, and the idea of having to start all over again.... She didn’t want to wait until she’d have difficulty conceiving. She looked across the table at Austin and felt uncomfortable. She shouldn’t have looked at him. Not when she was thinking about babies. The conversation moved on to less touchy subjects.

“Has Austin told all of you about our historical findings?” she asked.

The siblings exchanged glances.

“Yeah,” said Flynn. “But the truth is, it matters the most to him. It’s quite literally his name being cleared.”

“Not cleared,” Austin said. “It’s . . . it’s just knowing our ancestor wasn’t as bad as he was made out to be.”

“Definitely not.”

“Has Austin shown you the journal yet?” Cassidy asked.

“No.”

He flicked her a glance. “I’ll show you after dinner.”

They fell into chatter about Rustler Mountain and its history, its good guys and bad guys. High on the list of bad guys was Butch Hancock the Traitor.

“I mean the thing is,” said Flynn, “the Wilders never expected anything from the Talbots. They’ve never been our friends. No offense. Butch Hancock was the one who got the Wilders into thieving. And then he gave them up. Like he wasn’t the one leading the charge.”

“If there can’t be honor among thieves, where is there honor?” Cassidy asked.

“Plenty of places,” Carson said. “I’m sure.”

“You know what I mean,” said Cassidy. “They were like a family, and Butch was supposed to have their back. But instead he stabbed it. We knew he did. We knew it. That’s why I cross the street when I see Jessie Jane Hancock. And I refuse to get any of my horseshoeing done by her.”

“You drive somewhere else to use a different farrier?” Millie asked.

“Yes,” said everybody around the table.

“That’s the thing I find so fascinating,” Millie said. “You all participate in the blood feud. Even though you say it’s not fair when it’s being done to you.”

“It’s not about fair,” Flynn said.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that life’s not fair?” Dalton asked.

“Yes. But I’m sort of interested in making it more fair if possible.”

“I think it depends on the nature of the crime,” Austin said. “We had a Talbot sit down to our table before we ever had a Hancock in this place.”

“And we never will have a Hancock in this place,” Flynn said. “Absolutely not.

“Well. I think Jessie Jane is interesting,” Millie said.

“So do I,” said Perry. “She’s got style.”

“She’s a menace,” Flynn said.

And he left it at that. But there was no explanation required. Jessie was a hard-drinking, knife-throwing, competitive blacksmithing, Wild West–reenacting hellion. Her family exploited and monetized their outlaw connection. Butch Hancock’s Wild West Show ran it all through the summer, with special events around Christmastime too. But it was definitely a sensationalized version of local history.

On a school tour of the East Coast, Millie had once gone to Salem, Massachusetts. There, she had learned very quickly that the town was divided into two camps: the sensationalized tours and the historical tours. One portrayed witches and magic, and the hysteria that had gripped the town as being real. While the other presented facts. She felt that was the difference between the Hancocks and what she was trying to do. She had a feeling the truth wouldn’t dampen the Hancocks’ version of events at all. It would just give them another villain. And the crowds loved a villain.

They finished dinner and enjoyed another one of Perry’s delicious desserts before everyone bid Austin good night. She was thankful that he’d offered to show her the journal after dinner. Because she didn’t have to question whether or not he wanted her to file out with everyone else.

Still, she felt an expanding tension in her midsection when she realized that they were alone in the house.

“Come on. I’ll show you the journal.”

She nodded and followed him into a precisely organized office space.

Everything was immaculate, which didn’t surprise her. Because as she had come to realize, that was Austin.

He had a computer and a notepad on an otherwise completely clean desk. And then there were bookshelves filled with books. Of all varieties.

“I didn’t know you also bought books,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Anything I think I might need as a constant reference. Or favorites. You know how that is.”

She walked over to the shelf and touched the spines of Hatchet, Caddie Woodlawn, Lord of the Rings, Holes.

“I liked that one when I was a kid,” he said, gesturing to Holes . “Something about seeing the treatment of kids that are considered delinquents made so . . . literal. Sentencing them to dig a hole every day and claiming it builds character. Using them to accomplish a secret goal, while pretending the work they’re doing doesn’t matter. I don’t know. It spoke to me.”

“I never read that one.”

“You should. It holds up.”

“ The Legend of Jimmy Spoon ,” she said. “That one I did read. And Jimmy Spoon and the Pony Express .”

