23. Sam
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
sam
For the first time in longer than Sam cares to remember, when the sun peeks up over the horizon, she isn’t alone. Warm arms hold her against a solid chest. Red hair tickles her cheeks. Soft breath cascades over her shoulder, in, then out, then in, then out. He seems asleep, which means there may still be time to make a run for it, time to sneak down to the kitchen under the guise of needing coffee, time to slip away.
But she doesn’t want to.
All she wants is to stay right here in the safety of Cooper’s embrace for a few more minutes, before the soft golden light sifting through the curtains turns to the harsh light of day and reality comes crashing in.
Because this can’t last.
It’s a fairy tale.
A dream.
They’re from two different worlds. Ten million people think he’s engaged to her sister. Emily’s entire career hangs in the balance—a career Sam already destroyed once before. Not to mention, she has plans of her own, which don’t include running off to Nebraska to live on some ranch in the middle of nowhere, even if said ranch belongs to the sexiest cowboy she’s ever seen, with a body cut from marble, a touch savvy enough to unravel her every seam, and a gaze so coveting it snatches the very breath from her lungs.
Try telling that to her heart, which thunders like a Kentucky Derby hopeful on the final stretch of the track as the man in question stirs and pulls her farther into his chest.
“Morning,” comes Cooper’s deep, raspy voice.
She wants to trap the sound in a little jar so any time she’s sad or depressed she can open it back up and listen, because it’s impossible to do anything but beam when she hears it. That’s how she feels, like a glow stick that’s been cracked alight by deft hands, no way to stop the chemical reaction or turn it off or go back to the way things were before.
It’s too much to face before caffeine.
“What are you still doing here?” She turns over so they’re nose to nose. “Don’t you have a cow to rope or something?”
“I do.” Cooper grins. “And so do you.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Cuj.” He smacks her playfully on the ass as he rolls off the bed. “It’s time for you to earn your keep.”
“I’m pretty sure I already did. Three times last night.”
“That was just for fun.”
“Cooper.” She whines and pulls the blankets up over her head.
“The ranch waits for no one.”
“Well, the ranch can kiss my New York City ass.”
He yanks the covers off in one fell swoop and leans over to bite one round cheek.
“Hey!” she squeals. “I said kiss !”
“I know.”
An hour later, Sam finds herself ankle deep in what she really hopes is mud. Based on the smell, there’s a hefty dose of cow shit mixed in as well, but she’s trying not to focus on that as Cooper leads her through the muck. They’re surrounded by fences and cows and cowboys doing Lord only knows what. She’s sure it’s important, but it also happens to be completely beyond her understanding. Cooper, though, is unperturbed.
“Wait here for a minute,” he says as he hops a fence. “I’ll get a horse saddled up for you.”
“A what now?”
He lands with a splat on the other side, ignoring her as he calls something out to one of the other guys. She leans a hip against the fence and crosses her arms. The sky is blue overhead. A crisp breeze fluffs her hair. Aside from the obnoxious smell and the loud din of mooing, it is sort of peaceful in a way. Still, if someone had told her three months ago that she’d be standing in cowboy boots going eye to eye with a heifer, she would’ve laughed in their face.
What do you want?
She narrows her eyes at the beast as it twitches its tail.
That’s what I thought.
Said tail lifts and a huge wad of fresh dung plops out.
Oh god. Sam steps back with a grimace, her boots squelching in the mud. I am so not cut out for this life.
“A little different from New York?” Wes comes up from behind her and leans his elbows on the fence.
She keeps her attention on Cooper and shrugs, remembering the fresh feces she nearly stepped on while running down the subway platform last Monday. “Surprisingly, no.”
Wes snorts.
A yearning twinge fills her chest as Cooper tips his head back, laughing at something one of the guys said. He’s got that rare gift of seeming at ease no matter what he’s doing. Jet skiing in the Maldives. Running his hand down a cow’s spine. If she put him in a suit and plopped him in the middle of her office, she bets he’d fit right in. Not like her. Sam hasn’t felt at peace in a long time.
She flashes back to waking up in bed this morning.
The comfort of his deep breathing.
The security in his touch.
The promise of what could be if she’d only just let it.
