“He shouldn’t have to settle because I only have half my baby-making organs.”
“Honey, only a foolish man would believe a life with you was settling, and that boy of yours has all his wits about him. Trust me on that.” She chucks me under the chin. “Now come on. Put on a nice dress and your church boots.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“I know, but you’ll never forgive yourself if you miss this.”
Colt drives so slowly it would almost be quicker to walk, but every bump his truck goes over pulls at my insides. It’s agony, and a part of me relishes the pain because it’s better than this numbness I’ve felt.
My family are gathered around our tree, all dressed in their church clothes, and I finally realize why we’re here.
We come to a stop and Daddy opens my door and helps me out of the truck. My brothers all hug me, careful not to squeeze me too tight. West hands me a small wooden box, and I frown and burst into tears, confused. There’s no baby for us to bury, just a fetus that was likely thrown out as medical waste with half of my reproductive organs.
“Colt made it.”
I shake my head, looking at Colt. “What is it?”
“It’s just some of things we bought for our Jellybean. I thought we could bury them at the base of our tree, so we’ve always got somewhere to come and visit.” His voice breaks over the last few words and I hold him tightly.
“That’s really beautiful.”
“Your daddy made the headstone.”
I bite my lip to keep from falling apart, but the fact that Colt and Daddy went to so much effort to give us a place to visit with our Jellybean, it opens the floodgates, and they don’t stop as every member of my family says a few words in eulogy.
A little of the numbness I felt since learning I lost a baby I didn’t even want vanishes. It hurts like hell, and it’s just a taste of what’s to come. Because I know now that I have to leave Colt to save him from a life with me, in order to give him the kind of life he deserves.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lemon
Colt didn’t show for breakfast at six, and he isn’t here now for Mama’s hot lunch like the rest of the boys. I take my seat and sip my sweet tea, but I really only pick at the food on my plate. I know he’s angry and I try not to be upset about it, but I’ve been playing that scene yesterday over and over in my head, and I don’t know where to begin. He kissed me and I kissed him back. I wanted to keep kissing him, I wanted to do a lot more than kissing, but one of us has to start thinking clearly. As much as I cherish what happened that night after Earl’s, we can’t just pick up where we left off twelve years ago. There’s a whole lotta hurt under that bridge, and I don’t know if either one of us can make it right.
“I can only assume Colt not being here all day means someone dang wore him out yesterday.” Wade winks at me, Wyatt chuckles, and I see red.
I try not to take Colt’s absence personally, but it cuts me to the core. Of course, it isn’t helped by my brothers giving me and the empty seat beside me sidelong looks. I’m used to them poking fun, but today, I’ve had enough.
“Would you two grow up?” I demand, standing so abruptly my chair hits the floor with a clatter.
“Lemon Emersyn Winchester,” Mama scolds.
I swallow hard and whisper, “Sorry, Mama.”
Before I can mouth off at Wade again, West punches him in the arm. “Knock it off.”
Wade’s brow creases and he looks at our older brother like he just drove a knife right through his chest. “What? I was just—”
“You’re just gettin’ on everyone’s last nerve,” West chides. Wade opens his mouth to protest, but West shuts him down. “From now on, no more ribbing Lemon and Colt. They got some things to sort out, and until they do, they don’t need none of y’all makin’ things worse.”
Wyatt raises his brows and locks eyes with me. He’s usually the first one I talk to, so I’m not sure whether he’s more shocked or insulted to find that I’ve been talking to West about this mess.
“Y’all hear me?”
The boys—including Cash—all bow their heads and murmur their acquiescence, but it seems West isn’t quite done. “Now, apologize to your sister.”
Wade and Wyatt both glare at him and then a quick glance in Mama’s direction sees them following orders. “Sorry, Lemon,” they mutter.
Cash just sits opposite me with a huge grin on his face. Carla’s right. He really is a cocky cowboy.
A horse whinnies in the stable and a beat later the sound of thundering hooves retreat from the house. I stand and walk away from the table, out through the back door, and into the yard and stable beyond. I tack up Teraway and pull her into the yard. Climbing up into her saddle, I take the reins and dig my heels into her sides before I really have the chance to reconsider what I’m doing. She takes off in the direction of the west pasture, but she’s resisting. I don’t know if it’s my mood or the gray clouds above that have her in a temper, but I give her a gentle nudge with my boots and she breaks into a loping, graceful canter.
The clouds grow darker the longer we ride, and I have half a mind to turn back, but I can’t. I need to see him. We need to talk this out. Twenty minutes later, the sky overhead opens up, and I slip in the saddle as I crest the rise and see Colt working on the fence in the western pasture.
The earth has that sickly green look about it right before a nasty storm hits.
“Colt!” I shout against the wind and rain as I pull the reins on Teraway and my horse comes to a grinding stop. I climb down and stomp toward him. Colt’s fixing a post and seems to be a little hard of hearing today. “Why the hell won’t you talk to me?”
He continues slamming the fence poster into the ground, the thick muscles in his biceps distracting me for a beat from my anger.
“Colt!”
“Go home, Lemon. I already told you I got nothing to say to you.”
