Chapter 70

She nodded and headed for the door, but he called her name to stop her.

"Have you never had breakfast in bed before?" Three years of marriage, and not once on their anniversary? What about as a kid when she'd been sick or something?

"Let me shower. Give me thirty minutes and I'll be ready." She turned again, totally avoiding him.

"Amy, leave the tray." When she paused but didn't comply, he stood and met her in the doorway. He took the damn thing from her and placed it on the dresser, then tucked his finger under her chin to force her to look at him. "I'm allowed to do nice gestures, am I not?"

She blinked up at him like he'd spoken Vulcan and the word "nice" didn't compute.

Hihcebe. It really was a foreign concept for her. He didn't know whether to be pissed off or gutted.

Either way, he had the strongest urge to drive to the prison where the Antichrist was spending the next fifteen to twenty and relocate the bastard's teeth. Then again, her parents weren't exactly pleasant people, either. He hadn't spent all that much time with them, but their behavior at the wedding spoke volumes. He couldn't recall if he'd ever heard them utter a kind sentiment in her direction.

"I'm not them." He smoothed her hair with both hands. "I'm not the men you've dated, the asshole you married, or your tactless folks. I'm not them, Ames."

She stared at his chest, her throat working a swallow. "I know."

He ducked to meet her eyes. "Do you?"

A deep breath, and she looked away. As if an afterthought, she pointed toward the hallway. "I'm going to shower now. Just to be clear in case there was any misunderstanding and you planned to walk in on me again."

"Hilarious." He stepped back, though, glad she was acting somewhat normal.

After she'd disappeared into the bathroom, he remained where he was, thinking about the past hour. Since she'd ceded control in all things intimate, at least so far, he'd figured he'd just bowl her over and chip away at her reserve. Except her shock and awe this morning added a whole new element he hadn't anticipated.

It seemed no one had ever courted her. Archaic as the term was, respect and decency weren't altogether dead. He didn't do a lot of dating himself, but compliments and attention to his partner were his usual operandi. The way Amy had responded would imply she hadn't had even that much. He had to wonder how the Antichrist had moved past first base, never mind gotten her to say yes to his marriage proposal.

He was the best I was going to get...

Her words from the night of the wedding came back to him, and he rubbed the twinge of pressure in his chest. He'd known her marriage had been mostly temperate, judging by the things she'd said, and it had ended in hostility. It never crossed his mind she'd been...neglected, though. Add in the fact she'd thought that asshole was her best option, and it proved the disregard predated Chris moving to Meadowlark. Going all the way back to her parents and previous boyfriends, no doubt.

Mind blown, Nakos grabbed the file and tray, then headed downstairs to the kitchen. He didn't know how, but he was going to fix this. Tossing the food she hadn't eaten, he rinsed the dishes, his mind a riot. With that task complete and hands on his hips, he glanced around, trying to conjure ideas. Solutions.

His gaze landed on the shallow windowsill above the sink and the flower she'd set there. A couple days ago, she'd spent thirty minutes taking pictures of it. Something about light and dust motes and color. The yellowish petals were wilted and the leaves on the stem were dried. But it gave him a starting point.

Snatching her camera bag off the table, he shoved his Stetson on his head and his feet into cowboy boots. He went outside and around the side of the house to a wildflower patch, the sun warm on his skin. Cicadas buzzed while he took stock.

The field had been around since his parents lived on the ranch and he'd never paid it much mind. Yellow, purple, pink, red, blue, and white petals in various shapes and sizes blew gently in the breeze. His mother would know their names, but the knowledge was wasted on him. He picked two of every color until he had a decent bunch, then strode to his truck. He set Amy's bag on the floor by the passenger seat and laid the flowers on top.

Leaning against the cab, he crossed his arms and waited for her. Letting the scent of grass and soil settle him, he tipped his face toward the sun and breathed deep. Cooped inside too long and he tended to go crazy. He'd worked the ranch yesterday, but last night had been tense and this morning an eye opener. Just stepping outside again calmed his errant thoughts and the incessant trip of his heart.

