Fifty-four
Peter
Sarah’s head rested against my left shoulder, her heavy breathing indicating she’d fallen into a deep, comfortable sleep.
One of her arms rested on my lap, our fingers entwined.
Our legs were pressed together—from our hips to our ankles, and the proximity made it hard for me to breathe.
In a good way. Since she’d fallen asleep, I’d probably kissed her forehead a dozen times. I couldn’t stop myself.
On the other side of me was a snoring Wren who had my index finger in a death grip. Both of my arms were starting to tingle, but I didn’t move. For miles, Bea and I stayed quiet.
Eventually, I broke the silence. “Bea?”
“Yeah?” She said softly.
“Sarah said she’s staying in the fifth wheel.”
“Yes,” Bea confirmed.
“She told me she wanted a redo of our week together at Meadowbrook. I’ll need some time off.”
Bea giggled. “Peter, you working the ranch was just to get you out of bed. You do not have to report for work tomorrow, I promise.”
“Okay.” Then I asked the question that had been pressing on my mind. “Does Sarah look…sick or something?”
“Why are you asking?”
I shook my head, hating all the things I’d noticed in the last couple hours.
“There’s a lot of reasons. But we hugged, and she feels thin to me.
Her voice sounds funny, scratchy or strained or something.
And her energy is low—it’s more than just being tired, I think.
Her presence is…small. I don’t know how to describe it. ”
I didn’t tell Bea that for as long as I’d known Sarah, she’d never cleaned her plate at a restaurant.
She always had to get a to-go box for her leftovers.
But tonight, she devoured the generous portions and had about half of my fries.
She must’ve been starving because I’d never known my wife to eat like that.
Bea took a long deep breath, and the way she hesitated made my heart drop into my stomach like a concrete block. “She looks really worn down, Peter.”
“Like how?” My chest tightened. “Describe it.”
“I’m not going to lie to you. Hollie and I were pretty shocked at how much weight she’s dropped in a month.
There are deep circles under her eyes and her eyelids look swollen like she’s been crying a lot.
I think that might be why her voice sounds weird, too.
She looks pale and just…overall, like she stopped taking care of herself.
People do that when they get depressed.”
“You think she’s been depressed?”
“I don’t think you can judge that by just looking at someone, but yeah, maybe.”
That tracked with what I could sense. “I want to plan some stuff for the two of us to do together, but maybe she should just rest and eat for a few days.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
After that, silence permeated the truck until the tires spit gravel on the driveway.
As we bounced up the long drive, Sarah’s head sagged off my shoulder, her body tipping forward.
I reached up, wrapping my arm around her shoulders to keep her upright.
Bea drove past the big house, past the cabins, rolling to a stop in front of the fifth wheel.
When the truck’s motion quit, Wren woke up.
Sarah didn’t.
Stuck in the middle, I tapped her shoulder. “Sarah.”
Her heavy breaths soldiered on.
“We’re here Sarah.”
Her head lulled as I gave her a light shake.
“Dang. She’s out cold,” Bea said from the front seat.
“Is there anything in the passenger’s seat?”
“No. It’s empty. Why?”
“I’m coming out that way.”
Chuckling, Bea opened her door and got out.
I tucked Sarah against the window instead of me then climbed over the center console, crouching down to fit through the space.
Bracing my hand on the dash, I opened the door and hopped to the gravel.
I knew as soon as I opened the door, Sarah would either fall out or wake up so I opened it slowly, sticking my hand through to hold her up.
She stirred as the door opened, her muscles activating.
“Are we here?” She whispered.
“Yeah, we’re here.”
She didn’t move.
Man, I wished I could see her. No matter how many details I listened for, I would never hear dark circles, tired eyes, or pale skin. And I hated that fact with my entire soul.
I reached into the truck, tapping the release on her seatbelt. “I’m going to carry you, alright?”
She must’ve been awake enough to hear me because she looped her arms around my neck, tightening them.
I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her to the edge of the seat.
Her legs curled around me like they were spring-loaded, quickly settling over my hips.
The koala-style hold put us face-to-face and chest-to-chest and I fought like hell not to grope her.
Her squeezing thighs made desire bolt through my torso.
I hadn’t realized she was wearing skinny jeans until just now, and I loved when she wore them. They made her look so lithe, all-leg.