I didn’t want to do this, but I put my hands on my hips so he knows I ain’t fooling around. “Fine then, maybe you can listen for once.”
“Listen? Me, not listen?”
“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”
“I listen. I’ve listened to every goddamn word that’s ever come out of your mouth, and even heard the ones you weren’t saying out loud. I think I’ve listened enough.” He turns back to his work and begins banging again, but the rain makes the task that much more difficult and his hands slip on the handles.
“Fine. You might not want to talk to me, but I got things I need to say to you.”
“Then maybe you shoulda stuck around twelve years ago instead of runnin’ out on me.”
“You’re right. I should have,” I say, and he pauses slamming the post into the ground to look at me. Wet hair falls into his eyes and the horses neigh. I turn and glance at Teraway, she rears up but behind her the sky is black as midnight, and the storm front is moving fast.
Colt notices too—he stalks toward me and grabs Teraway’s reins. “Get on the horse, Lemon.”
“Are we getting a tornado?”
Colt glares and I scramble to do as I’m told because it’s been a long time since I’ve come face-to-face with weather like this. If Colt is compelled enough to take action, then that’s all the fuel I need to light a fire under my ass too.
Rain falls in my eyes and the wild wind whips my hair around my face as I turn my horse in circles. Colt unties Knievel and climbs up, placing a hand against the frightened stallion’s neck. They trot toward us but a deluge of rain and ice-cold hailstones fall from the sky, and I can’t see a thing in front of me. “Colt?”
“Lemonade!” he shouts back, and I dig my heels into Teraway’s side. She charges forward. The hail beats down so hard it stings my skin.
Colt shouts over the ruckus, “We need to find shelter, let this storm pass!”
“Where?” I scream back. “The house is too far?”
“Wyatt did up that run-down shack in the west pasture. It wo
n’t do much in a tornado, but it should be dry at least.”
“Okay.”
He heads for the shack and it takes some coaxing, but Teraway decides to try and keep up and bolts after Colt’s horse. My saddle is slippery and my boots struggle for purchase in the stirrups, but after several minutes of beating rain and hail upon our backs, the cabin comes into view.
I’m freezing as I sling my leg off the horse and Colt’s hands encircle my waist to help me down. I don’t need no help dismounting a horse, I’ve been riding as long as he has, but I appreciate the gesture and the little bit of warmth his hands provide because I’m shaking so hard my teeth are rattling in my head.
“I’m gonna send the horses back,” Colt shouts over the thunder and rain.
“Will they find their way in this?”
“They’ll be safer out there than here.”
I nod and wait, shivering in the rain while he slaps both of the horses asses and sends them on their way. In the distance, tornado sirens wail in town, and my blood turns as cold as the hail falling from the sky. Please, West, get everyone in the shelter. I reach for the handle, try the lock, and find it stuck.
“Colt, it’s not opening.”
“Goddamn it, Wyatt.” He shoulders me out of the way and jiggles the handle. Colt moves to the picture window and tries to lift it, but it won’t budge. Then he shocks the hell out of me by grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head.
“What are you doing—you’ll freeze,” I shout against the wind.
“I gotta bust open the window.” He wraps his shirt around his fist and punches the small windowpane closest to the door. It shatters and he clears away the rest of the glass before sliding his arm through the gap and unlocking the door. He gestures for me to go first, because even though he hates me, he’s still a gentleman about it.
Inside, the tiny shack isn’t much warmer, but it’s dry and there’s a fireplace in the corner of the room that I rush toward. Colt gets there first and begins stacking kindling in the small hearth. “Look for something to burn, will ya?”
“Okay,” I say through chattering teeth. I glance around the small space. There ain’t a whole lot lying around, but there is a bed, an old armchair which Mama threw away years ago, a bathroom, and a tiny kitchenette. I open the drawers and begin looking for a book of matches and paper to burn.
“Bless your heart, Wyatt Winchester,” I say, as I come across a Playgirl magazine and a book of matches from a gay club in Austin, Texas. I cross the small cabin to Colt and hand over the matches first and then the magazine.
Colt glances at the naked man on the cover and raises an eyebrow. “Jesus Christ. I guess now we know why the door was locked.”
“You can use it right?”
“Well, yeah, but … are you sure you don’t want to go in the bathroom and take a little look first. Might warm you up some.”
I laugh and shove his shoulder. “I’m sure. That kind of flashy beefcake was never my thing.”
My eyes roll over his half-naked body crouching by the fireplace and I bite my lip. Colt may not be what I’d consider beefcake, but he sure is fine. Every inch of him is tanned, hard-won muscle from working my family’s land, and one hundred percent centerfold worthy.
He smirks and takes the magazine, opening to the centerfold and ripping it right out as he shakes his head. “I guess it never was, was it?”
I hop from foot to foot, hugging myself to generate heat. “Can you hurry up, please? I’m freezing.”
“Sure thing, darlin’.”
“Don’t you sass me, Colton Hayes.”
He adds a log to the fire and the pop and crackle of dry wood soothes my soul, even though the window is still letting a considerable amount of wind howl through the open pane.
