Chapter 14
Honey
I’m in the middle of making Noah some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch while he plays with his toys by the couch the following weekend when I’m suddenly dropping the knife and bracing myself against the kitchen counter as a cramp hits me.
Damn it. With everything going on, I hadn’t paid any thought to being due this week, just took the sugar pills without thinking.
Usually I’m better at keeping track—after an unplanned pregnancy you force yourself to become very watchful over your cycle.
Not that I’ve had sex in years to have to worry about that …
The cramp subsides after a few seconds, and I make a mental note to grab some painkillers once I’ve finished getting Noah his lunch—they should keep me going until this evening if I’m still going to take Noah into town since the weather’s nice this Saturday after a week of grey clouds and rain.
Sawyer’s been out on the ranch this morning, checking in, so I thought it might be good to get us both out of his hair for a few hours once he’s back.
I pick up the knife again and manage to spread some peanut butter onto the bread before the next cramp, which also happens to be just as the clop of crutches and well-worn boots comes through the door as Sawyer returns.
‘Afternoon,’ he greets me with, his country drawl thick like molasses—I swear it gets stronger every day, likely from spending more time in Willow Ridge and with all the ranchers as the weeks pass.
Noah’s eyes brighten when Sawyer arrives, and it grabs Sawyer’s attention from me instantly. ‘You looking after Trix for me, buddy?’
‘Yep! She’s playing horses with me.’ He holds up one of the horses from a set of plastic ones Sawyer got him the other day—that man has been spoiling Noah rotten with toys and I don’t know what to think of it.
Trixie doesn’t even look at Sawyer, just continues blinking her big brown eyes at Noah, watching him lovingly. She rarely leaves his side anymore.
Sawyer tuts. ‘You’re stealing my girl, Noah. I’ve got competition.’
My son giggles at him like always but quickly turns back to his horses as Sawyer limps over to me.
He rests his crutches against the island counter, then leans against it with his hip, facing me as I finish off Noah’s sandwich.
Heat tingles up my body, and I look up to catch Sawyer’s eyes raking over me eagerly, then flashing when he finally reaches mine.
I’d say I’ve caught him checking me out, but I’m in a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of old black leggings, not to mention my looming period has made me super bloated, so that’s unlikely.
Though, it’s not too dissimilar to the fervent way he looked at me last weekend when we fell to the ground, a moment I’ve torturously struggled to rid from my mind, even if it can’t mean anything.
Even if the subtle brush of his rough fingers across my face had my heart clashing against my rib cage …
‘Want me to make you one?’ I offer, holding up the plate as I round the island. He’s about to answer when I bang the plate against the counter as pain lances through my abdomen.
‘Hey, hey—’ Sawyer throws out his hand, as if to comfort me, but it never reaches my skin, whatever boldness had him touching me last Sunday has disappeared. ‘You okay, Blue?’
I was dreading this. If I’d thought it through and used my pill to delay my period, I might have made it through this month at Sawyer’s without getting it, but alas, I’m clinging onto the island counter because my uterus is clawing at my insides.
I doubt this is anything he wants to deal with.
I doubt he’s ever spent enough time with a woman to be faced with this scenario.
‘I’m fine,’ I grit out, heaving down a breath. I’ve been soldiering through plenty of bad cramps since having Noah. I’ve had to. You don’t have a choice when your kid needs you. ‘I’ve just got a bad stomach, that’s all.’
‘You got period cramps?’ Sawyer asks plainly.
‘Um …’ I look anywhere but him, plagued by memories of Gray always getting uncomfortable about women’s problems, and the lack of discussion of periods growing up in my house.
‘Blue, sit down.’ Sawyer’s fingers finally connect with my elbow and he steers me to the couch, his hold gentle but commanding.
Taking control when I’m in need. Noah is so entranced by toys, Trixie curled up next to him, that he doesn’t notice my pain, thankfully.
‘You shouldn’t be rushing around if you ain’t feeling good. ’
‘Says you.’ I nod to his leg, the fact that he literally walked me over without using his crutches, putting far too much weight on his still healing leg.
He narrows his eyes at me. Besides, doesn’t he understand—I can’t just stop everything because I’ve got a stomach ache. It doesn’t work like that.
