62
I lean in the doorway, watching Wyatt make the bed. Our bed.
The sheet billows into the air then is snapped crisply on top of the mattress. While Wyatt works, I drink him in. Bare-chested and tan. The lean muscles of his back ripple as he smooths a hand over the sheets. Gray sweatpants sit low on the V of his hips.
I’m one damn lucky woman.
The floor creaks as I use my cane to limp his way. “I like this look on you. Sexy bed-maker.”
Hearing me, he glances over his shoulder, makes a face at my cane. “It’s fuckin’ insane you kept that.”
I give him a flat look then glance down. “She’s trusty as fuck. You think I’m getting rid of her?”
His face clouds, and I silently curse myself for bringing it up.
He hasn’t been the same since that night. Always watching me too closely, with so much worry it hurts my heart.
“I’m sorry.” I palm his stubbled cheek, whisk my fingers over the week-old growth. “Wy, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Wyatt’s blue eyes break from mine, and he blows out a long breath. “It’s been a bitch to get over.”
It has.
But we’re on the mend. Wyatt and I were both cleared at our last doctor’s appointments. He’s had headaches for a week, and my nightmares have now morphed from Aiden to Tripp.
It was Tripp who drugged the drinks at the arcade. He had been slowly stealing from Zeke’s Hardware to carry out his master plan. In his twisted brain, Tripp created this whole world where it was just me and him. He saw trying to take care of me as the ultimate expression of his love.
“You’re okay, and I’m okay,” I remind him. “And we’ll be fucking okay.”
Wyatt chuckles. “Wise words.”
“Very wise.” I loop my arms around his neck and crush my mouth to his. Wyatt groans, banding his arms around my waist and melting into me.
“Baby,” he rasps against my ear. My cheeks flush as he nips at my throat. “My beautiful, girl. My fucking beautiful girl.”
“We’re alone,” I whimper, aching for him. “For once.”
“Fucking finally,” he growls, picking me up so fast I yelp.
Ever since our kidnapping, our siblings have been a full-throttle force.
Everyone’s still rattled. Too rattled to restrain themselves from checking in every hour of every day.
With food. Or flowers. Or instructions to take it easy.
Well-meaning, but after a week of keeping my distance from Wyatt, no more.
We’re a mess of frantic hands and fevered kisses. My hands shift across his broad chest as our mouths fuse and we strip each other bare.
“I need you,” I gasp, dropping my hand to his cock of steel.
“Fuck,” he moans as I stroke. “You have me, Fallon. Always.”
He kisses me, slow, diving deep into my mouth. I dig my nails into the meat of his shoulders. I need this physical connection. Need him like I need air. The way this man has me in shambles. I feel feral every time I’m away from him.
I love him in a way I don’t think I can ever name. I would have died for him. Over and over again. Soul desperate and feral.
“Need you,” he rasps hoarsely. “Need you so goddamn much, baby.” Big hand on the nape of my neck, Wyatt guides me to the dresser. Bends me over.
I cry out as he buries himself to the root, falling forward on top of me.
We fuck like animals. Hard. In heat. Horny as fuck. Skin slapping skin, Wyatt whispers in my ear, “I love you, Fallon. I fucking love you, Trouble.”
I gasp at the tightening in my core. “I love you.”
His hands cup my breasts, tugging at my nipple, as he sinks deeper and thrusts. Pressure builds between us, until every muscle in our bodies is shaking.
Wyatt roars his release.
I scream his name, shattering around him.
We come together, pulse after pulse. Wyatt drapes his front over my back, burying his face in my neck and whispering my name. His heart pounds against mine.
Slowly, we unpeel from each other, a sweaty tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. We dress quickly, and I try to focus on what I had planned to do before getting caught up in my husband’s kiss.
“I’m going for a ride.” I arch a brow. “You game?”
He frowns, unhappy, and I smother a smirk. If Wyatt ever lets me out of his sight again, it’ll be a miracle.
Then he sighs, tugs on his jeans. “Can’t. Gotta head to the ranch and help out my brothers.” He sighs. “We’re haulin’ some shit up to Bozeman.”
I rest a hand on his arm. “Do you feel up for that?”
He nods. “Gotta move on, right? Back to life?”
“You’re right.” I squeeze his hand. Ever since our attack, we’ve been busy making plans. Life’s too short, and we’re not waiting. For anything.
He tucks me into his arms. “You go ride, baby, but—”
I smooth his bunched brow. “Don’t worry, ninety miles an hour or bust.”
He rolls his eyes. Kisses my forehead. “Be safe.”
I soften. For him, anything. “I will. Promise.”
I kiss him one last time then pull on my favorite brown boots before disappearing out of the house.
I saddle up Lawless and take her into a trot in the frost-covered field.
The sun is shining. The wind is brisk. The grass crunches beneath Lawless’s hooves.
Almost unconsciously, my eyes drift across the street. Tripp’s house. That night.
I came close to losing everything. Including Wyatt.
It makes my blood run cold to remember. Wyatt screaming my name. Tripp’s blood. His touch. But every day it’s getting easier. Thanks to Wyatt. My husband who never lets me fall apart. Who has always fought for me.
Finally, I force my eyes away from the crime scene tape and snap the reins.
Lawless chuffs. My heart hammers. She’s ready. So am I. We race, icy air slicing at our faces. We ride the sky until we come to the outskirts of town. In the distance, Meadow Mountain. The scent of pine fills my nose.
I steady Lawless, taking it all in. The wild, fucked-up life of mine.
My phone pings. I pull it from my knapsack and scoff at the DM in my Instagram messages.
I still got you beat.
It’s from Cole Weston. Only this time, it’s not a fake account. The username is WestonWhiskey. Location Tempest, Montana.
Smiling, I message him back. You just let me know where and when to kick your ass.
I pocket my phone. Then I snap the reins and ride Lawless back to the cottage. Back to where my entire life awaits.
Under that big blue never-ending sky.