18. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Maci
C rickets chirp outside the living room window as I sprawl on the couch, reading one of Nana’s books. When my phone vibrates from a text, I jump. It’s on the tray table where Nana used to keep hers. I reach for it, expecting to see something from Izzy or Leah, even though we saw each other today.
Cowboy:
How was your day?
Sutton.
Like a giddy teenager, my heart rate kicks up and I bite my lip. I thought about texting earlier, but I didn’t want to bother him if things were busy at the ranch. I have no idea what those things would be, because I’m not even sure what kind of ranch his family has or what his role is, but it seemed safer to wait him out.
Me:
Good. Hosted brunch. You?
Cowboy:
Sounds like a party. Just got done with family dinner.
Me:
That sounds nice.
I feel a pang of envy. What must it be like to enjoy your family? To have loving meals together and feel comfort in their presence? Belatedly, I realize I have nothing to feel envious of. I have my family, even if they aren’t all blood-related, and I do get to enjoy beautiful meals with them. Today was proof of that.
My phone ringing in my hand startles me and my heart does a little jump at Cowboy on the screen. I accept the call and put the phone up to my ear, willing my breathing to even out. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” Flutters. I’d almost forgotten how his deep voice is, both gruff and soothing at the same time. He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything else. “What are you doing right now?”
A grin fills my face. “Talking to you.”
“Did you eat?” I get the impression this isn’t the information he’s really seeking.
“Yes.”
The ensuing pause seems calculated. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Hmm.” Jumping off the couch, I head into the laundry room to switch the linens while we talk. “Probably Indian cuisine.”
He chuckles. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“I hope you weren’t expecting salad.”
“No. Maybe steak or carbs.”
“I’ll never turn down either. Especially sweets.” A door closes on his end of the line, followed by crunching. “Am I keeping you from something? ”
“Not at all.” There’s a dinging from his end and when he speaks again, his voice echoes a bit. I suspect he’s transferred the call to the speakerphone in his truck. “I want to see you.”
“Ok. You said as much at The Spur.”
“Now.”
Settling back on the couch, my heart rate picks up again. My eyes trail over my gray ribbed loungewear. It’s not unpresentable, though it seems out of order to show him this prior to a first date. Then again, I’ve told him I’m leaving. My stay here has an end. Why present him with a polished version, something he can’t have, anyway? And is it even fair to give in to these whims, when it will ultimately lead to nothing?
He’s a grown man, though, who can make his own choices. I’ve been honest, so a little fun won’t hurt anyone, right?
“Ok.”
“Yes?” He seems a little surprised.
“I’m not really dressed.” He doesn’t respond right away so I add in a hurry, “I mean, I have clothes on,” A nervous laugh escapes me. “I’m just not dressed . I wasn’t really planning on company.”
“I’m not interested in your clothes. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Twenty-five minutes later, a large pair of headlights crests the hill onto the driveway and Sutton parks his dark truck next to my Jeep. I may not have changed clothes while he drove over, but I did fluff pillows, light a candle, and turn on a TV show for some background noise. I have no idea what his plans are, but I couldn’t sit still while I waited.
It feels silly to wait for him to knock when I can clearly see him—something he knows given the open living room blinds. So I open the front door, but leave the storm door closed until he reaches the porch before pushing it open wide. “You’re late. ”
He stops in front of me, his gaze taking in my face. I suspect he has on a fresh shirt, but his jeans and boots are dusty, hinting at a busy day. I wonder if someone else would be put off by him not changing completely. I find his realness appealing.
His signature hat rests atop his head, somewhat shielding his eyes in shadow. Warmth pours through my body.
“Then let this be my first apology offering.” From his side, he produces a square, plastic container I hadn’t realized he was carrying before. I blame it on the dark and not the sheer effort of taking my eyes off his own.
“What’s that?”
He holds it out without responding. A single piece of New York Style cheesecake sits perfectly in the container. My eyes fly up to his. “Cheesecake?”
“I assumed traditional was the way to go on flavor. Unless it's too soon."
Words leave me. I shake my head and step back, silently inviting him inside as. Did he really hold onto that tiny piece of information? Something I shared in an emotional fit?
He eyes the foyer, seemingly searching for something, then glances toward the porch swing. His skin is warm as he takes one of my hands and gives me a gentle tug. It’s reminiscent of how he led me at the bar and I’m grateful there’s no awkwardness.
