Chapter 32 Hattie
HATTIE
I hear voices before my eyes open. The moment I lift my lids, I wince. “Ugh.” My arm lifts instinctively to block out the bright light coming through the window.
Despite sleeping like a rock, I can already tell that it’ll take a while for the grogginess to wear off this morning.
I slowly push off the mattress and sit up.
What time is it? There’s no telling where my phone ended up last night.
I pat around the comforter, looking for it, before freezing and yanking both of my hands up to my chest.
This is Heston’s bed. We slept here last night, bodies tangled . . . together.
My face breaks into a sleepy smile.
I lift my hand and run the pads of my fingers over the heavy, dark wood headboard.
The bed is so big, and the comforter is so plush.
I want to pull the covers back over my eyes and bury myself in the comforting familiarity of it.
But the room is too bright for me to go back to sleep, and I desperately need a shower.
Knowing I’ll be back in this spot again once the sun goes down is enough to convince me that getting up and moving around for the day won’t be the end of the world.
Something in the kitchen smells delicious as I slip across the hall to the guest bathroom.
From the sounds of the conversation, everyone is in good spirits this morning.
Before disappearing behind the door to take a shower, I peek around the corner where Heston is casually leaning against the back of the couch with his arms crossed, talking to Gage.
Lucky is lying in the dog bed at his feet.
My stomach growls, and I quickly shut the door and strip out of Heston’s shirt. Once I step into the shower and the warm water hits my skin, I instantly sigh with relief.
“I missed you,” I say, addressing the glorious water pressure here. It’s enough to massage away a tension headache in less than five minutes.
When I close my eyes and lean my head back, visions of last night run through my mind.
I smile again, even as a shiver ripples over my skin.
My day hasn’t started with this much giddy happiness in forever.
The only thing that would have made it better is if I’d have woken up early enough for a good morning kiss.
With that thought, I’m more motivated to finish my shower, so I mindlessly reach for the shampoo. I’m not picky when it comes to hair products, but god, this one smells good. After lathering it on my scalp and inhaling the sweet steam, I pick up the bottle again to read it.
“Watermelon,” I whisper, squinting at the label. “Huh.”
I rush through the rest of my routine, brush my hair, and wrap myself in a towel before scampering back across the hall. After putting my bra on, I bite the corner of my thumbnail. I can’t exactly walk around like this. I’d rather not put my clothes back on from last night, either.
My eyes land on the closet. The masculine smell makes me roll my lips into my mouth as I step inside. The large safe is new. However, the clothes are most definitely not.
There’s a neatly hung row of t-shirts and button-downs over organized stacks of jeans and . . . more jeans. I huff a laugh through my nose and lightly run my fingers over the denim.
He’s never been one for flashy fashion, but that was always fine by me. Heston’s thick thighs in a pair of White Label Cinches will be the first on a list of suspected causes if I ever pass out in public.
I pull the first hoodie I see from the shelf. The motion causes a pair of gray sweats to fall to the floor, so I quickly bend to pick them up. Before I right myself to stand, a cardboard box tucked against the wall invades my line of sight.
I sink to my knees and pull it toward me. The flaps are open, and I instantly recognize the folded stacks of clothes. They’re mine.
The shirt on top is a black tee. I unfold it and smile at the faded image of a burly 70’s era Hereford bull. I slip it over my head and pull the hem down. I’ve worn it so many times in the past that it’s almost falling apart at the seams.
Digging deeper in the box, I find a pair of jeans and quickly stand to push my feet through the legs. They’re tight over my hips, but I do a little jump and wiggle to fasten the button.
A knock sounds at the door, and I rush to slide the box back and step out of the closet.
The door swings slowly inward, revealing Heston on the other side.
He looks like he planned to simply lean in and deliver a quick message like “breakfast is ready” or “there are clean towels in the hallway closet”.
But as his eyes drag down my body, he steps inside the room and closes the door behind him.
“I see you found some clothes.”
“Yeah, I was going to steal a shirt from you or something,” I shrug. “But I guess you didn’t toss out my old stuff.”
He looks at me, all clenched jaw and sinfully intense eyes. Hands in his pockets. Adam’s apple bobbing with a thick swallow.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
I cross the room and lift my arms just as he takes his hands out of his pockets and bends to lift me off the ground in one smooth motion. I hum, pressing my lips to his.
