Chapter 27 Sierra
Twenty Seven
Sierra
The pen I’m using is bleeding ink.
It’s my third attempt at writing out the emcee cards for the Blackstone Legacy event. I should throw in the towel, since I can’t concentrate anyway. Especially since Logan told me that Marshal Dawson took a Futon Drift flyer and said he loves that band.
I’m so screwed.
And not only because Dawson has a hard-on for our headliner, but because nothing I say seems to convince Logan to change the conditions of the trust. When I first made a few subtle remarks about maybe the town marshal’s office needing more funds to handle the increase in tourists, Logan snorted and said he hoped the whole department went under.
When I pushed, asking why, Logan said he’d change the conditions of the trust to include the town marshal’s office “over his dead body.”
“They’re scoundrels, Sierra,” he said, looking puzzled by my recent obsession with law enforcement funding.
“They bought a Humvee. A freaking Humvee and riot gear for a town of seven thousand people. Like they expect an uprising here, of all places, which they clearly relish the idea of violently stomping on. They have too much money for what little good they do, anyway. Harassing everyone who’s not an old, white, cisgender dude.
I’m open to defunding them completely, if the town council and mayor weren’t such cowards. ”
So that’s a very strong no.
And the girlfriend introductions didn’t end at the party. If Logan were a medieval lord, he’d raise a banner with my virginal bloodstains over the ramparts to assert that I belong to him. Logan now announces our new dating status every time we go out—to pretty much anyone within earshot.
It’s the perfect setup for Dawson to release the recording if his goal is to humiliate not just me, but Logan and his whole family. Dawson would love it—seeing it blow back on Logan after he so publicly announces his relationship with the “whore.”
I set aside my cards, nauseated.
Logan also seems to be having trouble concentrating, though his distractions are decidedly more amorous than mine. He keeps playing with my hair, tickling my cheek with the ends. We’re clearly getting no work done.
“Let’s go climbing,” he murmurs.
“But—” I glance at the laptop screen. An intimidating Excel sheet stares back at me.
“I’m the boss.” He kisses my cheek. “Be a good employee and do what I say.”
I don’t need to be told twice. We hurry to gather our gear.
It’s exactly what I need. We travel a little farther today, outside the jurisdiction and clutches of Dawson, and I feel lighter and happier than I have in days. Once I’m on the wall, I can almost forget everything that’s happened.
I enjoy watching Logan climb too. Logan’s style on the rock is different from mine—more strength than momentum—but it’s mesmerizing.
Every movement is deliberate, every reach purposeful.
He’s all muscle and focus, and I can’t look away.
Usually, I watch other climbers to study their technique, to compare and learn.
But this—watching Logan—is something else entirely.
I never thought I’d be turned on by climbing. But this. This is Logan at his hottest.
“Give me pointers,” he calls down, grinning. “You’re better at this than I am.”
I try not to preen. “Slow down a little. Take time to assess your options. See that hold above your left foot? It’s narrow, but you can use the momentum from that step to push upward. Yeah—just like that.”
I keep coaching as he climbs. Nearby, another couple finishes their route and watches us. The guy waves and comes over.
“You’ve got great teaching instincts,” he says. “You live around here?”
“Ah, that’s a tricky question,” I admit. “I’m based out of Sagebrush right now.”
“No way! We’re opening a guiding company in Isolation Canyon. You know, right outside Sagebrush. ”
“Yeah, I know those climbs,” I say, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. I know them a little too well now, after Logan and I christened the place with some hot and heavy action weeks ago.
“Take my card—I’d love to talk to you more. If you’re ever looking for a job, we could use another instructor.”
My stomach dips. If they set up in town, they’ll find out who I am soon enough. “It sounds like a great opportunity,” I say—and it does. What a shame.
After climbing, we drive east along a narrow back road up Compass Mountain. Logan stops at a gate and unlocks it so we can pass through.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Best place to watch the sunset.”
“Is that…are you allowed to use it for that?”
Logan makes a face. “First, you’re disappointed I’m not using my money to live large on my own Caribbean island. Now you’re appalled I’m using my own land to impress a girl? Make up your mind.”
“Fair enough. Well, use your vast real estate inheritance for good.”
We wind up a steep dirt road until we’re near the top.
“Come on, we’re just in time,” Logan says, hopping out. He opens the cooler in the truck bed and pulls out an old comforter, paper plates, and a few Tupperware containers. With a snap of his wrist, he spreads the bedspread across the bed of the truck and holds out his hand to help me up.
“Logan,” I say, my heart swelling with affection. “What’s all this?”
“Imagine this cooler is an old-timey picnic basket,” he says, pulling out plastic cups and a bottle of wine.
“How did you even plan this?”
“Misdirection and sneakiness,” he says proudly. “All that time in middle school practicing magic tricks and illusions is finally paying off.” He wiggles his fingers before producing a corkscrew. “You were busy being a good employee. I took advantage.”
The cork pops, and he pours two cups of wine, offering one to me.
“To us, my love,” he whispers with a tap of his red Solo cup against mine.
My blood thrums through my veins. His eyes, his dear face. I feel overwhelmed with emotions. I want him.
“One sip,” I tell him.
He tilts his head at me, not understanding. I carefully take the cup out of his hand and place it out of reach at the corner of the truck bed.
Then I throw myself at him. I nearly whimper at how perfect it feels to wrap myself so closely around him.
