Chapter 32 Sedona
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sedona
The bark jolts me out of a dreamless sleep.
It’s not a subtle wake-up call; it’s a sharp, percussive sound that splits the fog in my head. I sit up, blinking against the pale light filtering through the bunkhouse curtains.
My mouth feels like I’ve been chewing on cotton balls. My limbs are heavy, weighted down by the sedatives Dr. Petrova and Maggie pumped into us last night.
I turn my head. Clara is sprawled on the other cot, one arm hanging off the edge, her mouth slightly open.
She’s out cold. The medication hit her harder than it hit me, or maybe she was just more exhausted. I don’t want to wake her.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the cool wood floor. I’m wearing shorts and a tank top, my skin still feeling slightly sensitive, but the fever is gone. The burning ache in my bones has faded into a dull, manageable thrum.
I stand up. I’m thirsty. Desperately, painfully thirsty.
I walk to the small kitchenette and check the tap. A few drops sputter out, then nothing. They must have forgotten to turn on the water pump.
Boone barks again. It sounds like he’s near the barn.
I grab a hoodie from the back of the chair and pull it on over my tank top. I open the door and slip outside.
The morning air is crisp, and the CDC tents are quiet. The skeleton crew monitoring us is probably sleeping in shifts.
I walk toward the barn. I need water. I need fresh air.
I round the corner of the barn and stop.
There’s a large wooden barrel sitting near the pump. Seth is standing next to it. He’s working the handle, his back to me.
He’s wearing a grey T-shirt that clings to his shoulder blades. His arms flex with each pump, the muscles shifting under his skin.
Boone is sitting a few feet away, watching him. When he sees me, his tail wags, but he doesn’t bark again.
Seth turns and sees me. He pauses, his hand on the iron handle.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I reply. My voice is scratchy.
“You’re up early.”
“Thirsty,” I manage. “The tap is dry.”
He nods, gesturing to the barrel. “I’m filling the stock tanks. The water heater is busted. This is the only pump that works until the power stabilizes.”
I walk over to him. The barrel is half full with water that looks clear and cold. I eye the ladle hanging on the side.
“Can I help?” I ask.
Seth raises an eyebrow. “You should be resting. Maggie said the treatment would knock you out for twelve hours.”
“I’ve done nothing but rest for three days,” I say. “I feel useless. Let me help.”
He looks at me for a moment. He scans my face, checking for signs of fever or collapse. He must be satisfied with what he sees because he shrugs.
“Okay. There are buckets by the door. We need to fill them and carry them to the stalls.”
I nod. I grab two buckets, heavy plastic, scratched from use. I dip them into the barrel, filling them halfway. Cold water sloshes against my wrists.
We work in tandem, carrying the buckets into the barn. The smell of hay and horse is strong. It’s a comforting smell. It smells like home.
We set the buckets inside the first stall. The horses nicker, nudging us for treats.
“How are you feeling?” Seth asks. He wipes his hands on his jeans.
“Better,” I say. “The fever broke. I just feel… groggy. And thirsty.”
“Here.” He dips a clean tin cup into the barrel and hands it to me.
I drink deeply. The water is freezing. It slides down my throat, cooling me from the inside out. I drink until the cup is empty, then hand it back.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
We go back for more water, falling into a rhythm. Pump, carry, dump.
The work is physical, repetitive. It grounds me. It makes me feel like a person again, instead of a patient.
“Grant called this morning,” Seth says as we walk back to the pump.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He’s thrilled that the quarantine is lifting. He’s already on the phone with the committee.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the fair is back on,” Seth says. He gives a small, tired smile. “The one that was on the verge of being canceled. Rodeo, craft stalls, pie contests. The whole thing. Reinstated.”
“That’s good news,” I say. “For the town.”
“Yeah. It is.” He pauses. “He wants us to sponsor the main event. Good PR for the ranch after all this.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“Probably. Billy will want to.”
I detect a hint of something in his voice. Observation. Seth is always the observer.
We head back into the barn. The sun is higher now, streaming through the high windows. Dust motes dance in the light.
Seth sets his bucket down, reaching for the hem of his shirt. He grabs the fabric and lifts it, using it to wipe the sweat from his brow.
My breath hitches.
The movement exposes his stomach. A strip of taut, golden skin. The V-shape of his hips cuts deep, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
He has a trail of dark hair that leads down, pointing the way. His abs are defined, not bulky like Billy’s, but lean and cut.
My stomach does a strange, queasy flip. Not sickness. Want.
I look away quickly to stare at the hay on the floor.
When I look back up, he’s let the shirt drop. But he’s staring at me.
He caught me looking.
Heat floods my cheeks, spreading down my neck.
Seth’s eyes are dark. He doesn’t look away. He holds my gaze, a question in it.
I smile. It’s a nervous, shaky smile.
He laughs and runs a hand through his hair, displacing the messy strands.
“I…” he starts.
“I…” I say at the same time.
We stop. We stare at each other.
The air in the barn feels thick. Charged.
“You go first,” he says.
I take a breath. I need to say it. I need to clear the air.
The secret is out, thanks to Joey’s big mouth yesterday. Pretending it didn’t happen is just going to make things weird.
“I heard what you said,” I say quietly. “Yesterday. To Joey.”
Seth freezes. The tips of his ears turn red. He looks away, kicking a piece of straw with his boot.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I figured you might have.”
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” I say.
“It’s fine,” he says. He sounds embarrassed. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that, though. It wasn’t… it wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
“Find out that you…?” I trail off.
“That I have feelings for you,” he finishes. He says it clearly, without looking at me. “Yeah. That.”
I nod. I don’t know what to say. I’m holding a bucket of water, and the man in front of me is admitting to me that he likes me.
“Seth,” I say.