The temptation to press her onto the nearest flat surface…
I realized I’d stopped breathing. So I puffed out a breath, forcing my brain not to completely derail.
But I wanted her. What an idiot I was to deny her touch for so long.
I bit down on my bottom lip, forcing myself not to dwell on the should haves and instead focus on what I could do right now.
Which was love Sarah, exactly where she was.
With everything I had. And everything I didn’t.
So I stopped thinking about what I couldn’t see.
And leaned into what I could sense instead.
I asked Bea, “Where are the stairs?”
Ahead of me, she tapped the bottom step with her foot. “Right here.”
I angled my body toward the sound, whispering my thanks as I stepped onto the metal stair and eased through the door, turning my body so I could carry Sarah through the narrow opening.
Bea didn’t enter. “Hollie texted me. She’s going to bring some food down in the morning. I’m taking Wren to bed.” She seemed to hesitate. “Do you want a ride to the bunkhouse?”
“Uh, no. I’ll go back on my own. Thank you.”
“Okay.” Her voice held a smile. “I love you.”
“Love you too, sis.”
With that, she softly closed the door and I made my way through the fifth wheel to the back bedroom.
As always, the fifth wheel smelled of fruit and cleaning supplies.
The bedroom door was narrower than the front door and I accidentally bumped Sarah’s leg on the frame as I tried to smash us through.
She stirred again, lifting her head with a sharp breath.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
When the mattress bumped against my knees, I eased her down.
For a few long seconds, she held me captive there, her ankles crossed behind my spine and her arms around my head.
Her warm breath on my neck sent chills down my arms. I forced a groan back into my throat, forced my hips not to move, forced my weight not to sink into her.
When I braced my palms on the bed and pushed away, her limbs unlaced, falling to the mattress. “Can you take my pants off?” Her voice tripped over the words, lips mumbling.
I had to bite back my laugh and the comeback burning my tongue.
I would gladly take off her pants.
And even though I started the task with a chuckle lifting from my mouth, a very profound sense of purpose hit me as I slipped off her shoes and socks.
My fingers located the button and zipper on her jeans then slowly shimmied the tight denim off the swell of her hips.
Sixteen years of history thrummed between us.
God only knew how many times I’d completely fumbled, but she was still here.
Still putting her heart in my hands. Still allowing me to care for her. Still trusting that I would see her.
See her in a way that didn’t require two working eyes.
And I was—finally.
After far too long of seeing no one but myself, I saw the woman I loved.
I felt the warmth of her determination and love.
The forgiveness and second chances brimming in her heart.
The hope for the future burning in her soul.
And I sensed the darkness in her, too—the fear hiding in her shadows.
The worry that her love wouldn’t be enough to bring me back.
The fact that she relived her childhood nightmares right inside the four walls of our home.
I’m here, Sarah. I wanted to say the words aloud but I didn’t. I see you.
A lump rose in my throat.
I’m so sorry I ever stopped seeing you.
There would be a time to tell her that. And I hoped it came quickly because the stifled words sat in my chest like a heavy boulder. I needed to say them. For her sake. But also for mine.
I slipped my finger under the jean’s tight ankle hem and tugged the fabric over her heel, denying my desire to explore and touch. The sound of denim whisking over her skin was torture enough.
“You want your sweater off, too?”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed. Air moved as she lifted her hands above her head and flopped them on the pillows.
Leaning sideways over her, my fingers latched onto the hem and pulled upward.
She arched her back then lifted her shoulders so I could bunch the knit and direct it over her head.
Then I folded back the top cover so she could crawl between the sheets.
No sooner had her head hit the pillow than her soft, deep breaths filled the quiet space between us.
For a moment, I just sat there, listening.
I hoped every deep breath would heal her a little.
Then I debated what to do. Walking up to the bunkhouse seemed like the honorable thing. But, if I did that, she could wake up and need something. And I didn’t want her to feel alone. Or maybe that was the line I fed myself to justify staying because I couldn’t bear walking away.
After I folded her clothes and stacked them on the end of the bed, I meandered into the fifth wheel’s living room and stretched out on the couch, tucking my hands behind my head like a pillow. It was only eight thirty or so, but her presence hit my nervous system like a sedative.
And I drifted off to sleep in minutes.
I didn’t even bother taking off Harlan’s uncomfortable boots.