Chapter 20
Lark
That was the best sexual experience of my life.
Dear God.
How am I going to walk around doing mundane things when I know that I could be doing this?
I’m not. I’m going to be a waste to everyone I know.
We’re lying on the blanket, my head on his chest, arm draped over him, and he’s running his fingers up and down my spine.
This is weird. We need to say something.
However, neither of us has spoken. I lift my head, resting my chin on my hand. “Hi.”
He chuckles. “Hi.”
“So, we had sex.”
“That we did.”
I grin. “It was good.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
My eyes widen. “Did you not?”
“I didn’t say that.” Tristan smirks and looks up.
“Tristan!”
“What?”
“You know, it would go a long way if you told me how good you thought it was.”
“It was good,” he says, still staring up at the sky.
Well, that’s freaking reassuring.
Then it hits me. Oh my God, what if…what if he’s thinking about the past? What if he’s feeling guilty or like he betrayed something or someone? What if I’m going to be the mistake?
“Tristan?” I say his name softly. “Do you…regret this?”
He moves quickly, flipping me on my back and staring down at me. “What? No!”
“Are you sure?” I ask, feeling my own wave of guilt.
“Lark, look at me,” he says firmly. “I don’t regret anything. We both knew what this was, and we both had plenty of opportunities to stop it.”
“Still…I just…you…have a past.”
“If this is about Emmy Jo, don’t think that. I loved my wife. You loved my wife. But we lost her a long time ago. I’ve reconciled that and this—what we did had nothing to do with my past.”
I nod, my heart settling a little at that. “Okay.”
All of what he said is true. I did love her. She was my best friend’s sister, and I spent a lot of time around Emmy Jo.
Mary Lou used to joke that they were a house divided between the Stones and the Gatlins.
I rest my head back on his chest. After a few minutes, he stops making patterns on my spine and huffs. “By the way, I’m now under an official investigation,” Tristan says.
“Oh? For what?” I ask, teasing. We both know what he’d be under any kind of investigation for.
“For trespassing and vandalism.”
This whole thing is bananas. “Maybe you should stop damaging other people’s property.” I lift my head to smile at him, wanting him to know I’m joking. “You know, it’s just not nice.”
“Neither is falsely accusing others. As I’ve said, I am not the one doing a damn thing to your farm.”
“I wouldn’t worry then. From what I know, you have proclaimed your innocence from the beginning. Besides, Jimmy is a really terrible detective.” I laugh.
Tristan chuckles, and I feel the vibration to my toes.
Everything he does seems to make me tingle.
I hoped after we had sex, the pull I feel to him would’ve gone away—apparently that hasn’t happened.
I also didn’t anticipate cuddling. Not that I thought we’d just bang and get on our horses and ride away until the next time. I figured we’d talk, plan, and keep it casual.
This isn’t that.
It’s warm and comforting. It’s sweet and romantic under the stars. It’s as though we’ve been doing this forever and it’s not our first time.
“Lark?” Tristan interrupts my thoughts.
“Yes?”
I raise my head and look into his eyes, waiting for him to speak. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”
I let out a heavy sigh, hating that already the reality of our situation has taken over this moment.
“Yes. I am completely fine.” And I think I am.
As I said when we decided to finally do this, we’re adults, and we’re not doing anything wrong.
I’m aware of what this is. As is he. The sexual tension between the two of us was going to explode anyway, so we might as well have let it out in a controlled way.
Are there complications? Yes.
Are they legion? Absolutely.
“Even though you just slept with the enemy?” he jokes. It’s funny because it’s true.
“You did too.”
“Yes, but my family isn’t mentally unstable and going to fly off the handle like your brothers will.”
Also true.
I sit up, grabbing Tristan’s sweatshirt and tossing it on. “Which leads me to my next question.”
“What is that?”
“What is your family’s version of why you hate us all so much? We’re very rational people. It must be just riddled with lies.”
He sits up on his elbows, staring at me. “Rational people? You’re serious?”
I shrug. “Obviously.”
“Lark, there’s nothing rational about a single part of your family. No offense.”
“You can’t insult me and then say ‘no offense.’ Offense taken, sir.”
He grins. “You’re adorable.”
“And you’re stalling.”
But the comment does make me smile.
He sits up fully, still completely naked. “All I know about the story is that it was over a girl.”
“Naturally. All good family rivalries start with a love story gone wrong.”
“Is that so?”
“Yup. It’s a fact. According to my family, you guys did something to get back at my great-great-great-grandfather or something like that. So I’m wondering if our stories align that it was a love story.”