Maybe it hasn’t been so long, after all.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” Wes says, dissecting her with his eyes. She’s too afraid to meet them. “He’s got a good heart, and it’s already been broken once before. Don’t do it to him again, Sam. Please. I’m begging you. Don’t do it again.”
Something in his tone makes her turn. Those brown eyes probe and plead, protective in a way she understands.
“His mom?” she asks softly.
“Everything about this place changed when she got sick. Coop. His old man. Even the very air we’re breathing right now felt different, like the land itself was in mourning. She was the glue, and that’s what they both need right now. More glue. Not a wrecking ball with a pretty face.”
“I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Then don’t.”
Wes pushes off the fence before she can answer. A few minutes later, Cooper comes back with two horses—a light brown one with black hair who looks boredly ahead, and a reddish one with a white stripe down its nose who’s giving her the stink eye.
“Let me guess,” she comments dryly. “The infamous Nutcracker?”
“How’d you guess?” Cooper answers with a snort, though the pride in his voice is clear. The horse in question neighs in protest, then nudges Cooper with her nose. He laughs softly and wraps his arm under her head to pull her in for a hug. A scratch here, a pet there, and the animal becomes putty in his hands. His skills with women clearly extend to the equine species. Cooper leans up to whisper in Nutcracker’s ear. Sam can’t hear what he’s saying, but she’s guessing it’s something to the tune of You’ll always be my number-one girl if the victorious side-eye coming her way is anything to go by.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to ride her, because I can recognize when a woman is marking her territory, even if that woman is a horse.”
Nutcracker bares her teeth. He tuts at her and starts stroking her neck. “Her bark is worse than her bite.”
“Wes told me you had to ice your balls for weeks.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He rolls his eyes, then grabs her hand. “Get your ass over here.”
“What—”
“Relax,” he interrupts, seeing her panic. “You’re not riding her, but you’ve got to introduce yourself. I happen to know from experience the only ways to get past her defenses are constant, stubborn exposure and good old-fashioned bribery. Take these.”
He drops three white sugar cubes into her palm. There’s a ten percent chance Nutcracker is going to bite her hand off, but Sam extends her arm anyway. A wet tongue quickly laps the treats from her fingers. The horse snorts, as if to say, That’s all you got? Sam arches a brow, fighting fire with fire. They stare at each other for a second, a sense of mutual understanding seeming to pass between them.
“Good,” Cooper mutters. “Now, hold your hand like this. Fingers closed. Yup. And lift here.” He guides her palm steadily down Nutcracker’s smooth, muscular neck twice before letting go with a soft, “Keep going.”
Sam repeats the stroke again and again, noticing how the horse’s tension begins to melt away. Her own, too. After about fifteen times, Cooper gently catches her wrist to stop her.
“Good, now repeat that again, but with your horse for the day—the friendly, lovable Duchess, who’s been working here longer than some of the ranch hands have. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Hi, Duchess. I’m Samantha,” she announces into an intent ear while she runs her fingers down a long caramel neck. Then she leans closer and whispers, “Please, please don’t throw me.”
“That’s enough of that,” Cooper interjects. Suddenly, large commanding hands grip her around the waist and she’s airborne as if she weighs nothing at all. He plops her into the saddle, letting his fingers linger a little longer than necessary, before turning back to Nutcracker.
Sam can’t help but smile as he glides smooth as butter into his own saddle. There’s something unabashedly sexy about a man who looks perfectly at home on top of a nine-hundred-pound animal who can just as easily kill him as carry him across the plains. And he does look at home as he gives the horse a few strong pats, then motions to the other men mounted up behind them. With a click of his tongue, the group launches into motion.
He guides Nutcracker without the reins, using just the pressure of his thighs, oozing a quiet confidence that heats Sam’s blood. They move past the paddocks and into the open grasslands, the backdrop of rolling hills just heightening this wild, rugged air he’s giving off. She’s never experienced anything like it before—a man so in his element, so commanding over nature. He cuts and gallops, the movements like a coordinated dance between horse and man, bodies and minds perfectly in sync. One moment he’s laughing with the group and the next he’s staring broodingly off into the distance, studying some unseen sign, all while constantly turning back to check on her, to make sure she’s comfortable and safe, to make sure she’s having fun. The juxtaposition of such raw masculinity set against such tender care leaves her absolutely entranced.
