Chapter 35
Idon’t expect much from her. Hell, I don’t really expect anything at all, but we’ve been standing out on the ramp for nearly twenty minutes, and I can’t feel my fingers.
Maggie stares up at the house, and I know she’s working up the courage to go inside, but her nose is red and her lips are turning an alarming shade of blue.
“Do you want me to go first?” I ask her eventually, and she looks over at me like she forgot I was even there. “Magnolia?” I say, and she shakes free of her trance.
“No,” she whispers. “I can do it.”
It’s another five more minutes before she actually does, but she gets the door open and goes inside. I’m a little shocked that the house is still a mess. She’s been working like a robot on the ranch, and here it’s like…
It’s nothing but wreckage and proof that her grief is eating her alive.
I swallow tightly, looking around and understanding why she’s overwhelmed.
I don’t even know where to begin. I pride myself on being able to help, to do things without asking or worrying that I’m doing them wrong, but it feels like if I touch anything inside these walls, I’ll trigger another meltdown that neither of us can afford.
“Go take a shower,” I tell her, and she looks over her shoulder at me. Her lips part, and I can feel the argument coming, but I stop her. “Go.”
She chews her lip, unsure for a moment before climbing the stairs and disappearing.
Once I know she’s gone, I move through the house, starting with the living room.
Anything that’s broken into too many pieces I sweep into a box.
Both the lamps in the living room are broken, and I wonder how many nights she spent sitting under them watching soap operas with her mama while they ate junk food.
My heart breaks a little every time I have to pick up a picture of them off the floor.
Maggie’s got them tossed around like she couldn’t stand to look at them, but I pull out the photos and make a pile on the table by the front door.
By the time the shower stops running upstairs, the living room is in order again, and I collect the broom to start on the kitchen.
It’s not as bad here, but the hurricane of grief still touched so much of this home.
Maggie appears in the archway in a sweater and jeans, her hair still wet, but she looks warmer, and her color has returned.
“You didn’t have to do that.” She points lazily in the direction of the living room.
“Come dry these,” I say to her, and she moves toward the sink.
“Joleen’s been helping. Kept the fridge full of food, kept in clean clothes, but…” Maggie sighs, “I owe her an apology, too.”
“I’ll get her some flowers, take them over to the nursing home after I’m done here,” I tell her, and she swallows hard but takes the wet mug I’m holding out of my hands to dry.
We work through the rest of the dishes in a silent routine. I wash and scrub, then Maggie dries and carefully places items into their spots in the cupboards. Her movements are purposeful, but soft, almost as if she’s apologizing to the items for her earlier chaos.
When we finish, I turn and lean against the counter, watching her stack the last of the plates as I dry my own hands. I don’t want to push her, but I know that we still have the upstairs to tackle, and I don’t dare mention the mess I noticed in the greenhouse.
Maggie finally turns to me, her exhaustion has dulled the green and blue flecks of her eyes.
I rest the towel in my hand behind me on the counter and take a step towards her.
“You should get some rest.” I offer. My fingers curl at my side, itching to touch her, but she’s speaking to me today, and I don’t want to ruin that by moving faster than she’s ready for. “We don’t have to do it all today.”
She nods, silently but still watching, waiting but for what I don’t know.
Her arms wrap around her middle, and for a moment, I take it as her putting up her walls, but she steps forward.
Eating the distance between us in steps so small and soft her feet barely make a sound on the linoleum, and she gently pushes into my chest, pressing her cheek against my peck.
It’s almost second nature to wrap around her, in the way my body has ached for within the last few days.
I pull her close, wrapping one arm around her waist and burying my fingers in her hair.
We stay like this for a few moments, my nose drifts down into the crown of her head, inhaling her sweet floral smell, and slowly I start to feel her body uncoil against me. Her shoulders release, and her arms loosen from her waist as she lets me pull her even closer.
I press a soft kiss to the top of her head and notice the old AM/FM radio sitting on the counter. It’s a long shot, but I let her go for just a moment and bend down to fiddle with the knobs until the static clears and a soft old country song starts playing.
“What are you doing?” she questions gently as I turn to look at her. A smile tugs at my lips, as warm and as inviting as I can muster, and pray that I don’t scare her off as I hold out my hand.