He shifts toward me, his hand coming to my cheek, sliding his knuckles against my skin. “And we’re just doing what then? Giving future generations more of a reason to carry on?”
I pull my lip between my teeth when he kisses my neck. “We aren’t going to do anything, because if anyone finds out, we’ll both be dead.”
He kisses me again, his hands now moving under the fabric of my—his—sweatshirt. “That would be a tragedy.”
“Agreed,” I say softly as he cups my breast.
Then I moan and swat at his hand. “You’re not giving me the story.”
“I don’t care about the story.” His thumb brushes my nipple. “Do you want to talk about our ancestors’ mistakes?”
No. I really don’t.
“I’d rather we make our own,” I say before his lips press against mine.
“Me too.”
He kisses me again, and when he moves to my neck, I whimper softly. “Tristan?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“We don’t have a lot of time before we have to get back or someone realizes we’re gone.”
“Well, I’ll have to make this quick so we make sure that no one ever finds out,” Tristan says against my lips before kissing me.
It’s good that we’re both committed to the same thing. Because if they do find out, we’ll really be fucked—without the benefit of an orgasm.
“Lark?” My mother’s voice is calling from outside the door. “Lark, honey, are you in there?”
I groan, rolling over and covering my face with the pillow. I’m half dead.
Between the multiple orgasms and the ride back from the ridge—which is a lot of work in the sun, but was really interesting at night and while a little sore from the sex—I really need sleep.
Another soft knock.
“I’m sleeping, Momma,” I call out.
She takes the answer as an invitation to enter. “Lark? What are you doing in bed? You have chores to do. You missed breakfast, and we have to go into town today.”
The chores part I knew, but I sent a text to Ryan telling him I was cashing in on one of my favors and to make sure all the horses were fed. I followed it up with an assurance that I’d make sure to do all my other duties later in the morning.
He was all too happy to have one less thing to owe me.
As for breakfast, I really could not care less.
But the part about going into town? Yeah, I have no clue what she’s talking about.
I lower the pillow. “Why do we have to go anywhere?” I ask, my throat scratchy from only—I look at the clock—three hours of sleep.
Someone please punch me until I’m unconscious.
“Well,” Momma says as she walks to the bed, sitting down. “If someone hadn’t been a sleepyhead and missed breakfast, someone would know that Carter is coming home this month.”
Oh, goodie.
Another brother who will inevitably piss me off.
I love my brothers. I really do, but Carter is that brother. You know, the one sibling you’re not really sure fits with the family. He’s smarter than all of us, which—whatever. But he acts like it makes him superior. It’s annoying. I really hate how pompous he is.
He also loves to tell us about all the amazing things he does that we’re just “not trained” to do. As if Deacon couldn’t kick his ass in shooting, running, jumping, and pretty much anything athletic.
I clear my throat and sit up a little. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is he coming home?”
Her eyes widen. “Because he misses us, that’s why. He said he’s taking some leave and wanted to come home.”
The hell he did.
Carter only comes back if it’s to benefit him. He wants something, or to gloat.
“That’s nice, Momma. Can I go back to sleep now?”
She scoffs. “Didn’t you hear me, Miss Sleepyhead? We need to go to town.”
I’m missing something. “Why do we need to go to town right now? If he’s not coming home for a few weeks, we have time. I didn’t sleep at all. I’m exhausted. I just…need to sleep.”
Also, I told Tristan to meet me again tonight at the ridge, which means another night of no sleep. So, yeah, I need the rest.
“You can sleep tonight. I have to get a dress.”
Oh no. No, no, no.
I love my mother, but shopping with her is its own version of misery.
She hates everything.
Things aren’t made like they used to be.
The patterns are all too loud. Where did the nice buttons go, the ones that were metal and didn’t break like these confounded plastic ones?
Why don’t they hem with the box stitch? Don’t they know it’s stronger?
Or my favorite, when she complains about buying a piece of clothing that already has holes.
It’s not fun.
It’s definitely not going to happen when I’m this tired.
“Can we please go tomorrow?”
“No.”
This isn’t going my way. “Can Daddy take you?”
Her huff is answer enough. “No, your father is busy doing the chores around this farm. Since you’re not busy, you can take me.”
This is my penance for having sex last night.
No one can convince me otherwise.
“All right, Momma. Let me get up, get dressed, and get caffeinated.”
She leaves, and I do the first two. While I’m in the bathroom brushing my hair, a text comes through.