Sam can’t look away.
“So you really love him, then?”
The voice startles her so much she nearly loses her seat. A firm hand grasps her around the upper arm, holding her secure. Sam looks up into Frank Kelley’s inscrutable face. She didn’t even hear his horse close in while she stopped to gawk under the guise of a water break.
“I—” She stutters and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I wasn’t sure, yesterday,” the man continues, in that stern, indecipherable tone. “But I see it now. I recognize that look.”
“Mr. Kelley, I—”
“Save it. I don’t need any explanations. I don’t want any either. Whatever’s going on between you and my son, keep it that way. I just wanted to say that for the first time since that boy could walk, he seems content to stay right where he is. Those two feet aren’t itching to carry him away. And if I have you to thank for that, then thank you. I didn’t understand why he wanted to go do that show. Hell, I still don’t. But if it’s what he needed to find his way home, then I’m glad he did. Because make no mistake, Ms. Peters, this is his home. And I won’t let anyone stand in the way of that.”
“I’m not trying to.”
He turns his eyes on the horizon and draws in a deep, heavy breath before releasing it slowly. “It’s not for the faint of heart, ranching. It’s not an easy life. It takes grit, Ms. Peters. From what little I know about you, that seems like something you’ve got. But that’s not enough on its own. You have to love it. You have to want it, too. You have to want it just as much as he does.”
Sam doesn’t know what to say, so she just keeps her mouth shut. The silence still speaks volumes. Her gaze slides back to Cooper, on horseback a little ways down the hill. He’s finally noticed the two of them talking. Even from this distance, she can read the worry in his brow.
Frank turns back to her. “I hear you’re leaving in the morning.”
It’s a statement, not a question. She answers anyway, more to remind herself. “I am.”
“Don’t worry about dinner at the big house tonight then. You don’t need an old man getting in the middle of things. We’ll save it for the next time you come visit.”
Cooper starts riding over. She forces a swallow. Frank’s horse neighs with restless energy, though deep down, she wonders if maybe it’s just picking up on the tension rapidly filling the air.
The older man leans in, his voice low. “You are planning on coming back, aren’t you?”
Sam gulps. Her palms grow slick on the reins. Suddenly, it feels as if every inch of her is sweating beneath the blistering sun, despite the cold autumn air.
“Yes, sir,” she whispers, not sure if it’s the truth, or a lie, or just some desperate attempt to end this conversation.
Sir? she thinks, pulse thumping. I haven’t unironically called anyone sir since the seventh grade.
“Good.” He stares at her a moment longer. “She would have liked you, I reckon. She would have liked seeing him so settled.”
Sam doesn’t need to ask who. Her voice is hoarse when she murmurs, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Ms. Peters. My wife and I hardly agreed on anything, especially when it came to our boy.”
With that, he rides away, nodding at his son as he flies past.
“What’d he want?” Cooper asks, eyes on his father for a second too long, clearly suspicious.
“Nothing really.” Sam clears her throat and offers him a wide smile. “Word of our antics last night must’ve reached him. He said he was canceling dinner tonight because we, and I quote, don’t need an old man getting in the middle of things .”
“He called himself an old man?” Cooper snorts and stares after his father. “That’s a first.”
“I don’t know,” she quips. “Another minute on this horse and I might start referring to myself as a senior citizen too. How do you do this all day? My ass and my back are killing me.”
“Practice. Years and years of practice.” He reaches across the distance, slides an arm around her waist, and drags her into his lap. Nutcracker offers surprisingly little protest. “Come on, city girl. I’m taking you home.”
He pats Duchess on the rear and the horse takes off running toward a whistle in the distance. Wes, she suspects, but Sam doesn’t have the energy to look. It’s too comfy being snuggled up against Cooper’s chest while that word rings in her ears.
Home.
Why does it sound so right?
Cooper drops her off at the house to shower before he brings Nutcracker back to the stables. By the time she hears his truck pull up out front, she’s wrapped up in one of the flannels from his closet, scouring the kitchen for ingredients. The front door creaks open. Boots thud. He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest as a dimple slowly digs into his cheek. When it becomes clear he’s not going to say anything, she finally turns to stare back.
