24. Carsyn
TWENTY-FOUR
CARSYN
O nce we’re back, Garrison cooks up a small feast, I swear. The back of the Plan B box tells me I’m gonna feel like shit for a day, but I don’t think any pill could rival the agony inside me.
Hearing my brother’s voice did things to me I wasn’t expecting.
I want to be home so goddamn bad. I miss him and Kinleigh so much. I miss the feel of my horse’s mane between my fingers as the wind kisses my cheeks while we roam and explore the open land, and I’d love to wrap my arms around Gen and Nash, too, and give them both the biggest hugs.
I want my old life, but I’m so torn because I want the man who took me away from that life to come back with me, too.
I take the pill and sit on the kitchen counter, staring at my bare ankle as Garrison moves around the space with ease.
“I’m sorry for it all,” he says out of nowhere as he stuffs a baked potato with shredded cheese mixture. “But I needed you to believe you were with the terrible Conway crew, I needed the stage to be set for Marks, and I needed it to look a certain way to Valdez, to the Bureau.” He’s already explained this, and that’s how I know what he’s done is eating at his conscience.
He slides the rack of potatoes back into the oven, then lifts the lid on the pot of chili on the stove, stirring.
“Once Forrest is apprehended or dead, what will you do? Will they reassign you?” I ask him, wanting so badly for his answer to be no. But he isn’t in Buffalo Trails because of me. He’s here for work. Hell, I don’t even know where he’s from or… I don’t know anything about this man that I’ve attached myself to, and I recognize, that’s a problem.
“Carsyn,” he starts, placing the oven mitt near the stove as he leans back into the counter directly across from me. “Do you remember how I was assigned to this job?”
I chew the inside of my mouth, thinking back to one of our many heated conversations. “When Neely left, you replaced him.”
He dips his head, a ring pressed into his hair from wearing his hat all day. I’ve always thought a cowboy after a long day was the sexiest thing alive. I was not wrong.
“Right, Garrison replaced Neely as an agent in an operation.” His tongue smooths along his top lip as his contemplative eyes search mine. My pulse spikes under his gaze.
“Yeah,” I nod, noticing the way he speaks in the third person. I realized this before–Garrison is not actually Garrison–but haven’t focused on it until this moment. There’s always been another saga to chase. “Garrison Conway,” I repeat his name aloud, and even if he had not clarified that this isn’t his true identity, I’d know now because Forrest’s brother being an FBI agent… those two things, they just don’t make sense together.
He doesn’t say anything, as if he’s waiting for me to stumble upon it. But I don’t know what it is. Instead, I say, “so everyone in Buffalo Trails thinks you’re Forrest’s brother.” Why did it take me so long to realize… he wasn’t only faking being related to Forrest but he was faking being Garrison Conway, too.
Garrison nods. “I’m good at my job, but I can’t convince a man that I am his blood brother.” He folds his arms over his chest, tipping his head to the side, watching me in a way that makes my thighs pulse. “The angle we played was me returning as his long-lost brother-in-law. The FBI learned everything they could about Forrest Conway years ago, including the fact that his dead wife has a brother whom Forrest never met due to incarceration.”
“So you convinced Forrest you were him?” I ask, a rush of embarrassment flooding my cheeks that I didn’t think to ask these things sooner.
He strokes his beard again, looking at me. “The ability to cover more than half of my face was an unfair advantage, but I took it. Since Forrest didn’t know what the real Garrison Conway looked like, we decided he’d be short on words, heavy on the petal, quick with his gun, and very, very bearded.”
I can’t help myself, but I crack a smirk and add, “I thought that beard was for thigh burn.”
He winks, the rest of his face expressionless. “Well, that too.”
“What about your last name?” I ask, realizing that in all this time, I’ve never asked why he shares a name with a man who he shares no blood with. That part doesn’t make sense.
