Chapter 15 #2
The mention of their friend hit like a punch to the chest. Sean, who'd always lived large, loved hard, and never held back. Sean, who should’ve been home with them.
On time, on target, never quit.
“Yeah,” Ben said quietly. “He did.”
Shane straightened. “I've got the investigation covered. DCSO will keep digging. We'll figure out who sabotaged that saddle. But right now? Charlie's coming home and she’s got the week off. So go get your girl.”
Denver International Airport was chaos at six PM on a Monday.
Ben stood near the top of the escalators that brought passengers up from the trains, shoulder-to-shoulder with other people waiting for arrivals—twenty-somethings checking phones, grandparents with balloons, a limo driver holding a sign that said RODRIGUEZ BACHELORETTE PARTY.
Ben just held his breath.
He'd parked in the covered parking lot and walked in an hour early, unable to sit still in the truck. Now he scanned every face coming up the escalator, looking for hazel eyes and long, dark-blond hair pulled back in that practical ponytail.
There.
Charlie appeared at the top of the escalator, Flo on a leash beside her.
Even from here, Ben could see the exhaustion in her shoulders, the way she carried herself like someone who'd been running on fumes for too long.
Her tactical backpack was slung over one shoulder, her other hand gripping Flo's lead.
She looked tired. Drawn. Beautiful.
Charlie's eyes swept the crowd, searching. Professional habit, probably—assessing threats, locating exits.
Then she found him.
The transformation was instantaneous. Her face lit up—not the polite smile she gave strangers or the professional mask she wore for clients. This was pure, unguarded joy. Her whole body seemed to brighten. Her shoulders lifted as if her exhaustion melted away as she stepped off the escalator.
Ben's chest went warm.
She was still searching his face as she followed the crowd through the roped-off security area, like she couldn't quite believe he was real until she was standing in front of him, looking up into his eyes. Flo wagged her tail, recognizing him immediately.
“Hey,” Charlie said, her voice soft.
Ben didn't answer with words. He just wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She came willingly, easily, like she belonged there. Her backpack hit the floor beside them. Her arms went around his waist and she pressed her face against his shirt.
She smelled like the recycled air from the plane, but underneath it, he smelled warm, sweet ponderosa pine bark and that distinctive scent that was just Charlie.
“I've missed you, Princess,” Ben murmured into her hair.
He felt her shiver—actually shiver—at that word.
“I missed you, too.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “So much.”
They stood like that for a long moment, the crowd flowing around them like water around stones in a river. Flo sat patiently at their feet, tail thumping against the sparkling white floor.
Finally, Charlie pulled back just enough to look up at him again. “Thanks again. You didn't have to drive all the way down here.”
“Yes, I did.” Ben picked up her backpack and slung it over his shoulder. It barely weighed anything. That was his efficient Charlie. “Your coach awaits.”
That got a tired laugh out of her. “My coach?”
“Big blue pickup truck. It doesn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight, I'm afraid.”
“Good. I can use some normal.”
She slipped her hand into his as if she’d done it a hundred times. That sent his heart pounding in his chest and his cock twitching in his pants.
She was smiling as they walked toward the parking garage, Flo trotting beside her. They didn't talk much on the walk. Ben kept stealing glances at her—the shadows under her eyes, the tight set of her jaw that said she was holding something back. Worry, probably. Maybe guilt. He’d have to fix that.
“You got them home safely,” Ben said as they reached his truck.
“I know. And if anyone can protect them, it’s Malcom McCoy.” Charlie opened the back passenger door for Flo, who hopped in without hesitation.
“Malcom McCoy?”
“Former black ops, built like a tank, could kill you with a look.” Charlie's mouth quirked. “And completely wrapped around his wife Annalie's little finger. He's the best there is. They're in good hands.”
“But you're still worried.”
“Even though he wasn’t my client, someone tried to kill Rowan on my watch.” Charlie closed the back door and leaned against it, her eyes on the concrete floor of the parking garage. “I should have caught it earlier. Should have seen—”
“Charlie.” Ben stepped close, bracketing her against the truck with his arms. “You did catch it. We both saved him. That's how it works.”
She looked up at him through those dark lashes. “Shane said the same thing.”
“Shane's a smart guy.”
“Sometimes.” A ghost of a smile. “When he's not being an idiot.”
“Want to grab dinner?” Ben asked, even though what he really wanted was to take her home and hold her until that tension in her shoulders finally released.
If he was being honest, he wanted to do so much more than that. He thought of all his fantasies, and how each one of them would remove every last bit of tension as she moaned his name.
