“What kind of trade?” I ask, circling the lake, preparing to land on my slice of paradise. My cabin below us, with the lake blue and mine.
“Well, you want to protect me and I want to take care of you. Seems fair enough.”
I grin, looking over at this beauty dressed in bright white. “I’m a big man, it takes a lot to take care of me.”
She licks her lips, my cock growing. “I like a challenge,” she says.
“Good, because Waverly, I like you.”
“Like me, huh?” She smirks, the word love teasing the thick, hot air. “How much do you like me, Walker?”
“I like you so damn much.”
“Show me,” she whispers as the plane lands. The cabin is so close. I need her creamy skin against my calloused hands in a deep and desperate way.
“I thought it was you who was taking care of me?” I say, killing the engine, and turning to face her.
“I’m afraid the trade might not be a very good one,” she says softly.
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re the one who knows things… how to protect and how to…” She closes her eyes, cheeks turning pink.
“Say it,” I urge her.
“You know how to take care of me. All of me. Like you did at the motel. You made me feel so beautiful… so seen. And I don’t have much practice. I want to do it the way you deserve.”
I pull her mouth to mine. “Oh, Waverly, you’ve no idea. All of this is so much more than I fucking deserve.”
12
Waverly
Walker’s seaplane is taking us to his remote cabin in the woods. The lake is spread out in front of us and it is massive, blue, and beautiful. I also know that I’m alone with a man I barely know. There’s no one around for miles. We’re in the middle of nowhere.
Whatever happens here, stays here, and in some ways that is a relief. Finally, I am away from whatever the hell was happening at that freaky commune and whatever was happening on that yacht before I took the first bus out of Mexico and came north.
But as much as I want to give in to this feeling… the feeling of Walker's rough hands on my face, on my skin; his heat pressed so tightly against my own… I hesitate. He feels it.
“Wavy,” he says, “What’s wrong?”
I want to close my eyes and pull him back for another kiss because when he kisses me, the world seems to stop. There's no more spinning, no more dizzy confusion. It's just us. Perfect, bliss. But he’s also a stranger.
A niggling voice in the back of my head says he is not merely a stranger —he is the man who rescued me, who saved me, who brought me away from whatever Fate had looming. Father John taking me in a way I didn't want to be taken. But instead of pulling him closer, I pull back with tears in my eyes and I shake my head and suddenly I feel as if anything might happen.
What if Walker is like every other man I've ever known? Dangerous and intent on hurting me?
I can't go through that again.
I know he was gentle the night we met when he took me in his arms at the motel… but it seems like ages since that night. I wish I could rewind time and have never left him that morning.
Now, it’s like we are starting all over again, and tension surrounds us... the hesitation… the what if.
“Let's get in the cabin,” he says. “I think that might help you. May help you relax. You've had a hell of a day, Waverly.” He says it without anguish, without remorse, and I know I’ve been a dick tease — stroking his thigh and his shaft, leaning into this, whatever this might be. Then just as quickly as his lips pressed against my own, I pulled back.
I don’t want to lead him on right now, but it's also not fair to ignore the doubt that is crowding in my mind. The warning that says be careful.
“Walker. I don't want you to think I am playing games here. It's just been a long day.”
“I know it has and I'm not making this easy on you. I didn't take you to Juno or some other city. I took you to the middle of nowhere with a man you barely know after you just left a place that was basically the same.”
I shake my head. “No, Walker. It's not the same. Whatever was happening at commune wasn’t good. And it wasn’t where I belong.”
He runs a hand over his beard. “You said it was your family.”
“I’ve said a lot of things, haven’t I?” I look him over. “I want this, whatever this might be between us, but I also want to make sure--”
He cuts me off. “It's okay, Wavy. You don't have to explain yourself. I get it. It's been a long day and the last thing you need right now is another man forcing himself on you.”
“No one forced themselves on me at the commune though,” I tell him. “It was going to happen eventually. But it didn’t happen yet.”
“Good,” he says firmly. “Because I don’t want to share you, Waverly.”
“You don’t?” I ask the words sending a wave of want over me.
“No. I don’t. I want you, Waverly, all of you, but I won’t beg you for it. You can give me what want when you want it.” He twists his lip. A small smile tugging. “I liked that they thought I was your husband.”
“Did you now?” I lick my lips, my heart swelling with possibility. Walker really does like me.
And I admit, I like the idea of being his. The idea of Walker being my husband and me being his wife.
I don't exactly know why it’s so appealing. I’ve never been a big white wedding, a tiered cake, and a first dance kind of girl. Truth is, I don't really know what kind of girl I've ever been. A desperate one in survival mode. One who knew how to say a prayer, who hoped it might save her.
But I don't want to always be that girl. Hoping, longing, aching, for safety… looking for love.
Walker helps me out of the plane, and I grab my backpack, biting my lip as he takes my hand in his. We walked down the wooden dock and wind our way up a small trail. It smells like the earth has opened for us. Pine trees and fresh dirt and wildflowers. A blue, cloudless sky. I can even smell the water. It's not saltwater. It's fresh. Fresh and clear and so beautiful. And all these smells swirl around me as we walk up toward a small cabin.
