Chapter 7 Carson
SEVEN
CARSON
I watch from the porch as Devlin’s taillights disappear down to his house, Atlee’s hand visible through the passenger window as she waves goodbye.
It’s really stupid that I’m even watching, but I desperately need a cigarette, and I decided a long time ago I wouldn’t be smoking inside.
The evening has settled around us, and even though it’s cold, I’m thankful for the clarity of the night.
Reaching into my pocket, I grab my hard pack of Marlboros out and beat the lid against the heel of my hand before I open it and fish one out. Lifting it to my mouth, I flick the lighter and inhale deeply. The nicotine runs through my body, calming me down, and I blow the smoke away from Lennon.
She stands beside me, her arms wrapped around herself against the chill.
She’s been quieter since her sister left.
What the fuck is going on in that head of hers, I’d kill to know.
She keeps things so closely guarded, and while I’m used to that with myself, I’m typically able to get others to open up to me.
I take another drag off the cigarette. I’m done with guessing.
She’s going to start being honest with me.
“We need to talk,” I say, turning to face her. I take the final pull off my cigarette and then ash it on the rail.
She looks up, surprise flickering across her features. “About what?”
“About you trying to keep things from me,” I say in a no-nonsense manner that she has yet to hear from me.
I’m trying to let her know that I understand, but if she wants me to be there for her, I have to know what’s going on.
“From now on, no more secrets. No matter what it is, I’m going to be there for you. You understand that?”
Her jaw tightens with the stubborn set to her chin that I’m already learning means she’s about to argue. “Carson, I don’t expect you to—”
“I don’t care what you expect.” I step closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes.
“This isn’t about your expectations, sweetheart.
This is about the fact that someone is threatening you, and you’re living under my roof.
That makes you my responsibility.” One I’ll gladly take on as my own.
The more I don’t have to think about what happened to me, the better off I am.
“I’m nobody’s responsibility,” she argues. “I’m responsible for myself, and I’ve never relied on anyone else.”
“Wrong.” I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, tilting my voice slightly lower so that it isn’t so strong. “You’re mine. At least until this is over. Maybe longer, if you’ll let me.” I don’t mean for those words to come out the way they do, but at the same time, I don’t regret them.
She’s quiet for a long moment, her gaze searching mine. Finally, she sighs, stepping further into the curve of my body. “I’m resigned to whatever is going to keep me safe while Shawn and I work on this case. If that means staying here, following your rules, then that’s what I’ll do.”
It’s not exactly a declaration of trust, but it’s a start. I’ll take it.
“Good.” I sigh, wrapping one arm around her neck. “Tomorrow, after I pick you up from work, we’re going to your apartment. You can grab whatever you need—clothes, toiletries, anything that’ll make you more comfortable here.”
“What about my car?” she asks. “I should probably get it off the side of the road before someone reports it or it gets towed.”
“Already taken care of. I had it brought to my mechanic this morning. New tire is on, and he’s checking everything else to make sure it’s road-worthy.”
She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I did.” I lean against the porch railing, bringing her with me.
Here in the low light of the kitchen windows, it’s easier to study her.
“Here’s the thing, Lennon. I know you’re independent.
I know you’re used to handling shit yourself.
But you need to understand something. I can’t fucking protect you if I’m not with you, and I can’t protect you if I don’t know what all you’re fighting against. That means even making sure the car you drive is safe. ”
“So I’m never going to be able to drive myself?” There’s a note of frustration in her voice. “I don’t want to interrupt your days too much, Carson. You have a ranch to work, responsibilities—”
“We talked about this already. Stop trying to get me to say the opposite. None of that matters more than keeping you safe.” I cut her off, my voice harder than I intended.
“I don’t mind helping you. Truth is, I want to.
If something happened to you while I was off somewhere else…
” I trail off, the thought making my stomach hurt.
“Be honest with me, sweetheart. Trust me.”
She’s quiet, and when she finally speaks, her voice is small. It’s full of strength, but small when she says the words, almost as if she’s afraid of saying them too loudly. “Sheriff Reagan. It’s Sheriff Reagan.”
The admission makes my stomach drop. I knew whoever it was would be powerful, but I never thought this. Hearing it confirmed sends a cold fury through my veins for the people he’s hurting, and fear for Lennon.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For trusting me with that.”
She nods, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.
The temperature has dropped with the sun, and I can see her shivering despite her jacket.
I pull her into my body, putting my arms around her.
It takes longer than I like for her to wrap hers around my waist, but she finally does, resting against me.
“You want to go out back?” I ask, changing the subject to something less heavy. “Have a beer and sit around the bonfire? I make one most nights. Just something to keep my mind from getting overtaken by all the anxiety and stress.”
She rests her head on my chest before lifting it. A smile tugs at her lips, the first genuine one I’ve seen. “That actually sounds perfect.”
I grab a couple of beers from the fridge while she waits on the porch, then lead her around to the back of the house, where I’ve got a fire pit set up.
The wood from the last one I built is still there, and since it isn’t completely burned, it doesn’t take me long to get this one going.
Within minutes, flames are crackling against the darkness, sending sparks spiraling up toward the star-filled sky.