“If you weren’t so tall,” I point out, pulling away from his mouth, “you wouldn’t have to pick me up every time.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, then my cheek, and the contour of my jaw. “You smell amazing,” he says, ignoring my tease.
The dots connect in my head. “That’d be the shampoo of mine that you also didn’t throw away.” And come to think of it, that shit’s got to be expired. Hopefully, I’m not bald tomorrow. “Did you just keep all of my things? For years?”
“Yes,” he admits, gently setting me back on my feet.
“Oh,” I whisper, realizing he’s one hundred percent serious. My arms loop around his waist, and I tilt my head up. “Why?”
“Because I love you.”
“Is that all?” I smile, even though the more tempting reaction is to jump up and down with a squeal.
“Yes,” he confirms, threading his hands into my damp hair. “That’s all.”
I rise to my tiptoes, and he meets me halfway for another kiss. “I love you, too.”
“Well, shit. Really?” He swings me up into his arms again with a sarcastic huff and walks toward his closet. “Now I have to carry you around all the time.”
I’m laughing into his neck, content to let him do just that, when he reaches up to pull down a shirt from the top rack.
“Hey, what’s that?” I ask, pointing over my shoulder.
“A safe.”
“I know that, smartass. I meant what’s it for?”
“Money.”
“Oh.”
Well, that’s not uncommon. I found it weird to have such a large safe tucked in the back of his closet—one that I hadn’t seen before. But I guess lots of people have safes to keep cash in, that’s nothing out of the ordinary.
“And some other stuff,” he adds.
I slide down his front to stand on my feet again. He pulls off the t-shirt he’s wearing, the same one I recognize from last night, and tosses it in the hamper. I barely get a chance to admire him with nothing on but jeans before he slips the clean one over his head and pulls it down.
Without another word, he steps right up to the safe and types in a code to unlock it. My eyes bug out of my head when he opens the door to reveal the contents.
I gasp at the insanely big stack of cash. “Heston. What on earth?”
He shrugs. “I’m not a big fan of checking accounts. I only keep a little in the bank for bills.”
My curiosity piques even higher when he reaches in to pull out a long, oddly sized manila folder that’s held closed with a single paperclip on one side.
I spot a few buckle boxes, which clue me in to the stack of money.
If I had to guess, most of it was saved from his rodeo days.
I’ve seen video clips of him accepting comically life-sized checks for a million dollars at the world finals. He opens the folder and hands it to me.
My hands tremble slightly as I bring it closer to my face for a better look. I blink fast, trying to focus, but my eyes dart wildly between lines, elevations, annotations . . .
Heston notices me zeroing in on little details that I don’t understand. His finger cuts into my line of sight as he points to the blueprint.
“The supply room is sealed and temperature-controlled, so that’s why it’s closer to the office. I know you wanted it in the back near the loading dock, but—”
“No, that’s okay. It’s great.” I let out a watery, breathy laugh and shake my head.
His finger moves around the paper to explain even more.
“Basic catch chute here. And the adjustable squeeze chute is back by the wash rack. Figured you’d want concrete under it for easier clean up after the messier jobs.
Plus, the tilt table needed a designated electrical hookup.
I wasn’t sure about the offices, since you didn’t talk about that part as much.
Hopefully three is fine, and they’re all on one side, so the waiting area or lobby or whatever you want to call it can be bigger. ”
I study the little wrinkles and dirty fingerprints on the edges of the paper. “I—honestly, Heston, I don’t know what to say. This is—”
“I don’t want you to think this is some sort of Ace in the Hole that I’ve been keeping up my sleeve. I never would have used it as a—I don’t know. A bargaining chip or something.”
“You built this barn?” My eyes scan over the second floor, which looks like an apartment, and then the office area. “This—clinic?”
I peer up at him, and he nods. He takes a long inhale through his nose and stares at his feet for a moment.
“Not on my own. I worked as much as I could on it, but I contracted out most of the big stuff. I learned a lot from my dad with that kind of stuff, though, so I tackled the things I felt confident building.”
This had to cost an absolute fortune. I remember seeing it just from the outside that day at Solana Bluffs. It is not small.
“You—” I slowly close my eyes and grip the edges of the folder. “Why?”