Damn, but Amy had him on edge. Every cell in his body wanted her. She called to him in a way no other woman had before, and it had hit him so fast, he couldn't grab a shred of focus if he attempted the task with both hands and a lasso. The lifelong friendship and how much he cared about her muddled the physical aspect with the emotional one. Every declaration from her or realization on his end was destroying him atom by atom.

He hadn't been joking when he'd admitted to her what it had been like for him growing up. Even in this day and age of equality, many of the Arapaho still viewed things as them versus the white man. Not an animosity, per se, but a subconscious tremor below the surface. History clashing against modern advances.

For him, the only time he'd felt safe, normal, or not judged had been with his folks or in Amy's presence. Olivia brought peace, sure, but Amy took that beyond a superficial level and made it a state of mind. A way of life. Day by day, month by month, year by year, she'd built upon that initial sensation. He was so accustomed to it, so submerged, he hadn't noticed the significance until other emotions rose up to suffocate him.

Truth was, he didn't think he'd be half as comfortable in his own skin or have a quarter of his confidence if he'd never met her. He'd been raised by two quiet, loving parents who'd taught him how to stand on his own. That had carried over when they'd left the reservation to work at Cattenach Ranch. Yet it was Amy who'd shown him there was more to the world than tending land, more to him than being a simple rancher.

Brave, broken Amy.

Guilt shoved around in his stomach. If he'd realized his feelings sooner, could he have stopped her before she'd made the mistake of getting married? Could he have done something earlier about this warped view she seemed to have of herself? Most of all, could they have been together all this time instead of wasting it in ignorance?

He'd never put much stock in what-ifs and could-have-beens. It served no purpose. He couldn't help but feel responsible, though. He was her friend. He'd go as far as to say she was his best friend, and the thought of her hurting in any way slashed his insides to shreds.

The porch door slammed with a clack and he watched her descend the steps toward him, his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. She wore skinny jeans that molded to her interstate of legs and a loose yellow top that hung off one shoulder. Her hair was tied up in a knot, wisps framing her face, and she'd foregone makeup. He much preferred her natural than how she'd been done up at the tavern last night. She didn't need cosmetics.

Stopping in front of him, she gave him a once-over. "Are you okay?"

"No." Why lie? He widened his stance and grabbed her hips, drawing her to stand between his legs while he continued to lean against the truck.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't know where to start, or even if he should, so he brushed a wild strand of hair from her face and let his fingers linger on the ends. Soft. All of her was soft. Her voice, her skin, her body. Hard as she seemed, he knew the truth.

"Nakos?"

Letting out a breath, he met her gaze. Her mermaid eyes were a blow. Always. But in the sunlight and inches from him, he got sucked in by the potency of their color. Expressive, too. Typically, it was his first line of defense with her, checking her eyes. Sometimes it was the only way to gauge her at all. His gaze roamed her face, the fair tone and arched brows, before settling on her mouth. Her lips had a naturally dark hue and a pouty shape.

"You're beautiful." Distracted, he ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip.

She caught his wrist, her expression implying he'd insulted her somehow.

Hihcebe. Don't tell him no one had ever said that to her before, either. "You are."

Her nostrils flared as she closed her eyes. Shook her head. When she opened them, torment thrummed from her and punched him with the aftershocks. She stepped away. "I'm staying home. I'll see you when"

Fingers in her belt loops, he hauled her right back. "Have I ever lied to you?" He wasn't expecting a response, but he paused anyway. "You all but called me perfect last night, listed several admirable qualities you claimed I have. Am I not allowed to return the favor?" He tilted his head while she looked everywhere but at him. "I could give a shit what your folks or ex or anyone else has drummed into you. I don't lie and I don't say things for the sake of filling silence. You're beautiful. To me, you're beautiful, Ames."

After a tense beat, she deflated and eyed him warily. "Thank you."

Thank Almighty. It was a start.

"You're welcome." However, his relief was short-lived after he straightened and opened the passenger door. She merely stared at him, unmoving. "Are you coming?"

"What are you doing?"

"Holding the door for you."

"Okay," she drew out slowly and stepped closer, only to freeze again. "What's that?"

He bit back a sigh. Barely. "Flowers."

"For what?"

Apparently, they'd landed back in kindergarten and were playing the "how come" game. He called upon all the patience he had in reserve. "For you, anim. They're for you."