Chapter 38
He’d woken suddenly, when one of the mares whinnied. Probably Tawny.
His girl. His sweet mare had a fondness for before break-of-dawn apples, didn't she? And hadn't he taught her to have that weakness?
His eyes narrowed as he caught a glimpse outside the wide open doorway at the far end of the stable. Pale, barely pink mutterings of the new morning in the lessening indigo sky around the horizon, where stars that had winked all night, doing their job, now faded. Put themselves away until their job came again tonight.
He fingered the chunk of dark chocolate his Ma had given him earlier, saved for him from an earlier shopping trip, hidden away deep in his pocket. Little treats for all my kids, she’d said, years ago. It was something she still did, and it was there, safe for him, and all the more delicious when he knew it wasn’t available in abundance. She’d pressed it into his hand last night to welcome him home. Their ritual.
What other rituals did she have with her other kids? And the others she loved?
I see you.
It had always been her way.
He’d planned on enjoying it after dinner, privately, once he gave the horses their treats. But in all the upset of the latest Let’s Keep Working on Killing Dawson Ridges episode, he’d forgotten. Hadn’t had the stomach.
He shifted his bones, groaned. A night on wooden floorboards. Damn. Last time he’d fallen asleep in a barn, he'd woken cold. But this time, there was such warmth, along his side. Such a pleasant weight. Gentle, soft. He turned and saw the reason, with a start…
Tabby. Sleeping deeply, beside him.
Tabby? His mind spun, raced back to last night. He’d left her at the dinner table, and she’d been going off to her cabin, so he’d walked her to it.
Then all the mess with Kelvin. She’d shown up here just when Ranger had been filling him in on the latest war waged against their struggling family. And when he’d been thoroughly defeated, ready to give up…not worthy one whit of the title of man, protector, caretaker…
She’d nestled against him, given him comfort, and stayed. All bloody night.
What the hell was that about? His mind flitted to possibilities, but it was early, and he couldn’t quite make sense of it.
There’d been no sex. No clandestine kisses stolen. He went to stretch and noticed his fingers weren’t available, and realized. As if all the other stuff wasn’t enough…
…she was holding his hand.
He snorted at that, softly. He wasn't holding her hand, she was holding his.
Strength, from the stronger one, it seemed. Go figure. What else did life have up its sleeve, to teach him? Though he’d already learned that lesson a few times over.
She started a bit, moaned. That beautiful face…Lord. He could stare at it all day, thought of it often, and at the most unlikely moments.
Her face clenched a bit, and suddenly, he wanted to ease her. Especially, keep her dreaming. Just cause he had to wake early didn’t mean she had to. A working cowboy, up before dawn, and an erotica writer telling tales of the night didn’t keep the same schedules, did they?
He pulled his hand free carefully. Then breathed steadily, letting her feel the rhythmic motion of his body. And was gratified when her face comforted and she started breathing deeply again.
His mind raced back to the plan ahead of him. Much as he’d like to stay, lay with her, hell, wake her in the best possible of ways—she’d probably plug him one, too—that wasn’t going to happen today.
He had things to put into motion, especially after last night. He’d best get on it.