Chapter 9
Vanessa
The consulting firm interview had gone better than expected, but Vanessa barely remembered the details.
All she could think about was the way Dustin had looked at her that morning, the way he'd taken his time with her like she mattered more than anything else in his world.
The way he'd watched her walk into the building like she was precious to him.
She deleted the temp agency's address from her phone without going inside.
Short-term positions wouldn't solve her problems, and she was tired of pretending she had the energy to smile through another pointless interview.
The consulting firm would either call or they wouldn't. Until then, she had better things to do with her afternoon.
Like going home to the man who made her believe in possibilities again.
Her phone buzzed with a text: How did it go?
She smiled despite her nerves. He'd been checking on her all day, sweet messages that made her feel cared for in ways she wasn't used to. Good, I think. Heading home now.
Good. I'm making dinner.
You don't have to cook every night.
I want to. See you soon.
Three simple words that made her pulse skip.
Everything between them had changed last night, shifted from attraction to love, even if neither of them had said the words out loud yet.
She was falling for him, had probably been falling since that first day he'd sat in her living room and looked at her house like it was exactly what he'd been hoping to find.
Looked at her like she was exactly what he'd been hoping to find.
His truck was in the driveway when she got home, and she could smell garlic and herbs wafting from the kitchen before she even opened the front door. She kicked off her heels and padded barefoot toward the source of the amazing smells, stopping in the doorway to watch him work.
He'd changed out of the jeans he'd worn to drive her to interviews, trading them for worn denim that hugged his ass in ways that made her mouth go dry.
A white t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, and when he turned to check something in the oven, she got a clear view of the way the fabric pulled across his chest.
Her cowboy. Her man. Hers.
If only she could keep him.
"Smells incredible," she said, dropping her purse on the counter. "What are you making?"
"Chicken and dumplings. My grandmother's recipe." He straightened and turned toward her, and she saw tension in his expression that made her pulse stutter. Like he was bracing himself for bad news. "How did the interviews go?"
"The consulting firm seemed interested." She moved closer, drawn by the way he was looking at her. "We'll see."
"They'd be lucky to have you."
The conviction in his voice made warmth spread through her chest. He believed in her in ways she'd stopped believing in herself, saw strengths she'd forgotten she had.
"Thank you," she said, reaching up to straighten his collar even though it didn't need straightening. She just wanted an excuse to touch him, to feel the solid reality of him under her hands.
To remind herself he was still here. Still hers. At least for now.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she felt the familiar chemistry spark between them. "You're welcome."
The kitchen felt smaller with both of them in it, the air thick with awareness that had nothing to do with cooking and everything to do with the way he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her right there against the counter.
"Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes," he said, and his voice had that rasp again.
"Twenty minutes." She stepped closer, until she was nearly pressed against him. "What should we do with twenty minutes?"
His hands settled on her hips, pulling her the final few inches until her body was flush against his. "I can think of a few things."
"Show me."
He kissed her then, deep and hungry and full of the need that had been building between them all day. She melted into him, hands fisting in his shirt as she pressed closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against her.
Wanting to memorize every second in case this was all she got to keep.
"I've been thinking about you all day," he murmured against her lips. "About this morning, about the sounds you make when I touch you."
"Just thinking?"
"Thinking about doing this." His hands slid up her sides to cup her breasts through her business blouse, thumbs finding her nipples through the thin fabric. "And this." His mouth moved to her throat, finding that sensitive spot that made her gasp.
"Dustin..." His name came out breathless, needy.
"I love the way you say my name when you want me." His hands were working on the buttons of her blouse, freeing them one by one. "Say it again."
"Dustin, please."
The blouse fell open, revealing the lace bra she'd chosen that morning in hopes of exactly this moment. His eyes went molten as he looked at her, and she felt beautiful and desired and completely feminine under his gaze.
"So perfect," he breathed, hands tracing the edge of lace. "So beautiful."
She tugged his shirt over his head, needing to feel his skin under her hands. He was solid and real, all lean muscle and masculine strength, and when she scraped her nails lightly down his chest, he groaned.
"Bedroom," she said, and took his hand to lead him down the hall.
They barely made it through the door before he had her pressed against the wall, his mouth hot on her neck, his hands working the zipper of her skirt.
She kicked it off along with her panties while he shed his jeans, and then he was lifting her, her legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance.
"Wait," she said, breathless. "Condom."
He groaned but lowered her back to her feet, reaching for his jeans and the wallet in the back pocket. She watched him roll on the condom, watched the way his hands shook slightly, and the knowledge that he was as affected as she was made her want him even more.
Then he was lifting her again, pressing her back against the wall as he pushed inside her with one smooth thrust that made them both cry out.
"God, yes," she gasped, her head falling back against the wall. "Just like that."
