His Eleventh Hour (Ivory Peaks Romance #11)

Chapter 1

one

Tarr Olson adjusted the collar of his button-down shirt, checked his reflection in the mirror above the sink, and tried not to wonder for the eighth time whether he looked like a man going to Thanksgiving dinner with his friends, or a man chasing a woman who’d made it very clear she didn’t want him.

He sighed as he pulled his sleeves down over his forearms and buttoned the cuffs slowly, methodically.

His knuckles were still a little scraped from trying to fix the busted heater in the RV—something he had yet to mention to Tuck, because he wasn’t in the mood to be razzed for still living in the RV, two months after the wedding.

He didn’t want to live with newlyweds. It wasn’t that hard to understand, was it?

So he’d bought an RV, and he parked it at the site where his house had been under construction for the past nine weeks. He appreciated that Tuck and Bobbie Jo let him shower in the mansion, and he actually liked the coziness of the RV.

He’d never needed a huge house; Tarr much preferred a wide open space, a big yard, a huge pasture with as many horses as he could put on the land. So the RV wasn’t a bad place to live—if he was still living in Tennessee.

Colorado had a much different winter season, and Tarr obsessively checked the weather every day to make sure he had the supplies and energy he needed to survive.

Honestly, survival was so hard these days.

He exhaled and rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension that sat across the back of his neck rent-free.

From his work around the facility, to keeping himself fed and warm in a shelter that didn’t have electricity or running water, to making sure Briar Prescott was taken care of—all of it had combined in the past three months to show Tarr he only had to sleep a few hours each night.

For a moment, he considered texting Hunter, Deacon, and Tucker and telling them he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t make it to the farm for turkey and cranberry sauce.

But if he did that, Tucker would show up on his doorstep.

Maybe he should take a leaf out of Tuck’s game plan when it came to Briar. Tarr had watched his best friend flirt shamelessly with his now-wife. His feelings for Bobbie Jo had never been a secret to anyone, but Tarr felt smothered by his hidden, repressed feelings for Briar.

“Thanksgiving,” he said to himself as he crossed to the small closet and pulled out a jacket. “Time for food, family…and finally drawing the line.”

He’d asked Briar Prescott out a couple of times since her encounter with the coyote. She’d turned him down both times. So he’d retreated again—but only when it came to trying to get her to go out with him.

He showed up at her cabin every single day, whether she told him to leave her alone or not. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

She’d healed really well from the attack, to be honest. Her leg only bore a scar now, not that she ever let Tarr see it. He’d seen it when the doctor had removed the stitches, and he could still see the marks all along her abdomen, whether his eyes were open or closed.

That side wound hadn’t been as bad as he’d originally thought, though Briar had gotten seventeen stitches to get her skin sealed back together again.

He’d sat with her while she slept, ordered or made food so she could keep her strength up, and set timers to make sure she took her medicines on time.

Then she wouldn’t wake up in a massive amount of pain.

He’d seen her cry, and listened to her yell at him to get out and never come back, and held her in his arms while he soothed her and his feelings for her deepened and deepened and deepened.

“So not fair,” he muttered—what he usually did when telling the Lord he wasn’t satisfied with how things were going in his life.

And when it came to Briar Prescott, Tarr was absolutely dissatisfied. He wanted so much more than she’d allowed, and he swiped his phone up from the top of the slim bureau he’d crammed in beside his bed.

He’d texted her a few hours ago, before he’d gone out to do the morning feeding, about the Thanksgiving luncheon out at the Hammond Family Farm.

I’m good, she’d said. But thanks.

He growled, because he hated it when she told him I’m good.

Ab—so—lute—ly—hate—d—it.

He looked up, his mind sparking at him, situations between Tucker and Bobbie Jo firing through his memory.

Maybe he really did need to be more explicit with Briar.

At the very least, he was done following her rules. He was done waiting for permission to care. Done waiting for her to recognize how good they could be together—if only she’d let him in.

“I just want a chance, Lord,” he whispered. “Is that too much to ask? A real opportunity?” He closed his eyes and forced his mind to go blank, quiet, still. “Not a single date with hardly any conversation, and not me forcing myself on her to make sure she heals up good.”

He opened his eyes, seeing the narrow interior of his RV in a whole new way. “A real try.”

He felt like he’d thrown out everything he had, but deep down, he knew he hadn’t.

It only felt like the eleventh hour, because of the miserable way he laid awake at night, dreaming of holding Briar when they were both happy and laughing, instead of when she sobbed into his arms after a painful physical therapy appointment, or wept into his chest, frustrated about the slow speed at which she’d healed.

But healed she had. Almost all the way now, though Tarr caught her limping for a couple of steps sometimes, when she first got up from a table or couch.

His alarm went off, because Tarr did everything by alarms. Then he wasn’t late, and he didn’t have to think about anything further out than the moment he lived in.

After silencing it, he grabbed his cowboy hat from the hook by the door and walked out into the chilly November air, boots thudding softly on the steps of the RV.

The sun had turned weak as they moved into winter, and just because Tarr had lived through a Colorado winter before didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

He slid into his truck, started the engine, and turned the heat on full blast. The RV hadn’t held heat worth a darn since the first snowstorm, and while he could make do, he didn’t particularly enjoy wearing a beanie to bed, pulling on down puffy pants, and layering a feathery sleeping bag over the one he slept in.