Garrison laughs, an actual laugh, not stunted or forced. He actually finds this element of the story funny, and it eases my budding anxiety. He moves his hand through his beard, something I’ve learned is either done for comfort, or done to maintain the act of being Garrison. “It doesn’t make sense that if I’m his brother-in-law, we share a surname. Garrison has a surname assigned, Kinney’s mom’s maiden name, and it’s on Garrison’s driver’s license and whatnot. But the town kept calling me Conway, and when Forrest got wind of people calling me Garrison Conway , well, he liked it. Like a dog marking a tree, I think Forrest got some fucking sick thrill that people assumed I shared his last name. Made him feel powerful, like he owned or controlled me or some shit, I don’t know. But anyway, it stuck, and the FBI started sending fake mail to that name. No one really poked around too much.” He scratches his chest, and I get a flash of that naked chest over me, dusted with perspiration, swaying as he fucks me. “People don’t ask a lot of questions where Forrest is concerned. Not until now at least.”
I nod, processing what he’s just said. He’s coming clean, and if any part of me doubted the validity of the Grafton Marks FBI file, telling me he is not Garrison Conway alleviates that worry.
But. I believed the file I read.
I believe this man, whoever he is, and I trust him.
“Can I ask you something now?” Garrison asks, pushing off the counter to tend to his chili, which smells amazing. The more comfortable I become, the more my appetite returns, and the idea of stuffing a loaded baked potato with a bunch of chili alongside a cold beer? My mouth is watering. How much is it watering for the food versus the man making the food? I don’t know, still, I’m starving.
“Sure,” I reply, getting to my feet, moving toward the fridge. Being free and yet, in a sense, captive all at once is surreal. Opening the fridge on my own, without a chain on my ankle or a sense of foreboding hanging over me is wild, because I’m still in my prison. Only now, it feels like all of this is real, and everything that happened before was a dream.
I pull two long necks out of the fridge, lifting them for his permission. Me, asking a man permission. Hell must be frozen over, I swear.
But it’s not that I’m asking permission.
With him, it’s about respect. I want my actions to give and garner respect, and that’s a trait I’ve always carried in me. But I’ve never had a man I wanted to share that with. Usually, it’s just one time sex and done.
Garrison nods, and I pop the caps off using the underside of the kitchen counter. The first sip stings my senses and burns delightedly through my veins, sharpening my subconscious for a few seconds.
“What’s your question then?” I ask, hopping up onto the counter, praying that he comes to stand between my legs and takes my face in his hands. My heart skips a beat when he steps in front of the stove, hoping he comes to me, but instead he lifts the lid on the chili and stirs again.
“How come you’re single?” he asks, his voice soft and raspy, like smoke crawling delicately over gravel.
“I never met a man who could keep my attention longer than a fuck,” I admit, not trying to be vulgar in my delivery but only speak the truth. I want to tell him that he's the only man I’ve ever slept with more than once, but with nothing but the dull roar of the oven vent, this doesn’t feel like the time. Or maybe I’m just not comfortable with the reality of it yet? I don’t know.
He eyes me, studying my face for a symptom that I’m lying, but I’m not. And he realizes it. “You know what,” he starts, “I kind of thought that was the case.”
I smirk, taking a long drink of the beer, lingering nerves fading with each sip. Finally, he steps nearer, and comes between my legs, the span of his waist bumping my knees further apart. He’s such a big man, and his large size is only part of that. His presence is large, filling spaces, turning heads, causing whispers, of that I have no doubt.
His hands cradle my face, and my spine melts, leaving a flood of heat between my legs. “But you saw Ted Hueller twice, didn’t you?” His dark eyes render me obedient as I nod, my mouth going dry, all moisture swimming to my seam.
“I did. But we didn’t?—”
“Sleep together, I know.” Garrison dips his lips to mine, dusting them with a soft kiss before he presses into me with his, forcing his tongue against mine with a gasp. “But you did let him in those panties of yours, on his tailgate, out near the pond. Didn’t you Carsyn?”
I lick my lips, my heart pounding in my ears. He drags his thumb along my bottom lip. “I always enjoyed watching you. Except for that night, and the other nights when you went out with a man and took him back to your place. I couldn’t rest till that front door swung open and he stumbled out, barefoot with his boots and hat in hands.”
I can’t help but smile. Some part of me recognizes that him watching me is somewhat alarming. But I’m choosing to skip past all that, because he wasn’t watching me to kidnap me and cut my fucking head off. He was watching as his assignment, and that fact changes everything.