“Favorites,” he said.

“This is a library any child would love to—”

She looked at him, their eyes meeting, and then she looked away. “I mean, it’s a shelf full of good memories.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, that’s the other great thing, isn’t it? When you read, you can make memories anywhere. So, my dad could be drunk and stumbling about in the kitchen, and I could be going on an adventure in the Wild West. It made childhood memories for me that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.” He paused for a long moment. “Your mom meant a lot to me,” he said. “Just so you know.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t expect to get emotional then. But she could feel sorrow tightening her chest. “She was a really wonderful person. She made me who I am, more than anyone else. Even more than history.”

“Yeah. I think that was part of my problem. There was nothing but a big hole where my mom used to be. So I had to fill it with something. The scorn of the town. That was kind of what ended up going in there.”

“Why did your mom leave?”

“A question for the ages. No. I think the whole situation was too . . . it was too damn much for her. Why would she want to stay? Who wants to live like this?”

“You all chose it.”

“Yeah. But we’re committed to making something better out of it, and I don’t know how much you remember my dad, but he just wasn’t. In some ways, I think he was harder to live with than someone who’s truly evil. He never thought past his nose. Never gave a shit about anybody but himself. He wanted to feel good and have fun. He could be a really fun dad, actually. Until you realized that you couldn’t trust him. Because he wasn’t doing what he needed to do to keep us safe. He wasn’t taking care of us. Not really. And you internalize all that until nothing seems all that safe. I had to fight to make this place livable. For all of us.”

“That’s why you’re so neat and clean,” she said.

“Yes ma’am. Kind of control freak 101.”

“I can’t blame you.”

“No.”

He grabbed a small leather book off the shelf and extended his hand toward her. “This is it.”

“Oh.”

She had forgotten why they were here. The past. She was much more interested in him, right in that moment.

She opened up the book, staring at the neat handwriting she hadn’t expected from an outlaw.

Each entry was long. They spoke of events, feelings. Fears.

Her heart stopped when she opened it up to a page where he talked about seeing Katherine for the first time, even though he didn’t know her name. It was vivid. His description of his feelings. Of how the world seemed to stop. Of feeling he wasn’t worthy of her.

She looked up at Austin. “It’s beautiful writing.”

“Yeah. It is. It’s what made me think maybe I could write. Because he did. And if things had been different . . . who knows what all he would’ve written.”

Not for the first time, she felt desperately sad about the waste. Of a life. Of a man.

It was easy to see the people of the past in terms of dry facts and sepia-toned, stern-faced portraits. But these journal entries were funny, sad, filthy.

They were a 3D portrait of a man she could never know.

“But you’re not just compiling these entries in your book.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m making a novel out of it. It’s a Western, I guess. If I had to choose a genre.”

“It can’t be a romance,” she said softly. “Because he dies at the end.”

“Everybody dies at some point. They ended up together. Just not for as long as either of them wanted.”

“True, but I think if you put the death in the book, it won’t be considered a romance.”

“Yeah. You may have a point.”

“Can I read some of your book?”

He looked as if she had slapped him.

“Well, you want to publish it. So you want other people to read it. You’ve talked to a literary agent.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “But it’s not finished.”

“Please.”

He hesitated, then sat down at his computer. He minimized one window and expanded another. Then scrolled up to chapter one.

“It’s not going to entertain you,” he said as he stood to make room for her.

“Do you feel honor bound to talk down your accomplishments?” she asked as she sat down in the office chair.

“No, it’s just you already know the story, and also you read a lot, so you’ll be able to see how workmanlike my prose is.”

She laughed and spun around in the chair. “Oh no, workmanlike prose. How will I cope?”

Their eyes met and she could see the moment he thought about leaning in and kissing her. He didn’t. She wished he had.

He straightened. “I mean, hey, if you want to bore yourself.”

She swatted at him and then spun back around to the computer, leaning in.

Before she knew it, she had been swept away to a different time. To the eighteen hundreds, when a young boy named Austin Wilder had found himself orphaned, with two younger brothers to care for. The novel swept her through the story of how he chose to become an outlaw, the guilt he felt over enjoying winning when a take was particularly hard. And the initial conflict he felt about whether or not he was still a man his father would’ve been proud of. Whether or not he was good.