It's not exactly what I was expecting, but what was I expecting when I met Walker a week ago at that bar? A millionaire with a mansion. I smile. Certainly not. He wears dark blue jeans and a flannel shirt. He has hair on his chest and muscles on his arms and tattoos that tell a story. He has a thick beard and dark eyes, and when he looks at me it’s as if he is asking just the right question to make me feel understood.
Is he a man or a myth or maybe a fairy tale? Maybe all three.
Still, the cabin really isn't what I expected.
“What do you think?” he asks, his tone telling me he realizes it’s nothing much as he opens the front door letting me in. Wooden floors and a wood-burning stove. Wood stacked against the wall. So much wood.
There’s a tidy living room and a kitchen, a loft with a bed. I can spin around and see the whole place. It's bigger than my studio back in Los Angeles. I think it's big enough for both of us.
“I like it,” I tell him, meaning it. “It feels cozy.”
“Cozy is a nice way of saying small. Look, I haven’t lived up here long. Eventually, I plan on getting something bigger.”
I swallow. How long does he think I plan on staying? Not wanting to ask such a direct question, I smile. “If you’d seen my last apartment, you’d know this was a massive step up.”
He smirks dropping my backpack on the floor. He shrugs off his jacket, resting it on a hook by the front door. I see a shotgun hanging over the jackets. There’s an ax in the corner next to the wood. Am I looking for a weapon or am I looking for signs of safety?
Safety, I think, looking back at Walker. I exhale, regretting that I pulled away from the kiss back on the plane. I basically asked for the kiss. I still want it. A thousand thoughts run through my mind and he must notice.
“It’s hard to get a read on you,” he tells me stepping closer.
I step toward him. I like this. Being close to him.
“I’m just trying to adjust to the fact that I'm in the middle of nowhere with someone I hardly know. No one in the world knows where I am. Anything could happen.”
He looks down at me. My words hanging between us.
“We're not totally alone,” he tells me. “Jameson, the pilot you met, he lives out here. We can drive over there if you'd like. If you want another set of eyes on you. And I can show you how to use the radio. It's kind of important out here in case anything happens to me. I want to make sure you’ll be okay.”
“Why would something happen to you?” I ask fear winding its way up my spine.
“No reason,” he says quickly. “I’m just saying in case anything did happen. Wild animals or forces of nature. Besides, this way you can reach me when I’m off flying.”
“Just how long do you think I'm staying here?” I ask, feeling braver. And wondering how much time I will be spending alone in isolation.
He shakes his head. “I’m not saying or assuming anything. I just wanted to mention that you're not utterly alone. Jameson is around. There's a radio for help. I want you to know that this place can be your place. I want you to feel safe here.”
I look up at him. Those words are the words I've always wanted to hear. You are safe here. This place can be your home. It's what I want.
Maybe it's what I wanted from my mother all those years ago. What I wanted my sister to make with me, but I’ve never have had it. It makes it difficult to trust Walker and his promises and his confidence and in us.
Us.
We've just met, yet it's undeniable. The way I feel when I'm at next to him. It’s like anything is possible. The white dress, the big cake, the first dance.
Looking up into his eyes, I try to get a read on him.
“Look,” he says, “I don't like this tug of war. You keep pushing and pulling and everything you say is in opposition to the last thing you did or said. You don't have to fight me.”
I swallow, unsure of how to reply. “I don’t want to fight either,” I manage to say. Too scared to say anything more. To tell him that I want to make a home here. That I want him to wrap me in arms and never, ever let me go. That I want him to know my secrets because I believe they’d be safe with him and him alone.
He clears his throat. “If you want me to sleep on the couch, you can have the bed in the loft.”
“No, that's not what I'm saying.” I try again but he's turned away. “Walker,” I say. “Thank you for rescuing me today.
He grunts, “You're welcome.” He sits down on the couch and unlaces his boots. My stomach rumbles and I wonder if he's as hungry as I am.
“I’ll fix us some supper if you give me a second,” he tells me.
I shake my head. “No, let me help. I can make dinner.”
He lifts in eyebrow as he stands and begins unbuttoning his flannel shirt. He takes it off and sets it aside. My stomach isn't rumbling now. It's my core tightening and my want is growing. I remember those muscles. His chiseled stomach, his ladder of abs, and his biceps. How they wrapped around my body, and the way… Oh God, I want him.
“Why don't you go take a shower?” he offers. “I could make us dinner.”
But I lift my hand and I tell him, “No. Let me do something for you. You've done so much for me. You saved me from Father John and whatever the hell was going on up there. Remember I said I wanted to thank you when we were in the plane?”
He chuckles. “I don't think I was expecting dinner when you said it's a trade, you taking care of me.”
I lick my lips. I know what I meant, what I said, and what I insinuated. But I need time to breathe. “I just need a second, Walker.”
“I understand, Waverly.” He presses his palm to my cheek, and I inhale, breathing this moment in.
“You go take a shower,” I say, pressing my hand against his firm chest. “Wash up and get nice and clean for me and I'll make you dinner. “
“You know how to cook?” he asks his eyebrow raised.
