Chapter 6
GARRETT
My hand slides across the sheet to where her body should be and finds nothing but cold cotton, the quilt pulled up neatly, as if I imagined the whole damn night.
I lie there, palm down on the empty space, waiting for my brain to catch up. The ceiling fan ticks. A mourning dove starts up its sad little song out past the porch. And down the path an employee cabin door slaps shut.
She's gone.
I sit up slowly. The loft feels too quiet. Empty. Despite it being exactly this way for nine years.
I scrub both hands down my face and let out something that isn't quite a laugh.
Of course she left. A woman like her, in a life like mine? What did I think was going to happen? That she'd wake up, stretch out all pretty across my pillow, and tell me she was rearranging her entire existence around an aging blacksmith at a dude ranch?
Whatever.
I'm fine.
But now, after all this time being fine, the word tastes like rust.
I make coffee and pour it into the mug Jim gave me at Christmas, the one with a longhorn on it that says COWBOY UP. I stand at my kitchen window and watch the steam until it dies.
The shower doesn't help. I walk down to the forge with my boots too loud on the gravel and my chest too tight under my shirt, and the sun keeps coming up like nothing happened.
The first piece I ruin is a set of curtain hooks.
The second is a fireplace poker I've been working on since Tuesday. I misjudge the heat and drive the hammer clean through a thin spot, splitting it like a twig.
I stare at it until the ringing in my ears has me seeing red.
Then I throw the hammer.
It hits the back wall with a crack, and I watch Roxy, the barn cat, streak across the concrete and out the big doors.
So I sit down on my stool, plant my elbows on my knees, and put my head in my hands.
Fuck this. Fuck me.
The ranch goes on around me as usual. A kid squeals near the corral. Carl whistles past the open doors on his way to the barn and doesn't look in on me. I figure my face is doing enough that he gave me the courtesy.
Lucinda's another story.
She shows up with a plate covered in a cloth napkin. She sets it on the cleanest corner of the workbench, and under it is some brisket, a biscuit, and three pickles lined up like soldiers.
"Eat, honey."
"I'm not hungry, Lu."
She gives me a long look, then she pats my shoulder once, the way you pat a horse that's pulled up lame.
"Eat it anyway,” she says. “Or I'll sit here and stare at you till you do."
"Yes, ma'am," I grumble.
She pours herself a cup of water from my jug, and we talk about everyday stuff because she must not want to upset me more than I already am. After I finish, and she’s satisfied, she squeezes my arm as if to give me her silent support, and then walks back out into the sun.
It's going on five when I hear boots on the concrete.
It’s probably a wrangler needing a bit tightened, or a kid come to watch sparks fly. I stare at the curtain hook in my tongs and tell myself to finish the pass, finish the pass, finish the—
"Garrett."
My head snaps up.
She's in the doorway.
Her hair's a mess and she’s in the same dress from yesterday. Her eyes are red and puffy and one hand's braced on the doorframe.
I set the tongs down. “Are you okay, Lark?”
She swallows. "Can we…talk?"
I nod once, though I’m still debating whether or not this is a good idea.
She steps inside and gets halfway to me and stops like she's hit something. "I panicked."
I fold my arms and lean back on my workbench. "Okay?"
"I've never done this." Her voice cracks. "I've never stayed anywhere. For anybody. And last night I was lying there with you and I had this thought and I couldn't breathe, Garrett. So I got up and took off…walked all the way to my cabin before I figured out my boots were on the wrong feet."
A laugh jumps out of me before I can stop it. "Wrong feet?"
"Wrong feet, Garrett." She's laughing, and kinda sniffling at the same time now. "Like a goddamn toddler."
She wipes under her eyes with the back of her wrist.
"What I feel for you is bigger than anything I've ever felt, and it scared the hell out of me. And as I reached my cabin I realized that running wasn't going to get rid of the fear."
My hands go tight on my own elbows.
"I want to stay." She says it so simply my chest actually hurts.
"I'm not promising forever. I wouldn't trust me yet either.
But I want to stay here at Wild Vista Ranch.
With you. See what this is we have." She takes another step.
"Carl needs another hand for the summer rush and we both know I'm a good one.
I can rope, I can ride, I can run a kids' camp on four hours of sleep—"
"Lark."
"—and if Carl says no, I'll work at the damn feed store in Saddlehorn, I'll clean stalls, I'll—"
"Darlin'."
She stops.
I cross the space and pull her into my arms.
Her face presses against my chest and I bury my nose in the top of her head, breathing her in.
"I thought I imagined it," I say into her hair. "Woke up this morning and the bed was empty and I thought I'd dreamed it all. You. Us. Thought my head had finally cracked."
"Garrett—"
"You make me feel whole again, Lark. Like the world has color and taste and sound again.” My voice gets real rough. “I’m scared, too. I've been terrified since the minute you walked in here on day one."
She tips her face up.
Her eyes are swimming and I kiss her.
Every other time I've kissed this woman, something in me has been burning. Under the tree, in the creek, up in my loft—my whole body lit up like the forge at noon. This kiss one is quiet, slow, and precious.
Her hands come up to my face, thumbs in my scruff, and I’m holding her tight against me.
This kiss is home.
She pulls back, still stroking my face.
"I'm sorry for leaving," she whispers. "I'll apologize for as long as it takes."
"One time's enough, darlin'."
Her mouth twitches. "What if I want to apologize with my tongue—"
"Maybe I was a little hasty,” I say, and chuckle.
She laughs, jumping up and into my arms…exactly where she belongs.