Austin walked out of the room and came back in no fewer than three times, but she was caught up in his words. The way he captured feelings that were so complicated in his stark sentences.

She could see all the care he put into understanding every person that appeared on the page.

It was just like him. It was the way he thought about people.

She read every word hungrily, not just because it was a good story, though it was, but because it felt like a window into who he was that wouldn’t have been opened to her otherwise.

And somehow, as the words filtered through her, she realized she knew him better than she had ever known Michael. Not just because of the conversations they’d had, though they’d had some deep, frank conversations, but because of his writing. And because of their physical intimacy. It was a truly incredible realization.

He walked back into the room, and she looked up at him. “This is amazing, Austin. It’s beautifully written. I feel like I understand him. Deeply and . . . it’s so sad. But beautiful all the same time, because you’ve captured what our retelling of history has missed. His complexity. You’re right, he wasn’t totally a good guy. Or a hero. But anyone who thinks they might not have ended up in that same position isn’t being honest with themselves.”

“You know, I wish we could learn more about Lee Talbot. I wish I could know what he thought. If he thought he was a hero at the beginning. If taking money here and there started to get too enticing until he was doing things he wasn’t proud of, but couldn’t stop. I wonder.”

“Yes. But you have done a really beautiful job of showing people how complicated Austin was. Plus, it’s just a very good book.”

And right then, he looked so pleased it was almost better than sex. Almost.

“Well, I appreciate that.”

“I’m not just saying it.”

“I know. I bet you’ve never just said anything to keep the peace a day in your life.”

“You’re right. I haven’t.”

She felt proud then that he understood her. In ways no one else had ever tried to understand.

He moved to her and bent down to kiss her. She felt it all through her body.

Ask me to stay.

She hadn’t brought anything with her, and it would be so impractical.

“Thank you,” she said. “For earlier.”

He nodded. “For dinner?”

“No. The shooting. For . . . you make me feel wild.”

“That’s weird, because you make me feel a little bit calmer.”

They sat there and looked at each other, and she had the feeling that they had crossed some invisible line. She didn’t know if they could ever go back.

Ask me to stay.

“Why don’t you spend the night?” he said.

All the breath left her body. “Oh. I mean . . . I . . . okay.”

She ought to protest. Even though she wanted to stay. She ought to say that she didn’t have anything with her, and it wasn’t the best idea. But she wanted to stay.

“Your family will probably see my car in your driveway,” she said. Echoing the risk he had taken in spending the night at her place.

“They already know.”

And it didn’t make her feel embarrassed. It made her feel . . . special. Happy. It made her feel that maybe she mattered. He had let her read his book.

She had to mean something to him.

She wanted to stay. She wanted to be with him. So she let him sweep her up into his arms, let him drop his mouth down on hers for a devastating kiss. She let the heat explode between them. And she luxuriated in it. In the way she felt different, but also more herself.

That was what struck her hard in the chest as Austin lifted her up and cradled her against him. As he kissed her, walking down the hall into his bedroom. His bedroom!

This felt more real. More real than anything she had ever done. More hers.

Authentic. Not for performance. Not to get kudos. She just wanted to feel. This. Everything.

And she was in his bedroom.

She would never have thought she was the one who would end up there. Of all her friends. Of everyone she had ever known. She had been the one who’d warned them all against such a downfall. But she had been an idiot. Because nothing about Austin Wilder was a downfall.

He had lifted her up. Stitched together some old wounds that she hadn’t even known were there. He had fixed so much in her. In so many ways.

Even as he had deconstructed the narrative around her family, he had set her free.

And it didn’t matter if no one else could understand it.

It didn’t even matter if it made sense. She knew it. She felt it.

She was free to be herself, to take what she wanted.

She would end stronger than she was before, even though the idea of her connection to Austin ever ending made her feel heartbroken.

She would be better for having loved him.

She wasn’t even going to examine that thought. Wasn’t going to tell herself that there was no way she could be in love with him so soon, so fast.

She had spent six years thinking she was in love with Michael.

She had never really known him. He had never known her, but how could he have? She hadn’t really known herself.

She was just now stitching this version of herself, remaking it into a new design.

Austin was showing her how to be wild. More importantly, how to be her.

He set her down at the foot of his bed. “You really like picking me up,” she said.

“You’re very pickupable.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think you can figure it out. You have a way with words.”

