31
Gordon had a hard time concentrating after the storage shed.
That was a problem because cattle drive preparations required concentration.
Rope had to be counted. First aid kits had to be checked. Water bags had to be stacked. Feed, tools, tarps, spare tack, lantern batteries, bedroll straps, portable stoves, and a dozen other things had to be hauled, sorted, and delivered where they belonged.
Gordon did the work.
He just had to keep reminding his mind where it was.
Because every time he lifted a box, he remembered Talia’s hands on him.
Every time he bent to check something off the list, he remembered her pressed between him and the wall.
Every time he climbed into the back of the truck to move supplies, he remembered the way she had looked at him afterward, startled and soft and no longer able to pretend nothing had changed.
He smiled before he could stop himself.
Then he caught himself smiling and tried to bury it.
That did not work either.
It had felt right.
That was the thought he kept coming back to, the one that settled deep in his chest and refused to be chased off by caution or fear.
Being with Talia had felt right.
Not only good.
Good was too small a word and too easy to misunderstand. There were all kinds of things a man could call good and not want to remember in the light of day.
This was different.
There had been heat. Lord, there was heat. Gordon still felt half singed by it. But beneath that was something else. Something steadier. A recognition he did not have words for yet.
He had only been with one other person before Talia.
Some lot lizard his brothers paid and dared him to say no.
The girl didn’t seem to care. She wanted the cash.
They had shoved a condom in his hand and told him to bring it to them for proof that he’d gone the whole way with her.
He’d barely been fifteen years old. The punishment for failure would have been worse than the act, so he did what they wanted.
That memory rose without invitation, sharp around the edges, carrying voices he did not want to hear.
Beau laughing. Logan pushing. The ugly pressure of brothers who thought manhood was something they could force a boy to prove.
A situation he had not wanted, not really.
A moment dressed up as experience and soaked in shame.
Gordon stopped where he stood, one hand resting on the edge of the truck bed.
No.
He closed his eyes briefly and pushed the thought away.
He would not let Beau and Logan have this too.
He would not let them crawl into the memory of Talia’s mouth, Talia’s trust, Talia’s body wrapped around his like she had chosen him with every breath. He could not change what had happened back then. He could not unlive it.
But he could refuse to let it taint what he had shared with her.
So he took a breath, opened his eyes, and went back to work.
By the time he and Talia returned to the main house, the sun had shifted past midday. They had missed lunch without meaning to. Or maybe they had meant to miss it and neither was willing to admit the reason they had lost track of time.
Talia had stood near the kitchen entrance, looking composed again, almost too composed.
“I need to clean up,” she said. “Then I’m going to work on the article until dinner.”
Gordon nodded because nodding was safer than saying what he wanted to say.
A part of him feared that if he let her go too quickly, she would spend the whole afternoon building excuses.
That she would sit in the lavender suite, alone with her laptop, and reduce what had happened between them into stress, attraction, opportunity, poor judgment, or any other neat little explanation that would help her walk it back before dinner.
He did not want to trap her.
He did not want to push.
But he did not want her to hide from it either.
“Okay,” he said.
She looked at him, and he saw the same unease in her eyes. Not regret. He did not think it was regret.
Fear.
That, he understood.
She turned toward the guest suite and Gordon forced himself to let her go.
He unloaded everything he had brought back for the cattle drive.
Supplies were stacked where they needed to be.
Lists were checked and rechecked. Cody came by to ask about the tarps.
Dwight checked on the halters. Earl reminded Gordon that one of the lanterns needed new casing, and Gordon promised he would look at it before the day was done.
He worked.
He answered.
He moved.
And under all of it, Talia remained.
After the last box was hauled and the truck bed cleared, Gordon headed into the main house for water.
The kitchen smelled like dinner beginning long before dinner was ready.
Elise stood at the counter with flour on one hand and a knife in the other, chopping onions like they had offended her.
Earl sat at the table peeling potatoes, slow and steady, a bowl on one side and the pile of skins on the other.
Gordon went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.
“You eat lunch?” Elise asked without looking up.
Gordon paused. “No, ma’am.”
“I knew it.”