He set a rhythm that was hard and fast and perfect, each thrust hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. The position put him deep, so deep she could feel him everywhere, filling her completely.
"So good," he groaned against her neck. "So perfect."
The words, the rhythm, the feeling of him moving inside her sent her spiraling over the edge, and she cried out as her body clenched around him. He followed her over with a hoarse shout, her name a broken prayer on his lips as he found his release.
They stayed locked together for long moments, breathing hard and trying to process the intensity of what had just happened between them.
"The timer's going off," she said finally, noticing the beeping from the kitchen.
"Right. Dinner." He pulled out of her slowly, and she felt the loss immediately. "Give me two minutes to save the dumplings."
She cleaned up quickly in the bathroom while he dealt with dinner, pulling on yoga pants and a t-shirt that were more comfortable than her interview clothes. When she returned to the kitchen, he'd set the table and was serving the food like he hadn't just made her come against her bedroom wall.
"All saved," he announced with a grin that was pure male satisfaction. "Crisis averted."
"My hero," she said, and meant it more than he probably realized.
They ate dinner at her kitchen table, trading casual conversation about their days, but she could feel the tension building. The way he kept checking his phone. The way he avoided looking at her directly. The way his jaw kept clenching like he was working up the courage to say something difficult.
Finally, she set down her fork and looked at him directly. "What's wrong?"
He was quiet for a long moment, staring at his plate. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful. "Jake called today. There's a rodeo in Oklahoma next weekend."
Oklahoma. The word hit her like cold water. "Okay."
"Entries close tomorrow night. He needs to know if I'm going."
Tomorrow night. She'd known this was coming. Had known from the first day that Dustin Fleming was a man who belonged to the road, not to one place. Not to her.
But knowing and accepting were two different things.
"Are you going?" she asked, keeping her voice level.
"I don't know." He looked up at her then, and she saw genuine conflict in his eyes. "Part of me thinks I should. My ankle's healed, I'm missing money sitting on the sidelines, and it's what I've been doing for ten years."
"And the other part?"
"The other part doesn't want to leave you."
The words hung in the air between them, raw and honest and terrifying.
She wanted to reach for him, to tell him to stay, to beg him not to go.
But that wasn't fair. She couldn't ask him to give up his life for her when she had nothing solid to offer in return.
No job, a mortgage she was three weeks behind on, a future that was more question mark than plan.
"You should go," she said, and watched his face fall.
"Vanessa..."
"No, listen." She leaned forward, needing him to understand. "This is your career. Your life. I can't ask you to give that up for me, especially when I don't even know what I'm offering in return."
"You're offering everything I want."
"Am I? Because right now I'm unemployed, broke, and one missed mortgage payment away from losing this house. That's not stability, Dustin. That's not a future."
"I don't care about any of that."
"But I do." She stood up, needing to move, to pace, to do something with the energy coursing through her. "I care that I can't promise you anything. I care that asking you to stay feels selfish when I have nothing to give you."
He stood too, crossing to her and catching her hands. "You have everything to give me. You're what I want, Vanessa. Not the rodeo, not the prize money. You."
"Then why do you look like you're already halfway out the door?"
The question stopped him cold. She could see him wrestling with it, with the truth of what she'd said.
"Because I'm scared," he admitted finally. "I'm scared that if I stay, you'll realize I'm not what you need. That I can't give you the stability you deserve. That I'm just a cowboy with a broken-down truck and no prospects beyond getting thrown off horses for money."
"And I'm scared that if you go, you won't come back." She pulled her hands free, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm scared that this has meant more to me than it has to you. That I've fallen in love with someone who's going to leave."
The words were out before she could stop them, hanging in the air between them like a confession and an accusation all at once.
"You love me?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Yes." There was no point in denying it now. "I love you. And I don't know what to do with that, because loving you means letting you go if that's what you need to do."
He stared at her for a long moment, and she could see a dozen emotions crossing his face. Then he closed the distance between them and kissed her, deep and desperate and full of everything he wasn't saying out loud.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. "I love you too. And I don't want to go. But I also don't want you to resent me later for giving up everything without having a plan for what comes next."
"So what do we do?"
"I don't know." He pulled her closer, holding her like she might disappear. "But I do know I'm not making this decision tonight. Not when I'm this scared of making the wrong choice."
"When does Jake need to know?"
"Tomorrow night. Entries close at midnight."
Tomorrow night. Less than a day to figure out if love was enough to build a future on, or if they were both deluding themselves into thinking this could work.
"Then we have until tomorrow night," she said. "Let's not waste it fighting."
He kissed her again, softer this time, and she let herself believe for just a moment that everything would work out. That love would be enough. That he would choose her.
That she wouldn't wake up alone tomorrow, with nothing but memories and a broken heart.