“Making a new memory,” I rasp and step closer. “Dance with me, Wildflower?”
Maggie lets out a breath, and her shoulders lift slightly. I shake my head and carefully reach down to her side, linking my fingers with hers. “One good thing, Maggie,” I say quietly, my voice low. “Give yourself one good thing today.”
I catch the twitch of her lips, the corner that I so badly want to kiss, lifts ever so slightly as she steps into my arms again. This time, she doesn’t hesitate to wrap herself around me, and neither do I.
We sway gently through the next few songs. The kitchen is alive with the sound of old crooners long gone, describing love and heartbreak like they’re aware of the situation. Maggie glances up at me as Keith Whitley fills the space, and I see a glimpse of the old Magnolia. My Magnolia.
“I’m sorry,” she says, chewing on the inside of her cheeks, “for the other day. I was upset, and… angry, but not at you. Never… at you.”
I can’t help the grin that forms over my lips as she starts to ramble her way through an apology that she has no business giving.
“Magnolia,” I rasp and cup her face. Her lips press into a thin line as her brows pull together.
“Stop talking,” and before she can open her pretty mouth again, I kiss her.
Slowly at first, but I feel her fingers wrap into my shirt, pull me closer, and the longing I’ve had just to be able to touch her takes over in full force.
My hands slide from her face down to her waist and under her sweater, brushing my thumbs along her sides. Maggie draws in a sharp breath, pulling back just enough that our eyes meet, and I can see she’s warring with herself.
“Tell me what you need,” I ask lowly, pressing pause on whatever is happening here because the last thing I want to do is push her away.
Her lips part like an answer dances on the tip of her tongue, but she shakes her head, ready to pull away.
“Please, Maggie,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against hers.
Her breath hitches, and her hands snake to the back of my neck, tugging at the hair curled at my nape. “I need you,” she rasps, so softly that if the distance between us weren’t nonexistent, I wouldn’t have heard it.
Those three little words are the only encouragement I need before my lips are on hers again.
My tongue slides against the seam of her lips, begging to be let in as my hands sink below the curvature of her backside.
I lift her, urging her legs to wrap around my waist as our kiss turns from unsure to yearning.
Maggie mewls against my mouth as I tread out of the kitchen and through the living room, careful to miss the coffee table.
I bump into the door frame in my attempt, and a soft laugh bubbles from her, sending a chill straight down my spine as I smile against her mouth and reach for the banister, missing the sound more than I had realized.
Her lips pull away from mine as she starts to leave open-mouthed kisses along my jaw and down my neck.
My feet stumble on the last step, but I catch myself, and her as she buries her face against my skin and laughs at me again.
If making a fool of myself in this moment will get her to laugh again, then that’s what I’ll do.
But the moment I kick open her door and lay her on the bed, our eyes meet, and something sweeter, stronger, mixes in the air around us.
I reach for the hem of her sweater, tugging at the soft knit, and lift my chin, “lift up.” I rasp, and without fuss, Maggie sits up, letting me pull the clothing over her head and tossing it aside.
She lies back again, and I see her chest rise in deep, steadying breaths.
The low light of her bedroom catches every contour of her curves.
The softness of her belly, the fullness of her breasts underneath the soft cotton bra she has on.
I can’t help the low rumble that leaves me as I nip at the skin above her hip, dragging my lips up her body until she’s writhing beneath me.
“Bode,” she moans, curling her fingers into my hair and tugging, pulling me up to meet her lips again, “please don’t tease me, not tonight.” She whimpers against my mouth as her hands rake down my back until she’s tugging at my own shirt.
“Not tonight,” I repeat and help her pull my Henley over my head. She tosses it to the floor as I work at the button on her jeans, all the while, kissing her soft and slow like honey in the winter. She lifts her hips, helping me rid her of her jeans and underwear until she’s bare beneath me.
I lift, working at my own pants as she works at her bra, ignoring the clasp and pulling it up her body until it rests on the floor next to our other clothes. My fingers freeze on my zipper as I take her in fully. Bare, perfect, and watching me with heat pulsing beneath her skin.