The storm door rattles its close as I follow him toward the swing, where he eyes me and jerks his chin for me to sit.
There’s an ease to our interactions, his directions. They’re sure, but never pressured.
“I need to grab a fork. Unless that’s for later.” I grin at him.
His eyes dart to my mouth then return to mine. “Sit.” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips .
Curling my legs in front of me and leaning my back against the arm of the swing, I face the space I’ve left open for him.
With his now free hand, he pulls a black, plastic fork from his back pocket. I gape before slamming my mouth shut. He sits casually, spreading his feet wide, before opening the lid of the container, stabbing the fork into the center of the slice, and passing the tray to me. Draping his left arm along the back of the swing, he gently rocks us as he takes me in.
“Are we sharing?”
He smirks. “Nope. That’s all for you, Firecracker.”
I raise an eyebrow in question at the nickname, but then deliver the first bite of cheesecake to my mouth and my curiosity is forgotten. It’s been too long since I’ve had this simple pleasure and a tiny moan slips free. His eyes narrow. I pretend not to notice and go in for another bite.
I couldn’t bring myself to gorge myself on the whole cheesecake Nana made. I donated it, along with some of the other untouched food, and the stupid flowers I was happy to orphan, to an assisted living home on my way out of town Monday.
His eyes bore into mine, stoking the fire inside. My nipples peak and I’m reminded I’m not wearing a bra. If he notices, he doesn’t show it. I can’t imagine he doesn’t. The girls are good-sized and the shirt of my matching loungewear set is snug.
A couple of his fingers begin to brush swirling patterns on my shoulder. The sensation is both soothing and enticing, and my eyes flutter before I compose myself.
“How long are you in town this time?” His voice is softer, though I’m learning he doesn’t ask me what he wants to know. Again, I feel this is outside of his personality which I assume to be direct.
“Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be back this weekend. ”
“That doesn’t work for me.” There it is.
A startled laugh breaks free of my throat. “Oh, it doesn’t?” One side of his mouth kicks up. “What are we going to do about that?” I pop another piece of cheesecake in my mouth.
He zeroes in on my mouth and heat shoots to my core. “Stay until Tuesday.”
“Why?” Who am I kidding? I’m not going to tell him no.
“So I can see you tomorrow.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “I dare say you’re developing an addiction, Cowboy. It’s wholly unhealthy.”
He grins. “One more hit.”
“Fine.” I really should learn to fight him harder. “What do you have in mind?”
“You’ll see,” he says.
I hate surprises. “What should I wear?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Not helpful.” Approximately two bites worth of cheesecake stare up at me from the single-serve container. Briefly, I look between the cheesecake and Sutton. His brows furrow. I fork half of the remainder into my mouth, savoring the taste on my tongue with closed eyes. When I open them, Sutton’s steel blues blaze as he watches me.
With the last piece of cheesecake speared onto the fork, I lean forward. Sutton’s eyes flick between the fork and my face. “Open up, Cowboy.” Like magnets, our eyes stay locked as he opens his mouth. I slip the cheesecake onto his tongue, and he closes his mouth slowly, as I willfully refrain from telling him he’s a good boy . But I can’t hold back from staring as he chews slowly, swallows deeply, and licks his lips.
There’s no denying the wetness gathering between my legs .
“Mm, my favorite.” His voice is husky and my eyes widen.
“Is it really?” He drops his chin as his eyes roam over my face. “Then why didn’t you get a slice? Or tell me and I’d share?” A small part of me feels insecure that I should’ve offered a second time.
The hand on my shoulder wraps a few pieces of my loose hair around it, sending tingles down my spine. “Watching you enjoy it was treat enough.”
I clear my throat and lick my lips, averting my eyes to soften the intensity of the moment. He claims a growing addiction, but I’m a moth to a flame.
“Tell me about your family.” His voice is clearer and his fingers rest on the back of the swing, releasing me minutely from his captivating hold.
My chin falls to the side, a deep breath filling my lungs. The fork fits perfectly into the plastic container and I seal each of the four corners before I speak.
“Nana was my mother’s mom. You may know, Randi, my aunt.” Randi has worked at the high school since we were children. He gives a small dip of his chin. “They grew up here.”
I eye the window into the living room like it tells a story. In some ways, it does. But I don’t know what he wants to know and my words cease.
“What about your dad?”
I wouldn’t know him if I saw him. I hardly know if he’s even alive. “My parents weren’t together long. I don’t remember much about him.”