We settle into the Adirondack chairs I’ve positioned around the pit, close enough to feel the warmth but far enough to avoid the smoke.
I learned that the first night I tried this and almost smoked myself out.
Lennon takes a long pull from her beer, her profile outlined by firelight, and I’m struck by how hot she is, even doing these mundane things.
“This is nice,” she says softly. “It’s so peaceful compared to where I live.
My upstairs neighbor stomps around like he has elephant feet.
Some nights I have to sleep with earplugs.
I’ve been craving some peace and quiet, so maybe it’s meant to be that I would come out here.
Maybe this is exactly what I’ve needed.”
“It’s my favorite part of the day,” I admit. “Gives me time to think and just let go of all the shit. Y’know, process all of it.” I give her a wink.
She turns to look at me, the firelight dancing in her eyes as she takes another drink. “Do you do a lot of processing?”
“More than I used to.” I take a drink, considering how much to share.
“Before Noah, I didn’t think much about…
well, anything, really. Just lived day to day, did my work, had my fun.
But being held hostage changes how you look at life.
I thought I was gonna die,” I admit. She’s the first one I’ve admitted this to.
“Makes you think about what matters. What you’re willing to put up with and what you want out of life. ”
“I can imagine.” Her voice is gentle and understanding in a way that makes me think she knows more about trauma than she’s let on. That it’s more than just what she’s seen in some file.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, the fire popping and crackling between us.
I’m hyperaware of her presence, of every small movement she makes.
When she shifts in her chair, tucking her legs underneath her, I notice.
When she shivers slightly, I notice that too.
Every single part of my body does, and I wish we were sitting closer to one another.
“You cold?” I ask.
“A little,” she admits. “But the fire helps.”
“Come here.” The words are out before I can stop myself.
She hesitates, and for a moment I think she’s going to tell me no. Then she stands, beer still in hand, and moves to stand in front of me. There’s barely enough room for both of us, but she settles onto the arm of the chair, close enough that I can smell her shampoo.
“Better?” I ask, my voice coming out way rougher than it should.
“Much.” She takes another sip of her beer, her free hand resting on my shoulder for balance.
The touch sends electricity through my body.
I’ve wanted this woman since the first time I saw her at the Rusty Spur, when she looked at me like she didn’t have the time of day for me.
But I’ve held back, knowing she needed time, needed to trust me first. Even back then, the wounded animal vibes came off her in waves.
Now, though, with her so close, that control is at the end of its rope.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, her voice barely audible over the fire.
“Anything.”
“Why do you sleep on the couch?”
The question catches me off guard. I should have known she’d notice, but hearing it stated so plainly makes my chest tight, like she sees much more of me than I want anyone to.
“What makes you think I sleep on the couch?” I deflect, taking a drink from my bottle.
She gives me a look that says she’s not buying my bullshit. “Carson, I’ve been in the house for a couple of days. I’ve seen the blankets and pillow on the couch every morning. I’m not stupid.”
I set my beer down on the ground beside the chair, buying myself time to try to answer. The truth is complicated and embarrassing for a man who prides himself on being able to deal with anything that comes my way.
“Since Noah…” I finally say, the words coming slowly. “I have a hard time sleeping at night. The bedroom feels…it feels too closed in. Too small. Like the walls are closing in on me.”
Her hand tightens on my shoulder, and it causes my throat to burn.
“So I sleep on the couch,” I continue. “Where I can see the whole room. Where there’s more space. It’s stupid, I know…”
“It’s not stupid.” Her voice is fierce and protective. “Trauma does that. It makes you need things that might not make sense to anyone else, but they make perfect sense to you.”
I look up at her, seeing my own pain reflected in her eyes, and realize she’s speaking from experience.
“You understand,” I say. It’s not a question.
“Better than you know.” She’s quiet for a moment, then does something that stops my heart. She slides off the arm of the chair and settles into my lap, her body warm and perfect against mine. “Maybe I can help.”
My arms come around her automatically, holding her close. “Lennon—”
“Maybe you can come sleep with me,” she says softly, her breath warm against my neck. “I’ll hold you while you get a good night’s sleep. If that’s what you want. I know how hard it is to sleep at night.”
I should say no. I should maintain distance between us while all this shit is going on with the sheriff. But the offer is everything I’ve wanted since I met her.
“You don’t have to do that,” I manage, even as my arms tighten around her.
“I want to.” She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes searching mine. “I understand having issues with sleep, with feeling safe. Maybe we can help each other.”
Before I can respond, before I can talk myself out of it, she leans in and kisses me.
The world narrows to the point where our lips meet. She tastes like beer and a whole bunch of sweetness. My hand comes up to cup her face, deepening the kiss, and she responds with a soft sound that makes heat pool in my gut.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, the fire forgotten.
“Upstairs?” she whispers against my lips.
I should say no. I should be the responsible one here. But as I look into her eyes, seeing trust there, I know I’m lost.
“Yeah,” I murmur, standing with her still in my arms. “Upstairs.”
The fire can burn itself out. Right now, all I care about is this woman in my arms and the promise of a night where, maybe, I can finally get some good sleep.