“I was working.”
“You were doing more than working, judging by that face.”
Gordon turned slowly.
Earl did not look up from his potato, but his mouth twitched.
“What face?” Gordon asked.
Elise pointed the knife toward him. “That one.”
“I don’t have a face.”
“Everybody has a face. Yours looks like a man who either got very good news or did something he ought to be ashamed of and isn’t.”
Gordon felt heat crawl up his neck.
Earl chuckled.
Gordon took a drink of water to avoid answering.
Elise gave him a long look, then turned and picked up two brown paper bags from the counter. She held them out.
“One is for you. One is for Talia.”
Gordon took them, surprised. “What is this?”
“Lunch. Since the two of you missed it.”
“We can wait until dinner.”
“No, you can’t.” Elise set the knife down and wiped her hands on a towel. “There are roast sandwiches in there, apples too. Don’t argue with me.”
Gordon looked down at the bags.
Roast sandwiches.
Apples.
Food packed without being asked.
Care folded into paper.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
He should have left it there.
Instead, before he could think better of it, he stepped forward and kissed Elise on the cheek.
Elise froze.
Earl stopped peeling.
Gordon stepped back, suddenly aware of what he had done.
Elise blinked at him.
Then her face softened in a way he could not look at too long.
“Well,” she said, voice a little gruffer than usual. “Don’t get sentimental in my kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Earl looked at him. “You done shocked her.”
“He did not,” Elise said.
“You stopped chopping.”
“I was resting my knife hand.”
Earl smiled into his potatoes. “Mm-hmm.”
Gordon grabbed another bottle of water from the refrigerator, tucked it under his arm with the first, and held up the lunch bags. “I’ll take this to Talia.”
“You do that,” Elise said. “And make sure she eats.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Both of you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He left through the back door before Elise could recover enough to ask more questions.
The walk to the guest wing felt different from the path to the bunkhouse. The lavender suite was private enough to offer quiet and close enough to remind Talia she had not been cast out. Gordon hoped she understood that.
He also hoped she had not decided to pretend the storage shed had not happened.
When he reached the suite, he balanced the water bottles under one arm and knocked.
For a moment, there was no answer.
Then the door opened.
Talia stood there in a fresh shirt and soft pants, curls loose around her face, skin still glowing faintly from a wash.
She looked tired but clearer than she had that morning.
Her laptop sat open on the small desk behind her.
Notes were spread across the bed. The suite smelled faintly of lavender and clean linen.
When she saw him, she smiled.
Not a polite smile.
Not the careful one she wore when she was bracing herself.
A real one.
Gordon’s chest warmed.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
Her eyes dropped to the bags. “What’s that?”
“Elise made us bag lunches since we missed lunch.”
Talia leaned against the doorframe, brows lifting. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“She made me lunch?”
“She made us lunch.”
“I could have sworn someone told me that if I missed a meal, I would be hungry until the next one.”
Gordon chuckled.
Talia’s eyes narrowed. “You lied to me.”
“I repeated information I was given.”
“Did Elise give you that information?”
“Yes.”
“And did she ever actually let you go hungry when you missed a meal?”
He looked away.
Talia pointed at him. “I knew it.”
“She threatened.”
“But did she do it?”
“No.”
“Gordon.”
He smiled despite himself. “Do you really think Elise is going to let someone go hungry on her watch?”
Talia stared at him, then laughed softly. “You only told me that so I’d come to every meal.”
“I wanted you at the table.”
“That sounds almost sweet if I ignore the manipulation.”
“Do that.”
“No.”
He lifted the bags slightly. “Can we eat lunch together?”
She hesitated.
He could see the caution return. Not full retreat, but enough that he knew she was thinking of the same thing he was. The storage building. Their bodies. The line crossed so thoroughly neither of them could pretend they did not know where it had been.
Gordon added, “You can interview me more if you say yes.”
Her mouth curved. “Bribery?”
“Strategy.”
“You’re simply trying to get into my room.”
He did not deny it.
He held her gaze and waited.
Talia’s smile faded into something warmer, more aware.
Then she stepped back and opened the door wider.
“Come in, Gordon.”