21 #2
Maybe it’s her hand wrapped in mine that makes me agree. Maybe it’s her wild and hopeless eyes that tell me she won’t be okay. Maybe I’m just a sucker.
Of course, I’m a fucking sucker.
I’ve always been a sucker for Fallon McGraw.
But I also know her.
She needs riding to survive. She’ll never accept no. She’s strong. She’s a cowboy. She’ll try again. With or without me. Which means, it has to be with . Because nothing can happen to her. Not again.
It’s my chance to make up for the last three years. To be there. To support her like I damn well should have from the beginning. The sad, desperate truth of the matter is I missed her so much I’ll do anything to keep her in my orbit.
Everyone will want to kill me after this, but I take a deep breath, and say, “Okay. I’ll help you.”
A spark of light returns to her eyes. “You will?” That fierce flare of life in her eyes is what I crave. Tells me I’ve made the right decision.
“I will. But not right away.” She snaps open her mouth to argue, but I level a stern look at her and she closes it. “We train when I say it’s time. Not you. You don’t ask questions. You don’t bitch. You just fuckin’ listen.”
Her pretty face settles into its typical complacent coolness. “Okay. I will.”
I sit there, pissed off about how she just convinced me to train her, pissed off that I have no goddamn willpower when it comes to this woman.
Fallon knocks her shoulder to mine. I look down at those fierce hazel eyes, look down at our linked fingers, and my heart tumbles.
A rare smile flits across Fallon’s face. “Looks like we have another secret.”
“Great,” I mutter, my gaze flicking to Ford and Charlie burning up rubber across the pasture. Our families will kill us. Again.
I jolt awake and look at the clock on the nightstand.
Awake. I’m awake for a reason.
I lie there, in the silence, the dark, waiting. My mind races.
After a long day at the ranch, Fallon crashed when we got back to her cottage. I spent the evening with a glass of whiskey and an idea in my head before I barely drifted off myself.
I’m shoving back the covers to sit up when a scream pierces the night.
Blood-curdling terror.
Fallon.
Fuck. Fuck.
I vault from bed and launch myself into the hallway. I race across the hall and slam into her bedroom.
Fallon sobs, twisting in the sheets. She screams again, and it vibrates my skull, lances my heart, and carves up every piece of me.
Heart hammering, I drop on the bed beside her. Her face is white as death. I grip her shoulders and hang on. “Fallon. Wake up.”
Like she’s heard me, her eyes shoot open. “Wyatt,” she gasps, reaching for me.
I gather her shaking body in my arms and crush her against me. “Baby, you’re okay.”
She loops her arms around my neck, a stranglehold as she trembles. “Fuck. Fuck.”
I hold her tight, letting her shake in my arms. When her body relaxes, I pull away from her, cupping her face to test her temperature. All her gorgeous angles, high cheekbones, rest in the palm of my hand.
Beautiful. So goddamn beautiful.
Inhaling a deep breath, I wipe a thumb over her damp cheek. “You were crying.”
“I don’t cry.” Her voice is ragged.
I chuckle. “Of course, you don’t.”
I lay her back down in the pillows then grab a towel from the bathroom and wipe the sweat from her brow, her chest. Her tears are drying up, her breathing steady now.
“Fuck this leg,” Fallon hisses, adjusting herself. Her sleep shirt slips up, revealing nude panties, her trim stomach, long, lean legs covered in a violent tapestry of tattoos. A pang goes through me when I see her scars. One on her stomach, one on her thigh from her surgery.
I open her nightstand drawer, trying not to stare. “You need a pill?”
She grits her teeth, shakes her head. “No.”
Stubborn woman. She acts like she doesn’t need anyone while fighting every demon alone.
“Have it your way, then.” I move toward the door.
“Wyatt.” Her voice stops me. “Will you…will you stay with me?” she asks with a hint of defiance in her tone.
Stay . That one word has me on my knees.
I take a step toward her. “You sure?”
Her eyes blaze. “I asked, didn’t I?”
Before she can change her mind, I cross the room. I swear she isn’t breathing as I slip beneath the covers and gather her in my arms, pressing my front to her back.
“This is like old times, huh?” she murmurs.
It is. The dark. The dropped defenses. Fallon, soft, sweet for a fleeting time.
Fully awake now, fully hard, I sweep my mouth over the curve of her neck, her shoulder. “Yeah, it is. But it sure beats a cheap Vegas motel room.”
She laughs. “Don’t forget roach infested.” Then she warns, “No kissing.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
A lie. I’ve fantasized about kissing Fallon more than I care to admit. Cupping her face and pressing my lips to hers. The way her mouth tastes, sharp and sweet and of honey and whiskey. How I’d hold her and drink her up in the worst way.
I stroke a hand through her hair and ask, “Aiden again?”
“No. It was a nightmare, but it wasn’t about Aiden. It’s someone else,” she murmurs sleepily. “Someone else is trying to get me.”
I tuck her tighter against me. “No one will get you. No one will ever get you again.” I know what dark thing haunts Fallon’s soul. It haunts mine as well.
“I think it’s about my accident. But I don’t think it was an accident.”
I frown. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
She shakes her head, like she’s said too much, then says, “I don’t know. Just wishful thinking, I guess.”
She takes my hand, examining the scar on my knuckles. “What’s this from?”
When I hesitate, she rolls over to face me. “C’mon, you know all of mine.” She gestures at the silver scar on her jaw. “Barbwire.”
I swallow, say, “It’s from Gavin. That night.”
A quiet falls over us. She traces her tattooed fingers over the scar. “Do you regret it? Letting him die?”
“No.” My voice is soft. “I thought I would, but…it’s like a domino effect.
Reese goes, Ford goes, then Davis, then Charlie, then me.
I couldn’t let that happen.” Everything in me churns and twists, but I go on, my voice hardening.
“I did it for my brother. I did it because I never got to beat the shit out of Aiden, and it seemed like the next best thing at the time.”
A flicker of sadness crosses Fallon’s expression. “I don’t want you to have that guilt, Wyatt.”
“I didn’t protect you,” I say bitterly. “And I should have.”
Her lips curve. “That wasn’t your job.”
“It is now,” I rasp, pressing a kiss to her brow.
Fallon tries to shake her head, her eyes fluttering. “You worry too much…”
“Shhh.” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Go to sleep.”
She grumbles something in disagreement, but she’s already fading.
I lie there, awake, listening to the heavy rhythm of her breath, her heart. Guilt, darkness swirls inside of me. Nothing will stop me from protecting Fallon. This woman who means everything to me.