“I need a more permanent solution to my shelter problem,” he said as he glanced over to the construction site currently covered in white, opaque plastic sheeting. The bad weather the past week or so had stalled the progress on his cabin build completely, and it hadn’t been going well before that.

Sighing, he drove away, putting those problems in his rear-view mirror for now. Nothing to do about them on Thanksgiving, though he did consider calling a nearby hotel and getting a room there for the next month.

Then, he’d have access to a hot shower any time he wanted, and Tarr could admit he’d already scoped out the hotel options close to the farm where Tuck worked with rodeo stars and Tarr trained animals for them to use.

He turned onto the gravel road that led to the far edge of the property, where Briar’s cabin sat tucked back against a patch of pines. It wasn’t much, but it was homey—one of the original structures on the ranch from way back when—and Briar had made it her own in the time she’d lived there.

He’d been inside that house more times in the past few months than he’d expected. Starting the night of the coyote attack, when he’d dropped everything and sprinted to the barn because she’d called him.

Him.

Not Tuck. Not Bobbie Jo. Not anyone else who worked with them at the facility.

Him.

And from that moment on, it had been him, whether she liked it or not.

He’d shown up at the hospital and sat outside her room until they let him in.

He’d brought Wiggins in to visit when she was missing her dog so bad it broke his heart.

He’d run to the pharmacy for her meds, brought groceries when she couldn’t stand upright, and helped her into her bed when the pain flared so bad it left her shaking.

He’d been there when she couldn’t sleep.

When the nightmares came.

When her hand trembled too hard to hold a coffee cup, and when she finally—finally—walked across the barn without needing to lean on a wall or brace herself against a railing.

And through all of it, she kept trying to keep him on the outside of the walls she’d so clearly built around herself.

But he wasn’t going anywhere.

Not tonight.

It was Thanksgiving, for crying out loud. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving.

Tarr pulled into her driveway, eyed the front windows, and killed the engine. The porch light was on, and smoke curled lazily from the chimney. He took a breath, climbed out, and walked slowly toward the front porch.

Wiggins would know he’d arrived, so he wasn’t surprised to hear the hound barking inside. He couldn’t hear Briar’s correction, but he knew she’d hiss at the dog to be quiet.

He climbed the steps—the second one from the top sagging under his weight; that needed to be fixed—and moved right into the door to knock.

Tap, tap.

He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, stepped back, and waited.

Beyond the door, claws scrambled on wood, and that made him smile. When Wiggins appeared in the window beside the door, tail wagging wildly, he chuckled. Oh, how he loved that dog.

And the nights when Briar let him bring Wiggins home with him? Heaven, because the dog slept cuddled up next to him and kept him so warm.

He’d really like a good woman for that, and of course, Briar was the image in his head whenever he thought about who he’d like to get to know better.

Despite his constant attention to her for the past few months, she’d revealed very little about herself. Tarr hadn’t pushed her either, because God had told him to focus on her physical healing. She’d had a lot of that to do, and Tarr simply prayed that the Lord would give him more time with Briar.

Wiggins barked happily and disappeared, only to reappear a couple of seconds later. Briar wouldn’t be happy about that, but Tarr had already knocked.

It took a good ten seconds for Briar to pull open the door, and Wiggins came wagging out to greet him.

“Hey, buddy.” Tarr crouched down and scrubbed Wiggins’s head and jowls, stroking his hands along his neck and down his back.

“I said I wasn’t coming.”

Tarr looked up at Briar, her blue eyes captivating him the moment his met hers. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

“I don’t even like cranberry sauce.”

“Good thing there are dozens of other things to eat, then.” He straightened and took in her bright purple pajamas, this pair one he’d seen before. Yellow and blue stars covered them, but none of their shine had spread to Briar’s expression.

Tarr leaned a shoulder against the frame and smiled. “Happy Thanksgiving to you too.”

She’d left her hair down today, her curls loose and wild around her face, like she’d just pulled it out of a bun and hadn’t planned on seeing anyone. His chest tightened, and not just because of how good she looked like that.

“I’m not going,” she said again, softer this time.

Tarr didn’t move. “Yeah, you are.”

“No, I’m—”

“Briar.” He straightened, folding his arms. “You’re not staying home alone on Thanksgiving.

That’s ridiculous. So you can go change and get ready yourself.

” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his heartbeat positively pounding at him as he casually checked the time.

“We have about ten minutes before we need to leave.”

He only moved his eyes as he looked at her again. He swallowed, about to throw gasoline on a live flame, what with her glare kicking up a notch like that.

“So you can go get ready, or I’m going to carry you to my truck wearing those pajamas. Your choice.”

She blinked, clearly stunned. So maybe being more like Tuck would play in Tarr’s favor. Or maybe Tarr just hadn’t spoken to Briar like this since she’d been injured, and she didn’t know what to do with it.

Wiggins sat at his feet, both of them facing Briar as they waited for her answer. He panted, closing his eyes halfway as if that would keep Briar’s irritation at a minimum.

Oh, to be a dog.

Tarr’s nerves ran freely through his body, especially when Briar opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Glared.

But he didn’t flinch. In fact, he found himself smoothly folding his arms. “I’ll wait right here.”