He finally looks at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He frowns. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because I made you think you had to hide it. And because…” I hesitate. “Because of what happened with Lila.”
His face changes. The embarrassment vanishes, replaced by a guarded look. He flinches like I’ve slapped him.
“Lila,” he repeats.
“I saw you,” I say. I need to get it out. This is the thing that has been sitting between us, unspoken, for years. “That day. And I intruded on your privacy and stayed. I know it was wrong. It was stupid and wrong, and I shouldn’t have done that.”
He stares at me. His jaw tightens.
“I walked into the barn,” I say. “You were with her. Lila. You were… you were with her.”
“I was fucking her,” Seth says. He doesn’t sugarcoat it. His voice is flat. “That’s what I was doing.”
I nod. “I saw. And I ran away. I should have stayed and apologized.”
He looks down at his hands. He grips the edge of the bucket.
“I always wondered,” he says quietly, “did that make you leave? Seeing me like that? Did I… did I disgust you so much that you ran?”
My heart breaks a little. “What? No.”
“It’s okay if it did,” he says. “I was a mess back then. I was angry. I was trying to prove something. I wasn’t gentle with her. I wasn’t… I wasn’t the good brother.”
“Seth, stop.”
I step closer. I set my bucket down on the ground. I reach out and take his hand.
His hand is warm, callused. He looks at our joined fingers.
“Look at me,” I say.
He looks up.
“I was not lying when I said I ran because I was a coward,” I say. “I was scared. I was scared of the future. I was scared of Billy. I was scared of this town. I was scared of becoming my mother.”
I squeeze his hand.
“Seeing you with Lila… it didn’t make me leave,” I say. “It was a shock, sure. But it wasn’t about you. It was never about you.”
“Then why does it feel like I’ve been carrying that guilt for five years?” he asks.
“Because you’re Seth,” I say. “You take everything on yourself. You think you’re responsible for everyone’s happiness. But you didn’t drive me away. I drove myself away.”
He searches my face. He looks for a lie. He doesn’t find one.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you were the reason.”
He exhales. A long, shaky breath. His shoulders drop.
“Damn, Sedona,” he mutters. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”
“You thought you scared me off.”
“Maybe.”
I shake my head. I step even closer. We are inches apart now. I can smell him, soap and hay and clean sweat.
“You didn’t scare me, Seth,” I say. “You never scared me.”
He looks at me then. His eyes drop to my mouth. He swallows. His throat clicks.
We’re standing in the middle of the barn. Dust settles around us.
He lifts his free hand. He reaches out. His fingers brush my shoulder, trail up my neck. He picks a piece of straw from my hair.
The touch is electric. My skin tingles where he connects.
He holds the piece of straw between his fingers, then flicks it away.
“Sedona,” he says.
“Yeah?”
He leans down. His face is close to mine, and his breath fans across my lips. He smells like mint.
“I want to kiss you,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s a confession. “I have wanted to kiss you for a really long time.”
I think of Billy. I think of the mess we’re in. I think of the pact the brothers made. I think of the danger.
But I’m tired of running. I’m tired of denying.
I don’t wait for him. I bridge the gap, pressing my lips to his.
He freezes for a second. A heartbeat of surprise.
Then he groans.
He drops the bucket he’s holding. It clatters on the floor. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me flush against him.
The kiss is different than Billy’s. Billy kisses like a storm—violent, consuming, angry. Seth kisses like the tide. It’s a drowning.
He cups the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. He tilts my head, deepening the angle.
His lips are firm. They move against mine with a skill that makes my knees weak. He doesn’t rush. He savors. He tastes like coffee and the cold water we just drank.
I grip the front of his shirt. I bunch the fabric in my fists. I pull him closer. I need to feel him. I need to know this is real.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a low rumble. He presses me backward, walking me until my back hits the wooden post of the stall.
The wood is rough against my spine. I don’t care.
He pins me there with his body, caging me in, his forearms resting on the post on either side of my head.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at me. His pupils are blown wide. His chest heaves.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Don’t stop.”
He kisses me again. This time, it’s harder. There is an edge to it. A longing finally being released.
His hands slide down my sides. They rest on my hips. His thumbs brush the strip of skin above my waistband.
I shiver. The heat is building again, but it’s not the fever.
It’s pure, liquid fire.
I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under my palm. I trace the line of his collarbone.
He nips at my bottom lip, and I gasp. He takes the opportunity to sweep his tongue into my mouth.
He tastes me. He explores me. He claims me.
I’m lost in him. The smell of the barn, the sound of the horses, the chill of the morning—it all fades away.
There’s only Seth. The press of his lips. The scratch of his stubble. The strength of his hands.
He pulls back, rests his forehead against mine. We’re both breathing hard.
“I’ve wanted that for so long,” he whispers.
“Me too,” I admit. It’s the truth. I didn’t know how much until this moment.
He smiles. It’s a real smile, one that reaches his eyes.
“You have no idea how hard it was,” he says. “Watching you with him. Wanting to be the one making you laugh. Wanting to be the one holding your hand.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“Don’t be,” he says. “Just… stay. For a minute. Just stay here.”
He doesn’t let go. He keeps his arms around me, holding me against his chest. I rest my head on his shoulder.
I listen to his heartbeat. It’s steady and strong.
Everything that’s happened over the last few days seems so far away. The parasite. The quarantine. The fight with Joey. The confusion with Billy.
Here, in this barn, it’s quiet. It’s just us.
“I don’t know what happens next,” I whisper.
“Neither do I,” he admits.
“Billy knows. Tex knows.”
“I know.”
“It’s a mess.”
“Yeah,” he says. He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “It’s a disaster. But right now, I don’t care.”
I close my eyes, and then I lean in and kiss him again.