‘I need to finish getting Noah his lunch.’ I try to stand, but Sawyer’s hand is still clasped around my elbow, and he urges me back down. I wonder if he realises how long he’s been holding me. How I have to ignore the faint flutter in my stomach from his touch.
He turns a stern brow to me. ‘What you need is to rest.’
‘Sawyer, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been powering through for years—every woman has to. I’ll be fine.’
Besides, he spends more time with Noah than I expected since we moved in, and I don’t want to be a burden. I felt bad enough sleeping in last weekend, even if him and Noah running around the ranch, laughs loud enough to echo all the way into town, wasn’t the sweetest thing to stumble upon.
Still, children and playing home, it’s not Sawyer’s ideal life, anyone could attest to that.
I’m conscious that he’s probably only letting us stay here because he has the means to—if he hadn’t fallen off that bull, he’d be off on the road, and we’d be staying with my mom.
This isn’t what he had planned, so even if he’s offering the favour of help, I don’t want to force us on him.
‘But you shouldn’t have to, that’s the point.’
I go to protest again, but he carries on, more persistent than I was expecting, ‘I can finish making Noah lunch. I can watch him. You work all week, you cook and clean—you got enough going on. Me? I hobble around on crutches for an hour each day. If anything, it’d help with my boredom. Let me help you, Blue. Please.’
There’s something unspoken in his chestnut eyes as he strengthens the intensity of his gaze on me. A lacing of desperation in his tone. For a final attempt at persuasion, he turns to Noah and asks, ‘You love hanging out with me, don’t ya, buddy?’
‘Hell yeah,’ Noah replies, not even looking over to us.
Sawyer smirks at Noah’s speedy response, raising his brows as if to say, told you so.
‘I promise I won’t teach him any cuss words.’ He confirms such by crossing his finger over his heart, grinning mischievously.
‘I wasn’t worried you would until you said that,’ I say back, furrowing my brow.
Sawyer lets out a hearty chuckle that almost has my toes curling. And then he gently runs his finger down the bridge of my nose, catching me completely off guard and chuckling. ‘Uncrinkle that little nose, Blue. We’ll be fine.’
He pushes up from the couch, offering me his hands to help me up. There always was something too persuasive about that smirk of his, like his dimples had some sort of enchantment and it has me reluctantly taking his hands.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘You need a bath. It’ll be good for that shoulder you’re always rolling and massaging. Can use some of those nice smelling candles I got for your room too.’
I didn’t realise he’d noticed. That’s so … thoughtful.
Eagerly, Sawyer follows me to the stairs, still not using his crutches like he should be, and he presses a hand to the wall to lean against it as I turn to him.
His wide frame looms over me, the little light in the stairwell catching the edges of his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones.
But it’s his broad chest that’s in my eyeline and stretches his white T-shirt a little too well.
Being this close—I’ve been trying to avoid it, especially since last weekend had my body tingling with too much heat when we might as well have been tangled up on the floor.
‘You need any help up there too?’ he suddenly asks.
‘Wh—with getting undressed?’ I sputter out.
‘No—um—’ Sawyer swallows, eyes flaring. Darkening, even in the shadows. They quickly bounce around the walls, anywhere but me. ‘I … I just meant with running the bath.’
‘Oh.’ Heat sears my cheeks. Of course he meant with the bath, you idiot. I squeak out, ‘Nope. All good,’ and rush up the stairs, deciding it’s probably better to be in different rooms for a while.
Okay, I hate to admit it, but this is exactly what I needed.
Steam curls around the edges of the roll top bath, the aromas of lavender from the scented candle I lit fill my senses and lull me into a dreamy state of relaxation.
The hot water soothes every ache in my bones, my cramps dulled to a level that’s much more manageable.
Bubbles tickle the tops of my knees that poke out the water, while Kelsea Ballerini’s latest album plays quietly from my phone.
I remember Sawyer mentioning the bath as a bargaining chip for moving here weeks ago, but this is the first time I’ve used it.
Sometimes I think I’m afraid to let go—I’m so determined to give Noah the best life, to give him all the love he deserves and that I never got, I worry if I’m not always around, especially with how anxious he gets.
At least with my mom, it’s different, because she’s been there since Noah was born, basically replacing Gray as a second parent when he decided he wasn’t cut out for that life just yet.
