Chapter Twenty-One Savannah
Chapter Twenty-One
Savannah
“I’m sorry I’m moving a little bit slow this morning, guys.” I hoist the feed can over my shoulder and shake the grain into the troughs. “But I haven’t been sleeping well the past few days. Well, not at all, really.”
I mean, how can I when Blaze’s confession has been looping through my mind like a broken record since the day of the town festival? I’ve been wandering around here like a zombie in a fog because I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that he really said those things.
Things that could get me into a whole lot of trouble if I allow myself to believe them.
I walk over to the pasture and peek into one of the water troughs. It’s full, thank God.
Well, actually it’s more like “Thank Blaze,” if I’m giving credit where credit is due.
I lean back against the fence as the cattle gather around to eat and drink. Miss Bea stops next to me, nudging me with her snout.
“Hey, Miss Bea,” I murmur, stroking her ears. “Men are so impossible, you know?”
She makes a soft mooing sound and steps closer to me, nuzzling my arm.
“He told me he can’t get me out of his mind and that he can’t stop thinking about our kiss.
” I hug my arms around my chest. “I can’t forget it either.
But I also know that he has the nasty habit of saying one thing and then doing something completely opposite and devastating.
So how can I really believe that this is real for him? ”
Her large brown eyes regard me for a long minute, almost as if she’s waiting for me to say more.
“Or is it just all about him keeping me under his thumb because he wants to make sure nobody else can get to me? Like a power play?” A sigh slips from my lips.
“That would make it about the chase for him, holding power and command over someone else because it keeps him in control. Maybe that’s why he keeps coming around here too. Helping me out.”
She noses past me and dips her head into the trough again. I stroke her back as she munches on the grains. Ginger walks up next to her and joins in the feeding.
I dig the toe of my boot into the ground, carving out a capital B. “Dammit, Blaze, what do you want from me? And why do I even care?”
I push off the fence in a huff and sweep up the floor of the barn.
I can’t open myself up to that kind of pain again, no matter what he meant the other day. It’s too risky.
So he can take his big confession and shove it right up his ass because I’m done with him.
I stifle a yawn and head back up to the house, the rich scents of chocolate and butterscotch wafting through the air. The oven timer bleeps, and I pull open the door, letting the sweetness envelop my senses. Leaning against the counter, I allow my eyes to float closed.
Lover’s Bluff. A soft blanket. Night sky with thousands of tiny stars winking down on us. Blaze’s thick, ripped arms holding me tight as I writhe under him, his name tumbling from my lips when I take a swan dive straight into the all-consuming sea of euphoria.
Nights like that always started with a batch of Ms. Eloise’s famous cookies. I run my fingers over the swirly script of the recipe card she gave me before I left Whiskey Creek.
Before Blaze left me.
Back then, I was stupid enough to think that I could always re-create those moments if only I had the magic ingredient. Turns out, that magic ingredient wasn’t so magical after all because the last time I baked those cookies, he tore my heart out of my chest and trounced all over it.
I thought of incinerating the recipe afterward. Instead, I tucked it away in Aunt Marg’s recipe book.
Because I realized that the cookies weren’t the magic ingredient.
Love was.
And you can’t re-create that. Not when you never really had it in the first place.
But a flicker of hope made me dig out that recipe this morning.
I set the trays on cooling racks and stir my coffee, staring out at the lavender fields.
“I hate that I want him so much after everything that happened,” I grumble, picking a cookie off one of the sheets. The warm, gooey center melts in my mouth.
I polish off a few more cookies before I lock in on my decision—good, bad, or otherwise.
After a quick shower, I pile cookies into a plastic container, grab my keys, and run out the front door.
“I’m just going to drop these off and leave. Nothing more,” I say out loud once I’m in my car. “It’s just to be neighborly. It’s not like I can eat all of these cookies on my own. I used to bake for the Hartmans all the time, so this is perfectly normal.”
I drive down the dirt road, my heart like a Ping-Pong ball slamming against my rib cage, harder as I approach their property.
A near panic attack assaults me as I turn into the driveway.
This is crazy. I need to get out of here now, before he sees me.
I cannot be that girl. I won’t be.
I clutch the steering wheel, braking hard when Harlon Hartman walks toward me.
Shit. I’ve been spotted.
I can’t very well leave now. And anyway, maybe Blaze isn’t even here. Maybe I can still escape without him knowing I did the most desperate thing ever by showing up here.
I jerk my head left and right until my eyes land on his truck.
No. No, no, no!
I am so caught.
I roll down my window, forcing a smile while the lump in my throat slowly chokes the life out of me.
“Savvie, good to see you. How are you holding up? Been thinking about you and Nash. You know we’re always here for you.”
“Hey, Mr. Hartman. We’re doing just . . . fine. Thanks.” I hold up the container. “I, um, baked a few batches of cookies for Brixton’s and had some left over. Thought you boys might be interested.” I smile wider, hoping that’ll deliver the lie effectively.
