Chapter 13 Ruger
Ruger
I want to say that coming out here was a good idea.
That the crisp air and quiet forest finally gave my brain a chance to settle.
That hiking half a damn mountain and splitting wood until my shoulders burned gave me something else to focus on besides the increasingly dangerous direction my thoughts keep drifting whenever Wrenley St. James is involved.
I’d be lying. None of it worked.
Not the hike. Not the beer. Not the familiar crackle of the fire burning a few feet away from me now.
Not even Brandt, who’s sitting beside me drinking beer, staring into the flames.
Which is saying something because I specifically invited him so I wouldn’t spend the entire night alone in my own head.
This trip has been disturbingly quiet, Brandt says. Even for you.
I take a slow sip of beer. Didn’t realize I had a nightly conversation quota.
Brandt snorts. You don’t. But usually, you at least have something to say.
I’m relaxing.
Bullshit.
I stare back into the fire. Just got a lot on my mind.
Sometimes being a man of few words is a good thing.
Because what I’m thinking about is more than I can tell him.
I just didn’t expect it all to follow me into the woods.
Usually, being out here fixes something in me.
The wilderness has no expectations and no noise, making it an easy place to distance myself from my worries.
Tonight, it feels like there’s not a space far enough that Wrenley won’t follow me.
Wedding stuff? Brandt asks.
Something like that.
You worried about the wedding night? Brandt teases.
I narrow my eyes at him. When’s the last time you had a ‘wedding night’?
Brandt chokes slightly on his beer before covering it with a cough. I raise a brow because that must mean there’s someone, but whoever that someone is, he doesn’t want me to know.
You implying I’m not getting laid? he asks, not recovering as smoothly as he probably thinks.
A part of me wants to try and figure out what he’s hiding, but I worry if I pry too hard, he’ll do the same back. Instead, I go for nonchalance. Absolutely.
I’ll have you know my dick is getting plenty of attention, he says, taking a pull of his beer. But based on the fact that you asked me to come camping in the middle of the week, I’m wondering if I should be worried about yours.
I grimace. I’d prefer if you didn’t think about my dick.
If a best friend can’t worry about his best friend’s dick, who can? he says smoothly, like this is normal conversation.
I blink. I have a fiancée for that.
Those words seem to jump-start my imagination.
Suddenly, I can picture Wrenley in my bed, curls spread across my pillow, while she laughs at something I said before pulling me down on top of her.
Her hands sliding from my neck to my chest, lower and lower.
Heat punches through me, and I take a long pull of my beer in an attempt to cool myself down.
Speaking of your fiancée, why didn’t you invite her camping? Brandt asks.
Not really her thing.
I don’t know if that’s actually true, but if the bats were any indication, she’d probably spend the whole night convinced a bear was about to unzip the tent. However, I can’t deny the idea of sharing a tent with Wrenley sounds pretty damn perfect.
Brandt studies me over the rim of his beer. You missing her?
I immediately scoff. It’s one night.
Didn’t answer the question.
I stare back into the fire, watching sparks drift up into the dark. I don’t know how to tell him that my house feels like something is missing when she’s not there without eventually having to look too closely at why.
I’ve gotten used to having her around, I mutter finally.
She’s volunteering and spending time with Remi.
Don’t get me wrong, I like that she’s finding herself here.
I just… I trail off, unsure how to finish the sentence without drawing too many questions.
But I quickly realize there’s only one way to finish it: I just didn’t expect to notice this much.
Wasn’t it like this with your ex? he asks. You lived with her.
I open my mouth to say yes, but it gets stuck somewhere between my brain and my tongue.
As I think back, I don’t think that’s true.
Sure, I noticed when she wasn’t around, and I missed her, but I never walked into the house and felt like I was suffocating in its silence.
I never drove into the wilderness, hoping to clear my head, only to spend the entire damn time thinking about her anyway.
I don’t know, I admit.
Brandt raises an eyebrow. You don’t know?
I shake my head. No.
I feel Brandt’s eyes on me. I take a drink of my beer, trying to keep from looking at him, worried that if I do, something is going to slip out. And that something could tip Brandt off.
Well, maybe you two need to get out of town for a weekend, he says. Go up to Anchorage.
I look at him. To do what?
Have an unreasonable amount of sex without worrying someone’s going to knock on your door, Brandt says.
I shake my head and huff a laugh.
I’m serious. He points his beer at me. Forget the wedding for a couple days. Forget work. Forget all of it. He shrugs. Take her to a fabric store. You said she likes sewing, right? Hell, take her to a movie or a museum or, damn, even a restaurant that doesn’t have porcupine on the menu.
She might like porcupine, I say, realizing it’s one of the few meats I hunt that I haven’t fed her yet and try to remember if I have some in the freezer.
Not the point. Brandt breaks my thoughts.
Then what is?
Brandt looks me dead in the eye. The point is that instead of sitting here with me, missing your girl, you could actually do something about it.
He takes a long drink, then with this strange, almost scholarly look in his eyes he adds, The best relationships are built on honest communication.
Life gets a lot easier when you stop expecting people to read your mind.
How would you know? You’ve never been in a relationship as long as I’ve known you.
Because every woman I’ve ever dated knew exactly what she was getting into, he says.
And what’s that?
He flashes a grin. A good time and a disappointing future.
I chuckle because it’s so Brandt to say something like that. I know he’s downplaying the truth that his family holds high expectations for him, which is why he escapes every summer and fall up here.
Scared they’ll find out you’re the spare heir of a giant cattle ranch and only want you for your money? I joke.
Brandt frames his chin with his empty hand. With these dark, beautiful eyes? The ranch is meaningless.
I shake my head. You’re an idiot.
A handsome idiot.
Debatable.
And I’m not the spare, he says. I’m supposed to work alongside my brother.
His grin slips a little. Brandt jokes about Montana the same way I joke about feelings. It’s armour against the things neither of us wants to talk about.
I’ll think about Anchorage, I say.
Brandt settles back in his chair. Good.
The conversation drifts after that to hunting season, the outfitter, and everything I’m missing at camp.
It’s all normal conversation, things I can talk about without much thought.
Which is probably why my mind slips to the idea of Anchorage.
We’d talked briefly about it weeks ago, with the idea of getting stuff for the wedding.
I suppose we still could, but leaving Alpine Harbor with Wrenley, just the two of us, settles deep and unshakable.
It could be a real chance to get to know her.
To see if whatever is going on in my head is truly about Wrenley or just the product of getting used to having her in my house.
As I half listen to a story about a tourist getting stuck in the outhouse, I realize my mind feels a little quieter because I’m no longer fighting thinking about Wrenley.