Although, Noah’s anxiety doesn’t seem to be an issue around Sawyer—he’s practically smitten with the cowboy, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t ease a little stress from my life seeing him come out of his shell more.
Of course it had to be because of the man whose heart I broke.
When I finally decide I’m two minutes away from turning into a prune, I reluctantly climb out of the tub.
They’ve been oddly quiet downstairs, and I wonder if maybe Sawyer’s taken Noah outside to play.
Savouring the plushness of the towel, I dry myself off before donning my bathrobe.
I turn off my music, trying to listen out for some evidence of life downstairs.
Just as I go to open the bathroom door, the house literally shakes with the beginnings of a guitar solo blasting from downstairs.
Then the drums and bass hit, every beat reverberating through my body.
What on earth are they doing down there?
I whisk my way out the bathroom and down the stairs, finally recognising the song as ‘Rock My World (Little Country Girl)’ by Brooks & Dunn.
I’m only a few steps from entering the living area when Sawyer’s lowered voice booms out, ‘Next up we have Willow Ridge’s craziest cowboy. He’s a three times Pbr World Champ—’
‘Five!’ Noah interrupts him.
I hover in the archway as I spot Sawyer sat on the back of the couch, worn felt cowboy hat on his head and a whisk in his hands as a fake microphone.
Ahead of him, the coffee table has been pushed to the fireplace, leaving a large space where an old rocking horse sits beside the table, the edges of the wood gnarled and chipped. Except, it’s not a horse, it’s a cow.
‘My mistake, ladies and gentlemen,’ Sawyer continues into the whisk, still using a deeper voice like the commentators at the rodeos.
He hasn’t noticed me yet, so I lean in the archway, spectating.
‘I can confirm he is actually a five times Pbr World Champion bull rider. All the women want him, and all the men want to be him. He’s still yet to ever fall off a bull.
Put your hands together, for the one, the only, Noah Goldman-Scott! ’
Sawyer tosses the whisk away and claps his hands maniacally, cheering at the top of his lungs as Noah struts out from the kitchen, donned in Sawyer’s bull-riding vest and a cowboy hat, both absolutely dwarfing him. Trixie follows closely behind.
Oh my God. Noah looks so freaking adorable. My cheeks ache from how widely I’m suddenly smiling. As does my heart, when I see the joy sparkling in Noah’s eyes. The surety in himself.
He hates being the centre of attention usually.
Still, seeing him like this, all dressed up and filled with glee, not one bit nervous, it has my eyes welling.
My heart squeezing. Because no one has ever elicited this kind of confidence from him—he’s not afraid to take up space.
Pride radiates from him in waves that crash over me.
‘He’s climbing into the chute,’ Sawyer narrates as Noah scrambles onto the coffee table beside the wooden cow. Above him, the television screen projects a compilation of rodeo videos—bronc riding, bull riding, steer roping—all the events you can imagine.
‘The timer is ready. Will he continue his winning streak and stay on for eight seconds?’
‘Let’s go!’ Noah yells at the top of his lungs and jumps down, immediately climbing onto the wooden cow. He throws his hand up in the air, mimicking the L shape all the bull riders use, while he rocks the cow, holding onto the handles with one hand.
Sawyer counts the seconds, clapping along as Noah rides the wooden cow, the beat of the music punctuating each second.
It’s all recreational, yet my heart still races with anticipation.
When the eight seconds finally hits, Sawyer leaps from the couch, probably more energised than he should considering his bad leg, and grabs Noah by the waist, hoisting him into the air.
He spins around, deep, rumbling laughter barrelling out, as Noah squeals, legs kicking and arms flailing with joy.
But what has my heart melting and me clinging to the archway for dear life is Sawyer’s face as he looks up at Noah.
It’s not a wide grin, but the softest of smiles—all the hardness he likes to portray wiped away by the passion and adoration glistening in his eyes at Noah.
It’s a moment of what could have been. A dreamt-up scene I played in my head tirelessly nine years ago when I tried to convince myself that we might actually work.
What I wish I could’ve given to Noah had Gray never left.
It’s torturous, really. And it only serves to remind me that I need these next couple of weeks to go as quickly as possible. Because I could get used to this. I could fall for the promise of this far too easily, when that was never meant to be for us.