I snort. “I can certainly manage.”
He grunts or maybe it's a growl. Either way, it makes my body pulse with excitement. I like it when he growls at me.
And I like it when we fight. This isn't the kind of fight that ends in tears.
It's the kind of fight that ends in sex.
I may have just lost my virginity a week ago to this man, but I know him. I know he wants that too. He doesn't want to argue. But he certainly likes to tease.
13
Walker
Usually, I have no problem giving in to my desire. But right now, standing naked in a hot shower, I’m rethinking that.
I turn the shower to cold wanting to kill my growing hard on.
Wavy’s in my kitchen, in my home, making dinner and I don't want to waste a good ejaculation on me, myself, and I. If I'm going to get off, it's going to be with her. Yes, my balls ache and my cock is stiff. Everything within me is eager and wanting her.
Her.
Her.
Only her.
The moment I got her in my arms on my plane and flew her away from that hellhole of a commune, I knew there would never be another. She was made for me and I was made for her and she's scared. She's scared of what it means because it's fast and it makes no sense. But since when did love make any sense? Never. Not so far as I can tell.
The love that they show in books and movies — it's a love like the blue of the sky after a rainstorm. I never got it before, but now I do. I understand because my whole life has been thunderbolts and lightning. Then I saw her alone in a bar drinking her Moscow mule, waiting for her own life to start. And now she's here with me and it’s a new dawn, a new start. Our start.
But she's as timid as a mouse. Skittering like a bird with a broken wing, scared. I get it. I hate that she feels because we're in a vast wilderness, it makes her feel vulnerable because the truth is, she's safer with me than anywhere else on Earth.
I just need to make sure she understands that. I step out of the shower. It was ice cold and I feel it to my bones. I am longing for Wavy to warm me up. She will in time. She’ll know that I am hers and she is mine and that she can close her eyes and sleep soundly in my arms.
Maybe I keep repeating this as my way to will it into reality because I know it's easier said than done. I'm not a safe man. A sure bet. People are looking for me and I'm scared she'll end up in the crossfire, but isn't it better to be in my cabin than anywhere else in this world? At least here, I'll have the chance to give her what she needs. The ultimate protection. If it comes to it, I will give her my life.
I wrap a towel around my waist, crack open the bathroom door, smelling meat and potatoes. A smile spreads across my face. I wasn't expecting that. Smells like a real home.
Wavy is really here making me dinner and damn, it feels right. The icy cold in my bones dissipates as quickly as it came when I think about her. A warmth spreads through me as I think only of her.
I pull on my jeans and a fresh flannel, rolling up the sleeves. My hair is slick and wet as I push it back from my face, and then run a hand over my clean beard. I look in the mirror, seeing a man who is weathered by the storms of life. My skin is tanned, my eyes are dark, and I wonder what she sees when she looks at me. Does she see a monster or a man? Both. Neither.
When I see her, I see life as it should be, nothing less.
I refuse to feel sorry for myself, for the things I've seen, the places I've been, and the things I've done. No, now's not the time for looking in the mirror to the past. Now’s the time for the future and that future doesn't lie with my demons. It lies with the angel in my kitchen.
She’s swaying her hips as I step into the kitchen. She's laid out a table, folded napkins, and polished silverware. An ice-cold beer next to a plate, an uncorked bottle of red wine. There's no apron around her waist because I don't own a goddamn apron, but there is a smile on her face. Music to my ears. She's humming a song and it's a melody I kno
w.
She’s singing a song that takes me way back when. Back to when I had a mama and I was young enough to hold, back to before I became this man. The one who feels so damn old. Goddamn it, I feel twice my age. Maybe it's just been a long life and I'm ready to rest in these mountains. This beautiful wilderness is where a man could do that with a woman like her. I could make good use of myself fishing and hunting in the day, chopping wood, giving her what she needs. Putting a baby in her belly, maybe four or five. Kissing her goodnight.
She keeps singing a song that takes me back and somehow in the span of a chorus, I feel grounded. More settled.
Sure, my cock still aches, and is ready and willing and wanting her, but there's something else going on.
It's a stirring in my heart.
Her long blonde hair has been twisted in a braid. It hangs down her back. She has a curve to her waist, hips that are spread wide. Birthing hips; hips that will work well, that will make me a father. I can see it so damn clearly and when she turns around, catching sight of me, I swear to God, she can see it too.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, stepping closer, pulling her into my arms because I'm no longer dirty, I’m fresh from the shower and she's as sweet as pie and all I want is this. Us. Our noses brush, my fingers run up her back. I kiss her because I know that's what she’s wanting. Me.
I kiss her because it's what I want and what I need and what we've both been dreaming about since the last time our mouths met in the plane. I'm ready for so much more. So is she. She whimpers against me and I kiss her more deeply. Her lips are plump and soft. My tongue sides against hers. Our eyes close and our bodies melt deeper into the embrace, into the moment, into our forever.
A timer goes off and she jumps back. “Dinner's ready,” she laughs, her cheeks are pink, her lips swollen. Her eyes are misty. She wants more than a kiss that much is for sure.
WALKER: The men of Whiskey Mountain Page 6
