Chapter 6
The next day, the storm hit right when the workday was done and she made it to the steps of her cabin.
South Dakota rain didn’t believe in moderation.
It came at the ranch sideways, full throttle, making the world outside the cabins a mess of churning black and wet noise.
Asha lay in her bed, hands locked behind her head, eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to the barrage.
She gave it thirty minutes. Maybe an hour.
When it was clear she wouldn’t sleep, she swung her legs out of bed, barefoot, and padded to the window.
The glass was a waterfall, streaked and rattling in the wind.
The only light came from the floodlamp over the barn door, and in that hazy cone, she could see a single figure standing motionless in the storm.
It took her two full seconds to register that it was Gavin.
He stood with his head thrown back, eyes closed, rain cascading off his body in sheets.
Asha hesitated, one hand on the window frame.
Let him drown, her first instinct muttered.
He looked like he wanted to. But she couldn’t let it go.
The image of him standing out in the rain all alone made her stomach clench.
“Can’t believe I’m going out into the damn rain like this.” She threw on a jacket and boots, and sprinted outside. The rain lashed her face as she kept her head down and barreled toward him. She stopped ten feet away, “You planning to stand there all night?”
Gavin didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes. “What do you want, Asha?” His voice was a gravel scrape, barely audible through the rain.
She came closer, water stinging her face and dripping down her collar. “You’ll catch pneumonia, dumbass.”
He finally looked at her, and the fury in his face shocked her into silence. “Maybe that’s the point,” he said.
She gritted her teeth. “Not tonight. Not on my watch.” She grabbed his arm tightly and started pulling him toward her cabin.
For a second, he tried to plant his boots in the mud, but a shiver went through his body.
His first thought was that he didn’t want Asha out in this weather.
That was the one thing that got him moving.
He stumbled forward, leaning hard into her grip.
She half-dragged, half-carried him through the dark to her porch. Once inside, she slammed the door, locking out the rain.
Gavin stood dripping in the center of space, hair plastered to his skull, jeans glued to his legs.
His chest rose and fell, each breath ragged.
She stripped off her jacket, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and threw it at him.
He didn’t catch it. It just hit his face and slid to the floor as he stood there.
Asha swore under her breath, scooped up the towel, and started rough-drying his arms and shoulders.
He didn’t move to help, just stood there, staring at her with a look she couldn’t decipher.
Water puddled under their feet, each drip loud in the tiny space.
She finished toweling his chest, then moved to his face, hands rough but not unkind.
He caught her wrist, hard, and held it there. For a second, neither of them breathed.
“Why do you care?” he said, the words thick and angry.
She didn’t have an answer ready. The silence yawned between them, filled only by the drumbeat of rain on the roof.
Then she heard herself say, “Because I know what it’s like to stand in the rain hoping it’ll wash everything away.”
His grip softened, but he didn’t let go. He stared at her, and in that moment, something changed. “I need to change.”
“I don’t have anything… Oh, wait a minute. I have some old pajama pants that I brought with me. They’re two sizes too big for me, but they might be perfect for you.” She pushed the towel at his chest. “Now dry off.”
A few minutes later, they sat on the small couch, close enough to hear each other’s breathing, but not touching. Gavin sat rigid, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. He looked at her then, eyes sharp and clear despite the darkness. “You ever feel like you’re just… pretending to be normal?”
She barked a short, hard laugh. “Normal doesn’t come around here.”
He shook his head. “Sometimes I wake up and there’s nothing. Can’t remember the last time I felt… peace, I guess.” He caught her watching him, and for a second, let himself be seen. “Not sure I’d know it if I found it.”
“You know what pisses me off?” she said, voice raw.
“People talk about wounds like they’re something you can just fix.
Like the right therapy or the right meds or the right person will make you whole again.
” She laughed, low and bitter. “Nobody tells you that sometimes, the best parts get left in a place you can never get back to.”
He stared at her, but not with pity. More like he saw himself in the words.
“You got out,” he said, not a question.
“So did you,” she shot back.
“Not really.”
The air thickened between them. The room, tiny as it was, felt like it shrank by the inch.
He reached for the towel that was still in her hands, meaning to take it, but his hand landed on her wrist instead. She stilled, waiting. His thumb dragged slowly over her skin, tracing the ridges of an old scar there. Her heart hammered so hard she thought he’d feel it.
Gavin’s voice dropped. “You’re shaking.”
“So are you.”
He leaned in, his forehead brushing hers. The contact was electric, not gentle, and it shot straight to her core. “You want me to stop?” he asked, voice rough.
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
He kissed her then, fast and hard, no hesitation.
Her mouth met his, and for the first time in months, she felt all of herself move forward towards something instead of pulling back.
His hands slid up her arms, then tangled in her hair.
She pushed him back, not to stop but to get a look at him, his eyes wild and full of pain.
He stared at her with an intense look in his eyes. “You scare the hell out of me, Asha.”
“I know the feeling.”