“Sweet girl, thank you so much.” He pats his belly. “I know I’ve definitely missed your baking since you left for Denver.”
“Great,” I say, handing him the container. “Here you go. I have to be on my way now.”
“Wait, wait,” he says when I put the car in reverse. “Don’t take off so fast. Say, how’s everything going at the ranch? You need any help with anything?”
“It’s going well. Nash has been really helpful. He’s been showing me the ropes. I feel good about things. We’ve had some issues, but we’ve been able to fix them quickly.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard about some of your equipment troubles.
Shame your aunt wasn’t able to sustain things over there.
It’s a lot of work to run a ranch, especially if you’re out of money.
But I want you to know we’re always here to help.
You know how close we were with your parents. Anything you need, just ask.”
“I really appreciate that. It means so much to me to know that we have so many wonderful, generous people in our corner.” My eyes flit toward the house for a microsecond, then back to Harlon.
He adjusts his hat. “Well, I’m heading into town, but I know Blaze is inside.
Tell him to leave some of those cookies for Colt and Wyatt.
” A hearty chuckle shakes his shoulders, bright-pink spots coloring his cheeks.
He’s such a sweet man, always so good to me and Nash, and his laughter is famously contagious.
It’s impossible not to at least smile in return.
“It was really nice seeing you,” I say. “And thank you again.”
He waves and walks over to his truck. I look up at the house.
I can just wait here until Harlon leaves and then—
Wait. No.
Harlon will tell Blaze I was here. And me slinking away like some caught crazy stalker will look way worse than me showing up like the strong, empowered, independent woman who wants answers.
I take a deep breath.
“You’re going to walk into that house, find Blaze, and tell him you are in love with him.”
A gasp catches in my throat. Wait, I’m . . . what? I’m not . . .
Am I?
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
I can’t be. Not again.
Butterflies swarm in my belly, begging to differ.
But I am. Because I’m here, desperate to see him again, to touch him again, to hear him say he loves me too.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I mutter. “I need to get a freaking grip right now. And then I am going to tell him that he needs to stop playing games with me. That I will not be manipulated.”
Yes. That’s better. So much better. And safer. He needs to know he can’t mess with my head anymore. And that he probably should stay away from Red Rock, too, just to be on the safe side.
But my resolve falters with every step I take toward the house.
“I’m not strong enough to stay away. And you’re not strong enough to make me.”
This is bad. I should turn myself around and march back to my car before things get out of control because being around Blaze turns my brain into cookie butter.
Still, I grasp the brass handle and push open the door.
“Who’s there?”
I stop short and raise my gaze to the top of the stairs.
And suddenly, he’s there.
With his shirt off.
Oh, holy hell. Here we go again.
Bryant lets out a yelp and comes charging down the steps.
“Hey, boy,” I say, kneeling down in front of him. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me too?”
He laps at my face like a kid with an ice pop on a summer day. I laugh and lose my balance, falling backward against the wall.
“Bryant,” Blaze says. “Down.”
Bryant turns and growls at him. I giggle harder, breathless.
Blaze walks over to me and holds out a hand.
I stare at it, then at him, feeling my limbs morph into goo under the golden flames of his whiskey gaze.
I clasp it and he pulls me off the floor.
I put my hands on his arms to steady myself when my eyes latch onto the gaping wound near his right shoulder.
I must’ve been so focused on his perfectly chiseled pecs that I missed it.
“Jesus, Blaze. What happened?” I ask, peering down at it. “Is that . . . ?” My eyebrows fly up. “It looks like a bullet wound.”
“It’s fine,” he says, pulling away. “I was just cleaning it when I heard the door.”
“Do you need to go to a doctor?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“Stop saying fine because it clearly is not fine. Somebody shot you. And you could have . . .” I let the word expire on my lips because I can’t bring myself to say it.
“Would you have cared?” he asks. For a split second, the walls crumble, and embers of vulnerability crackle in the depths of his gaze.
My breaths are short and sharp, slicing into my lungs. His fingertips sizzle my skin. I swallow hard, his lips hovering just above mine.
“You know I would have. And that’s the problem,” I rasp. He pulls me close, so close I need to tilt my head back to look up at him. His breath flutters against my cheeks, making my toes curl in my boots.
“Savannah . . .” he whispers.
“I know I should stay away from you,” I say, my voice shaking. “But I can’t either.”
I’m done pretending I can resist this. Resist him.
“I tried to stay away.” He closes the space between us. “Nearly got killed in the process.”
A hiss of air slips through my lips as his hands tangle in my hair and gently tug it. He wraps his arms around me, his jaw tensing as he tightens his grip.
“Blaze,” I breathe against his mouth. “Your shoulder—”
“I don’t care.” His voice is rough and desperate. “I don’t care about anything except being with you right now.”