“He fingered me,” I admit quietly, dying for him to kiss me again. He does, and I swear when he groans down my throat, I see stars, I want him so bad.
“Carsyn Beckett,” he groans, still holding my face. “You used those men for pleasure, didn’t you?”
I nod, the truth bubbling up inside me from a place I wasn’t sure would ever be unlocked. There’s shame in how I feel, and admitting it never seemed purposeful until now. “I did. I’ve used every man I’ve met, except for my brother and Nash.”
Garrison lifts me off the counter, lowering me to a chair at the kitchen table. He sits directly across from me, then pulls my chair to his until we are knee to knee. Electricity simmers where our bodies connect, and before I can savor it, Garrison changes his mind, yanking me onto his lap, my back pressed into his chest. His hands loop my waist, one of them coming to my thigh, the other resting at the waistband of my pants.
His beard tickles my cheek as he brings his face near mine, whispering, “But you didn’t use me, did you Carsyn?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“No… no you didn’t. Because you wanted my cock even when you believed I was the bad boy, isn’t that right?” He drags the blunt tip of his finger over my pussy lips, then stealing his hand back, teasing. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I say nothing as he moves his hand beneath the waistband again, dusting his fingers through the curls he finds, groaning as he does.
“You’re not wrong,” I breathe, my eyes rolling shut as I tip my head back onto his shoulder, curling my hands around his knees.
His chuckle is dark and humorless as he spreads my lips with two fingers, stroking the side of his thumb down my blossomed clit. “No, I’m not. And you were so angry with yourself, weren’t you? Thinking you were a good country girl breaking all the rules to want a bad, evil man,” he hedges, pressing his wrist into the fabric to create a gap. “Look at me touching you, Carsyn. Look at the way I make you feel. You know it’s real, don’t you?”
His barrage of questions, both erotic and emotional, keep my stomach twisted in passionate knots. Between my legs, pressure builds, and I can’t help but writhe against him, moaning at the feel of his hard cock pressing into my ass.
I nod, clinging to his knees as he holds me down, stroking my clit while we watch. “What’s—who are you? What’s your name?” I breathe, my legs trembling as my orgasm unspools inside me. I’ve never come so fast, but Garrison’s mouth, his fingers, the way his cock warms me from behind, it’s everything I need to catch fire. Burning in flames, writhing and moaning, I ride out my orgasm and his hand, coming in unabashed waves of gluttonous desire.
When my orgasm subsides, he pulls his hand back, and lifts me up only to replace me in the chair by myself. Washing his hands at the sink, his hard cock choked by his fitted Levi’s, I can’t stop staring at him.
“As soon as this thing with Forrest is over, I’ll tell you who owns that pussy. But for now, you call me Garrison.” He winks, then lifts his beer to his lips, finishing the full bottle in two swallows. He dishes up potatoes and chili, gets us another beer and says a prayer.
We eat like he didn’t just finger me, like his big dick isn’t straining for attention, like we didn’t meet under the strangest of circumstances. We just sit and eat dinner, and then Garrison runs me a bath. I bathe, and together, we climb into his bed.
“I rode an Appaloosa as a kid,” he says as I nuzzle against him, fatigue setting in.
“Yeah? Brindle?” I yawn, recognizing he’s telling me about him, not about the fake person he’s been living as. Real insight into him. My heart thuds against my ribs at the realization.
He shoves a hand behind his head. “Naa, he was black and white. But fucking beautiful.”
“I love Appaloosa’s,” I tell him, thinking of my own childhood horse, Roxy. “You ride a lot as a kid?”
He nods. “Yeah, I rode with my dad.” He rolls me onto my back unexpectedly, done with conversation. “I wanna fuck you so bad, Carsyn, but I can’t do it as Garrison one more time. You hear me? I need to be inside you. Me ,” he says, thumping a fist into his chest. “And until I can tell you who I am, until this mission is over, we can’t do it again.” He tugs down the panties I put on after the bath. “But goddamn it I can eat my dessert.”
And he does.
The beard burn is absolutely worth it.