Charlie’s lips parted ever so slightly as she met his gaze. Her cheeks flooded with color and he noted her breaths speeding up.
“No. Just take me home,” she whispered.
Ben opened the passenger door for her. “As you wish, Princess.”
Charlie led Ben up three flights of stairs to her apartment. Just before they went in, a door across the hall opened and a woman who looked at least a hundred poked her head out. She had perfectly coiffed dyed red hair and sharp, curious eyes that immediately locked onto Ben.
“Oh! Charlene, dear, you have a guest!” The woman's smile was warm but calculating.
Charlie sighed. “Hi, Mrs. Calhoun. This is Ben. Ben, this is my neighbor, Mrs. Calhoun.”
“A gentleman caller!” Mrs. Calhoun clasped her hands together. “How wonderful! I've been telling Charlene she needs to meet a nice young man. You look very nice, dear. Are you nice?”
Ben's mouth twitched. “I try to be, ma'am.”
“Wonderful! Well, I won't keep you two. I'm sure you have... plans.” She winked and ducked back into her apartment.
Charlie groaned quietly as she unlocked her apartment door. “I'm so sorry. She means well, but—”
“She's going to ask you all about me next time she sees you,” Ben finished as he walked into Charlie’s apartment.
“Exactly.” Charlie looked mortified as she closed the door behind them. “She's the building gossip, but she's harmless. Just very... interested in whether I've 'met a nice gentleman yet.'“
Ben grinned. “Have you?”
Her expression softened. “Yeah. I think I have.”
Charlie's apartment was exactly what Ben expected.
She lived on the second floor of a well-maintained building in a quiet neighborhood.
The security was good—locked entry, cameras, solid doors with deadbolts.
Charlie unlocked hers and held it open for him, Flo padding inside first. Charlie took her shoes off and put them on a low wooden rack. Ben followed suit.
“Let me get Flo settled, then give me five minutes to change into something that doesn’t smell like a two-hour plane ride.”
The space was small but efficient. Living room with a couch and a recliner, both in denim blue. Kitchen visible through a doorway. No clutter, no dishes in the sink, throw pillows precisely aligned on the couch. Everything was military neat.
Except for the dining table near the window.
A large Moleskine sketchbook lay open, its pages filled with a sketch of the St. Vrain. Terracotta-colored Conte crayons broken into different-sized pieces and shapes were scattered across the surface. Fine-tipped pens and markers stood in a cracked mug with brushes of all sizes.
And tacked to the wall above the table, a single drawing.
Ben moved closer while Charlie got Flo settled with fresh water and food.
The drawing was done in colored pencils, the strokes confident and sure.
It showed the St. Vrain River near Riversong, late afternoon light turning the cliffs red and the water golden.
Green and brown Cottonwoods lined the near side of the bank.
A small figure sat on a rock by the water's edge.
The detail was incredible. Ben could almost hear the water, smell the summer heat, feel the stones under his hands.
“That's—” He stopped, throat tight.
“The St. Vrain.” Charlie came to stand beside him. She'd taken off her jacket, was down to a black t-shirt and tactical pants. Somehow she looked both more vulnerable and more herself.
“It's beautiful,” Ben said.
“It's home.” Charlie's voice was soft. “Or it's starting to feel like it.” She turned her head as she slipped her hand into his again.
“Charlie.”
Ben turned her in his arms and looked into her hazel eyes only for a moment before he closed the distance between them.
He poured everything he'd been holding back into his kiss—relief that she was safe, gratitude that she'd invited him into her home, desire that had been building since the moment she'd smiled at him from that escalator.
Charlie made a small sound against his mouth and her hands came up to fist in his shirt. She kissed him back just as fiercely, with just as much hunger.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Ben rested his forehead against hers.
“Still want those five minutes to change clothes?” he asked, his voice a rough laugh.
Charlie's laugh was breathless. “No.”
“Good.” Ben swept her up off her feet and she wrapped her legs around his waist with a surprised gasp that turned into another laugh.
“Ben! No one’s ever picked me up before.”
“Bedroom's that way?” He nodded toward the open door.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He was already moving, Charlie in his arms. “Because I've been thinking about this for two days and I'm done waiting.”
“Me too,” Charlie whispered against his ear. “Me too.”
Ben carried her through the hall and into her bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind them, and laid her gently on the bed. He stopped thinking about anything except the woman looking up at him with those hazel eyes full of trust and want.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hi, Princess.” Ben smiled down at her. “I've got you.”
“I know.” Charlie pulled him down to her. “I know you do.”