He laughed, a sound half-swallowed by need, and pulled her into his lap. Her legs wrapped around his hips, bodies crashing together so hard it knocked the lamp off the side table. She didn’t care.
His hands stripped off her shirt and he paused to look at her.
He pulled her head down to his, mouth hot on her skin of her neck.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he said, voice barely a whisper.
She felt her face heat, the words hitting a place deeper than any touch.
He shifted his body then lifted her in his arms, his hands holding her tight under her ass.
He shifted their bodies, one hand under her thigh, and pressed her back against the wall, their bodies fitting together in a way that felt inevitable.
She still had on her bra, but Gavin made quick work of that until there was nothing but skin and heat and the electricity flowing between them.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingernails digging into his shoulders, and he groaned, low and guttural.
She could feel him hard against her, the urgency in his movements barely leashed.
“Bedroom?”
“Yes,” was the only word that came to mind. Asha had all types of warnings going on in her head, but she wasn’t willing to stop. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
“You sure?” Gavin would happily take whatever she gave him, but he also wanted to make sure this was what she wanted.
The place was so small, it took only a few steps to get to the bedroom.
Laying down with her underneath him, he held her wrists above her head, kissing her slowly, dragging his tongue along her jaw.
She could barely breathe, could barely think.
All she knew was the way he moved, the way he touched her, like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
She flipped them, straddled his body. She rode him hard, every thrust driving out the last of her doubts, every gasp from his mouth a victory. She felt herself come apart, then felt him follow, hands gripping her hips so tight she knew she’d bruise.
They collapsed, breathless, the storm outside suddenly less important than the storm in her body.
He wrapped an arm around her, pulled her tight to his chest, and for the first time all night, neither of them said a word.
After, they lay side by side, Asha’s head on his chest, his hand heavy on her hip. The silence was companionable, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. She could hear the rain start to slacken, the patter on the roof softening by the minute.
She traced the line of his scars, one finger running from his shoulder down to his ribs. “You going to tell me how you got these?”
He exhaled, a long breath. “Humvee. Afghanistan. We hit an IED.” He looked at her, waiting for the pity.
She didn’t offer it. “You make it out on your own?”
He nodded. “Dragged two guys. Lost three.”
She rested her hand over his heart, feeling the slow, strong beat. “You ever talk to anyone about it?”
He barked a laugh. “I talk to walls. Sometimes to horses. Never really felt like talking with people.”
She grinned. “Well, now you have.”
He turned on his side, kissing her shoulder, lips gentle against the skin. “What about yours?”
She didn’t flinch. “Took a shell casing in the ribs, third tour. Healed, mostly.” She flexed her side, letting him see the way the muscles bunched under the scar. “Medically retired. Didn’t want to stop, but they didn’t really give me a choice.”
He rolled her onto her back, hands on either side of her face. “You ever regret it? Not being out there?”
She let her eyes close, just for a second. “Every fucking day.”
He kissed her again, slow and lingering, and for a moment, the rest of the world didn’t matter.
When she opened her eyes, she saw him smiling for the first time. Really smiling, soft at the edges.
“Thank you,” he said.
She blinked. “For what?”
“For not running away.”
She laughed, pushing his shoulder. “I’m the one who chased you down in the rain.”
He shrugged, content. “Still counts.”
She nestled in, feeling the heat of him, the solid weight of his body. But she let herself be in it. Just for now.
***
At first light, Asha woke to the sound of the rain dialing itself down from artillery to drizzle.
The window was open half an inch, letting in a draft that cooled down the sweat on her skin.
She lay on her side, Gavin’s chest pressed to her back, his arm heavy and slack around her waist. His breathing was slow, deep, softer than she’d ever heard it.
She rolled onto her back, dislodging him. He didn’t move. His face turned toward her pillow, mouth slightly open, the lines of his forehead finally smoothed out. In sleep, he looked younger, less haunted.
The sheets were tangled, humid with the residue of sex and rain and skin.
Her jeans were still balled on the floor, next to the pajama pants, both thrown haphazardly in their need for each other.
She watched him sleep for a minute. Maybe more.
She wanted to memorize the shape of him, the way his chest rose and fell, the way the old burn scar on his side caught the thin daylight and turned silver.
She reached out to touch it but stopped just short, afraid to wake him. Afraid of what came after.
She eased out of bed, careful not to creak the boards. She showered and dressed in slow movements. Underwear, tee, jeans, all without looking away from the man in her bed. He mumbled something into the pillow, a word she didn’t catch, then stilled again.
She stepped to the door, put her hand on the knob, then looked back one last time. He was still there, sprawled and soft and completely at the mercy of sleep. She closed the door behind her, not slamming, just a careful click.
The ranch was quiet. The air was clean. All the mud and misery of the night washed away. Every puddle reflected the sky, thin blue breaking through in streaks, and for a minute, the world felt new.
She had no idea what would happen next. But for once, she was willing to wait and see.