“Baby, you know I love your enthusiasm,” Logan says between kisses. “But don’t you want the picnic first? I googled picnic foods and everything, and the timing is perfect for the sunset.”
“I’m not hungry for…” I glance at the plastic bag at his feet. “Fruit salad.”
“Coleslaw then?”
I drop to my knees in front of him and begin to work at his belt. “Tempting, but no.”
“Caprese skewers?” he asks as I pull down his shorts and draw him out.
“Hmm. I’d love to be skewered by something,” I say. He’s so warm and heavy in my hand. My mouth salivates, but I wait, teasing both of us by rubbing my cheek against his length.
“Mini sausages?” he murmurs, a humorous glint in his eye.
I laugh. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
“So no mini sausages.” He moans when I gently kiss the tip.
“Nope. Just one massive…cock.” I suck as much of him as I can in my mouth.
He gasps and his body sways into me for a second, his fingers tangling in my hair.
I swirl my tongue over him, tasting every perfect inch. I pull his hips forward until he sinks completely to the back of my throat. I want to be at his mercy, a vessel for his pleasure.
I worship him. A golden boy in the setting sun. He tries to warn me he’s about to come, but I latch on to him and drink him down. His body shudders with his release, and it’s perfect.
“How was the sunset?” I ask as he sinks down next to me.
“Most beautiful sunset of my life,” he gasps, his eyes on me.
He tucks me into his side with a blanket curled around my knees.
We sip wine and eat his adorable picnic foods.
I feel calm and at peace, perhaps for the first time in my life.
The sun sinks over the horizon, with one last gasp of brazen, saturated hues of red, orange, and violet.
In the distance, a coyote yips and howls.
“I don’t want this day to end,” I murmur. “It’s been absolutely perfect.”
“It doesn’t have to, baby.”
“All days end,” I argue softly, watching as pink shifts to blood-red in the dying light.
He kisses me, slow and certain. “True, but I don’t mind. Because I’m looking forward to another perfect day tomorrow. With you.”
“What defines a perfect day to you?” I ask, suddenly inspired by his turn of phrase.
Logan frowns, thinking. “Well, climbing was great. Spending time with you.” He brushes my hair off my shoulder. I shiver as it slides across the sliver of bare skin against my throat. “Sex,” he whispers. He plays with the button of my shorts, but I drape my hand over his, stopping his movement.
“Exactly,” I say. “Exactly.” I sit up, suddenly too excited to stay still. “Every day can be like this. We should go.”
He laughs. “We have some time before we need to head back. Let’s stay and enjoy this.”
“No, I mean, we should leave Sagebrush. Let’s go on an adventure together.”
I can see by his expression that he’s already balking at the suggestion. My heart sinks.
“No, listen,” I say intensely, feeling a little desperate and trying to rein it in. “This can be just the start. Think about it! Climbing by day, making love by night. This could be our life, Logan. Sam says Clunker is all fixed up, we only need to pay the difference, and then we can hit the road.”
“We’re right in the middle of planning our next event,” Logan says dismissively.
“No,” I shake my head. “No. Be honest with yourself. You’re already mentally planning the next one, aren’t you? If it’s not this event, it’ll be the next thing.”
“Exactly. There’s the company to consider. My family. Sagebrush. We can’t just leave.”
“Ever?” My voice comes out as a squeak. I clear my throat. “You can’t leave ever? You’ve never even really left Sagebrush for more than a night or two. You’ve hardly been farther than a hundred miles in years! Just think of how much fun we’d have, the climbs we could conquer.”
“I thought we were having fun here.” His arm falls away from my shoulder, and I shiver at the sudden chill. “Why would you want to leave?”
“Why are you so determined to stay? There’s a whole big world out there, Logan.”
“Why would I walk away from all this?” He gestures out over the desert. Down at the bottom of the mountain, the lights of Sagebrush are starting to twinkle in the fading violet light.
“That alone should be the reason.”
“Because I don’t want to leave, I should? That doesn’t make any sense, Sierra.” He sighs. “Why do you even want to go? We have everything we need here.”
“I love adventure.”
His eyes turn shrewd. “Do you? Or is it because it distracts you from thinking about what you’re missing?”
“Some of us aren’t lucky enough to be handed everything on a silver platter,” I snap.
“You really want me to wake up every day and be reminded how I don’t have a supportive family, an impressive career, or fucking basic respect from my neighbors, who know I’m the girl who went off and fucked a married man?
” I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling cold. “I want to go back to the house.”
“Sierra, come on.” Logan’s voice is full of frustration. “That’s all in the past.”
“Nothing is ever all in the past!” I shout. I take a deep breath and lower my voice. “You can claim up and down that it’s all over, but it’s mine. I alone know when it’s over.”
“Fine.” He holds his hands up in surrender.
“We don’t need to say it’s over. But don’t you see?
I molded this place into something else, if you would take a minute to see what I’ve done.
If I can do it, then you can too. We can work together to give you everything you say you’re missing. Family, community, a career.”
I shake my head. “For you, golden boy. Not for me.”
“Baby, please. There is a good life for us here if you just…stop caring about that. This place is worth the effort to stay.”
But I’m not worth the effort to leave.
“Let’s go home, Logan,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tired.”
He exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the quiet. “Fine.” He stands, brushing the dust from his shorts. “Let’s go.”