Stephanie’s words fill my head. “My mother said he turned out to be a criminal. I was really little. I remember that he was big—not fat, just…imposing. I think I used to play with his beard.” Longing washes through me and my eyes trail over every inch of the porch, while instead seeing the hazy memories my young mind retained. “He would tickle me with it.” I touch my neck marking the spot. “I don’t remember him ever being harsh or anything other than loving. ”
An image I’ve not thought of for a while fills my vision and my eyes feel full. I blink away any tears trying to force their way forward. “I think he really loved my mom. I vaguely remember him whispering in her ear once when he came home and her laughing.” The sound would seem foreign if I heard it now.
“Have you tried to reach out to him?” Sutton’s voice brings my eyes back to him.
I shake my head. “No. I guess I assumed if he wanted to reach me, he would.”
Sutton gives that a little thought. “And your step-dad—you don’t like him.”
Anger rockets through me and I jump up to start pacing. Sutton’s hand tangles with my own. I trail my eyes from our connected hands, up his chest, to his face.
“Come here.” His voice is low and soothing. This time when I sit and start to pull my legs up, he eases them over his lap, where he rests both hands atop my knees. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t,” I promise. “He’s a sore subject.”
“Because he’s a prick.” He raises an eyebrow at me, shadowed under the rim of his hat.
“Yes,” I agree with a smile.
“I caught as much when everyone was here after the service. How long has he been around?”
I inhale deeply, squashing the rising frustration. “Since I was a teenager. Late middle school.”
“You have siblings?” His left arm comes to rest on the back of the swing again, while the other stays firmly in place on my legs .
Absently, I trail my fingers over his arm this time. “A step-brother, but I’ve never met him.”
“How does that work?”
“Stephanie and Alan weren’t married long before we moved and his mom wouldn’t let him visit. I guess the issue never got pushed.” I think back to the new revelations my mother shared with me. I missed so much right in front of my face.
In some ways, it felt like sharing the reason for our move had been an attempt at an apology. Yet, Stephanie never actually said that. Instead, she continued to stand firm in saying she had done what was necessary, what she thought was right.
Nana would never have thought those decisions, or the treatment of me that followed, was the right choice. In fact, she didn’t. I finally understand Nana’s hatred of Alan aside from my own. Did that play into her decision about the house? Keeping his hands off it was the obvious goal.
“When I was younger, it was a little odd that even as an adult, my step-brother never came around. But I try to avoid Alan like the plague, so maybe he hates his dad, too.”
Sutton sits quietly without pushing further. A minute of comfortable silence passes.
Our conversation picks up and he shares a little about his sister. I tell him about Izzy and Leah. I do the majority of the talking, coaxed by his interested questions.
Eventually, he gives my knee a gentle squeeze. “I need to get back to the ranch.”
I lower my legs and walk to the top of the stairs. He follows, using the opportunity to back me against a porch post, leaving an indistinguishable gap between us .
The air between us is charged, my heart beating in anticipation.
He slides a warm hand into the hair at the base of my neck, lighting my entire body on fire, and leans his head down to press his lips to mine. My fingers grip his biceps, grounding me, as his grip tightens in my hair and his free hand finds my hip.
When his tongue slides along the seam of my lips, I open for him. A hint of cheesecake infuses with the hungry clashing of our tongues as they roll and dance together.
When he finally releases me, planting a small, soft kiss on my lips, I’m breathless.
Sutton slides his hand down my neck before running his thumb along my bottom lip. “I need to tell you something.” He drops his hand slowly.
A tiny part of my brain is yelling that this is the part where he comes clean about why I shouldn’t trust him. I tell it to sit down and shut up.
Once again, his eyes bore into mine, set ablaze. “I didn’t graduate Kindergarten.” His tone holds a hint of teasing.
My brows scrunch. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
The corner of his mouth tips up. “I don’t share.”
My face must be astonished because his smile grows. I can’t help but laugh, asking playfully, “Are you staking a claim now?”
“I am.” All teasing leaves his tone. His eyes are eager for the perfect response. Once again, I feel the need to dampen the intensity of the mood.
“I’m not a toy.” My voice is no more than a whisper and part of me wonders how he hears over the crickets.
Sutton leans in, placing his mouth right next to my ear. “I have no intention of treating you like one.” He pulls back slowly, keeping his eyes on me. “I’ll see you tomorrow. ”
“Ok,” I manage. He gives me one last feather-light kiss before tipping his chin and walking off the porch.