“So do you. Though I’m not sure that’s one of them.”

She wasn’t worried whether she was good enough. Whether he liked her. Right now, there were no barriers between them. No labels. She was just Millie. And he was just Austin. She felt as if she had read him when she had read that manuscript. As if the words were written on his heart and soul.

She was totally comfortable calling that love.

It was more than she’d ever had with any other man. Morethan she’d ever wanted. She also wasn’t stupid enough to think that everything had suddenly changed for him, just because it had changed forher.

She didn’t need it to. Right now, she just felt happy. That she loved somebody in a way that wasn’t pathetic.

That wasn’t about making herself good enough.

This was just about feeling something glorious for another person.

Seeing him. Being seen by him.

She hadn’t understood how wonderful that could be.

Maybe because she hadn’t really understood herself, much less what she actually wanted. From anything.

Somewhere inside herself, she had decided she needed to make her parents proud above all else. And she had decided that would look a certain way. Especially after her mother was gone.

Maybe it was trying to deal with her own sadness.

Maybe she had taken that seat at the library partly because she had missed her mother so much, and she had been so desperate to fill the empty space inside herself that she had filled the space in the library, thinking it might somehow be the same.

That mixed-up train of thought had taken her to a dead end where she hadn’t been happy at all. Where she hadn’t known who she was or what she wanted. Austin had freed her from that. Challenging everything she thought she knew about herself. Realizing high school Millie would be shocked and disappointed to see her in Austin’s bedroom now made her feel good.

Because high school Millie had just been afraid. Afraid of doing the wrong thing. Afraid of disappointing people. Tonight, she wasn’t scared of anything at all.

So she kissed him. Kissed him and let him take her clothes off with the lights on. Let him look at her as if she was a decadent treat.

She kissed him and stripped his clothes off, marveling at his masculine strength. At his beauty.

She moved her fingertips over his chest, down his ridged abdomen. “You are. . . .” She clenched her teeth together for a moment, gathering her courage. “You are the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “You do things to me. I don’t even understand what it is. Magic, maybe. I’ve been turning it over in my head all day. Trying to figure out why the hell I can’t stop thinking about you. Because that’s not me. I don’t get hung up on anyone. It’s not just women. I don’t have a lot of connections. I have my family. That’s pretty much it. And today . . . today I thought about you. All damn day. And I . . . you’re right. I have a way with words. Most people don’t know it. But I do. I’ve got a good vocabulary, but I can’t find a word for this. You’re beautiful, yes. I can’t say that enough. Sexy. I’m drawn to you. But it’s something deeper than beauty.”

It wasn’t a declaration of love. But why should it be? It was still something special. Something that made her feel new. Something that made her feel glorious and special.

He had made it clear they were going to end up together. She could deal with that. As long as she mattered.

As long as their time together changed him as it had changedher.

She had never really believed that sex could be transformative. Maybe because the sex she’d had wasn’t. Not in any way.

But with Austin . . . it was different. They were different.

When they didn’t have words, they found a new way to communicate with their bodies. It was electric.

It moved her.

To new places, new heights.

It wasn’t just the ecstasy, but the intimacy.

And it was different, when you really knew a man.

She really knew this man.

He gathered her into his arms and kissed her. His skin was hot, his kiss was deep.

She arched against him, reveling in how beautiful she did feel.

She had always felt like a consolation prize. As if Michael was doing her a favor. As if he was the better-looking one in their pairing. She told herself her personality compensated for lack of beauty.

But Austin made her feel beautiful. Kindled a bright, warm spark in the center of her chest. He changed the way she felt. About herself, about the world.

With his touch. With his words.

With everything that he was.

He laid her down on the bed and made magic over her body. She arched against him, and he kissed her. Everywhere.

He made her see stars.

She clung to him as he created a storm between them. And she rode it out, with the two of them reaching the peak at the same time, holding each other as they trembled through the end.

“Stay,” he said.

She did.

He turned to her through the night. There was something so perfect about it. Something so raw and honest.

And she felt stripped clean, exposed, in the very best way.

Warm and cozy in his bed, and with no desire to leave.

I love you welled up in her throat, but she didn’t say it.

“You want to get up early with me and do chores?” he asked, whispering into the darkness.

It was already early. They had barely gotten any sleep.

“I would love to.”

Because in the absence of being able to say I love you , that would have to do.