“What, cowboy?”
“Nothing.” His grin deepens. “I just like watching you, here in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, making my dinner.”
“Who said I’m making your dinner?”
“That’s a lot of food for just one.”
“All right,” she relents with a laugh. “Maybe I am making you dinner. But I have a confession.”
“Shoot.”
“I’ve never cooked a steak in my life.”
He puts a hand to his chest as if he’s been shot. She throws a towel at his face.
“Shut up.”
“I’ll show you how. Just give me twenty minutes to get cleaned up.”
He disappears down the hallway. Her gaze follows him, lingering on the empty air even after he’s gone. Pressure builds in her chest. It’s too normal, too domestic, too much of a view into the future she knows they can’t have, even if she wants it.
And she does want it.
She can admit that much.
She wants it more than she ever thought possible.
So she decides right then and there that for tonight, she’ll let herself have it.
By the time Cooper comes back, her guard has disintegrated into nothing. They cook together, then eat together, all the while touching and talking and sharing meaningful glances that say so much more than words ever could. If he can sense the change in her, he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t ask about the future. He doesn’t question what the morning will bring. It’s as if he understands on some level that stepping outside the here and now will ruin everything. They watch in comfortable silence as the sun sinks below the horizon, the official start of their last night together, even if for the first time it feels like the beginning of something else. Cooper holds her against him as they cuddle beneath a warm blanket on a lounge chair, his chin resting on her hair. Dusk settles, bright yellows, reds, and pinks replaced by a soft mauve sky. As the stars brighten, his promise from the Maldives comes simmering back.
The next time I kiss you, Sam, it won’t be because of someone else. It won’t be because you’re upset. It won’t be out of fear. It’ll be because you want it. It’ll be because you’re begging for it. It won’t be for anyone’s benefit but our own.
She can’t help but think, Damn it. He was right, as she spins in his arms and places her palm over his cheek. He glances down at her curiously. She wets her lips and says the only thing on her mind.
“Kiss me.”
He furrows his brow, as if concerned he heard wrong. She slides her leg over his thighs until she straddles him, the blanket still around them like a safe cocoon. His hands settle on her hips as though they belong there. She runs her fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes for a moment, a pleasured sigh rumbling through his chest. When he reopens them, it’s as if the stars fell down to earth just to live in his gaze. It’s not just heat, not just fire. It’s that same brilliance she felt when she woke up this morning, purer, more peaceful, not raging but radiant.
Everything within her screams to give the feeling life, to just say the words, but it’s the one line she won’t let herself cross.
“Kiss me,” she whispers instead. “Please, Cooper. I need you to—”
He doesn’t give her time to finish.
He arches up, closing the distance, and takes her mouth with his. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he holds her in place and grips the back of her head with his other hand, tilting it the way he wants, opening her up. He moves with slow, deliberate purpose, claiming her with his fingers, his lips, his tongue. It’s everything she knew it would be, everything she was afraid of, the sort of kiss that rewrites the timeline. Her life shifts on an axis right here in his arms. What came before no longer matters. What comes after is too painful to bear. She wants to live in this moment forever, live in his touch and his kiss and the feelings he stirs deep inside her soul.
She can’t say how long they stay on the lounger, making out beneath the blanket like a couple of teenagers with no responsibilities, no concerns, no place to be except lost in each other. Eventually, the cool air turns biting and Cooper carries her inside, keeping her legs wrapped around him, their mouths connected, their bodies close. He moves them seamlessly down the hall to the bedroom, not breaking the kiss, then lowers her down onto the bed with tender ease. Piece by piece, their clothes fall away. Each time, their lips find their way back, two magnets unable to fight the pull. Even after they’re finished and she lies wrapped in his arms, she brings his fingers to her mouth, needing to taste him. When he kisses her shoulder, her eyes grow heavy with absolute repose.
Just before she falls asleep, cocooned against his chest, his mouth beside her ear, she hears four little words that shatter her heart into a million little pieces.
“Let me keep you.”
He tightens his arms around her, every inch of them molded together as if made to be, and presses one final kiss to the base of her neck.
“Please, Sam. Let me keep you.”