I take the rest of the magazine and place it up against the window frame, searching for something to hold it down when a roll of duct tape peeks out from under the bed at me. “Oh my Lord, Wyatt. I could kiss you right now, but y’all need Jesus.”
I grab the tape from the bed and head back to the window. I tape up the magazine, but a bloom of bright red blood against the painted frame catches my eye. “Colt, let me see your hand.”
“It’s fine,” he grunts and stands in front of the fire, shaking. I finish taping the window shut and draw the curtains to keep the heat in. It makes the cabin that much darker, but the sky outside is just as black, so right now I’d rather the warmth and safety of these four walls. My teeth chatter as I step toward him. “Let me see.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“Please?”
He sets his jaw, but his eyes are already resolved. Colton Hayes never could win when it came to betting against me. He offers his hand for inspection and I take his wrist and glance at his knuckles. They’re bloody and all busted up.
I suck in a sharp breath. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m okay.” He pulls away and turns back to the fire. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Yeah, with glass in it. Sit down. I’m gonna find something to clean it with.”
“There’s a gallon of Fireball whiskey on the counter.”
“Well, that’s a start.” I head to the bathroom. I don’t find much in the way of bandages but there is a salve in the cabinet and paper towel in the kitchen, so I gather my supplies and walk back over to Colt, who hasn’t moved from the fire.
“You’re soaking wet, Lemonade. You shouldn’t be looking to patch me up until you’re out of those clothes.”
I smile, because I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but even when Colt is trying to be a perfect gentleman, there’s always something just a little rugged and dirty about him. “You haven’t said those words to me for a long time.”
“Nope, I guess I haven’t.”
“It’s okay. I won’t take them to heart.” I smile up at him and set my materials on the counter. “I’ll make you a deal. Let me fix your hand, ’cause you can’t keep that glass in it all night, and I’ll take all my clothes off to dry out when I’m done.”
“You’re still just as big a tease as ever.”
A bold smile steals across my face. “I know.”
“Fine. Deal,” he grunts. “I don’t wanna sit on the bed and make it wet.”
“Okay, let’s do this in the bathroom then.” I take the bottle of Fireball and screw off the cap, sipping it on the way to the bathroom. Warm whiskey slides down my throat and sparks in my chest, settling in my belly. I wince as I remember the long nights we drank this stuff in the back of Colt’s truck, the tailgate laid down. Drunk and in love, we were untouchable then. Until we weren’t. Until our whole world fell apart and we hit the ground so hard we shattered.
I clean his hand over the sink and fish out what little glass I can see. He doesn’t need stitches, but he should probably still get it looked at tomorrow. Assuming we make it through the night and don’t kill each other first.
When we leave the bathroom, Colt grabs the bottle of Fireball and I head to the kitchenette, hoping like hell Wyatt had the forethought to stock the cabinets with snacks.
“Alright, Lemonade. It’s your turn. Take your clothes off.”
I frown and continue my perusal of Wyatt’s shelves. Granola bars and a pack of gum is all I come up with. “Nothing’s changed it seems.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You’re still trying to get me naked.”
“Woman, the way I remember it, I never even had to ask. You were always shedding clothes at the watering hole, at our tree, or in the back of my truck where your brothers or your folks could have found us.”
I shrug and grab the box from the pantry before walking across the room and setting them on the floor in front of the fire. “I liked taking my clothes off in front of you.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Colt’s soft laugh causes my insides to stir. “You particularly enjoyed trying to get me killed.”
There’s a blanket box at the end of the bed and I’m almost afr
aid to open it because I have seen Fifty Shades—and based on the duct tape, the nonperishable snacks, and the salve in the bathroom, I’m pretty sure my brother is the gay equivalent of Christian Grey. I have no desire to freeze to death in the middle of a tornado though, so I open Pandora’s box. A literal dick-ton of sex toys stare back at me. Yep. Wyatt is one kinky fucker. There are blankets though and I pull them out and toss one to Colt. “I’m game if you are.”
“I never had any problems being naked around you, Lemonade.”
“I remember.”
He raises a brow and his hands fly to his belt buckle. He unbuckles it and his eyes glide to mine. “You gonna watch?”
“Maybe.”
“What if I said you lost the right to watch me undress when you walked out on me?”
“I’d tell you it’s a little late for that, isn’t it? Or did you forget about the night in your cabin after you dragged me kicking and screaming from Earl’s.”
He nods like I’ve made a fair point. “I could never forget,” he whispers. “But I tell you what, Lemonade, why don’t you start? Ladies first and all that.”
“Oh, is that how we’re playing now?”
“Once a gentleman, always one.”
Okay then. If he wants to play dirty, I’ll show him how wild Lemon Winchester can be. I start on my sopping wet button-down, and slowly undo all of the buttons. Then I peel off the wet fabric and let it fall to the floor. It makes a wet splosh against the worn floorboards and I stand there in my jeans and bra. Colt doesn’t turn his eyes away. He studies every inch of me from my toes to my head and everything in between. Those gray eyes bore into me, and I suddenly feel hot in all the places his gaze touches.
I toe off my boots and unfasten the button on my jeans, then I slowly slip them over my hips, thanking the good Lord that I took the time to put on matching bra and panties this morning. What I didn’t count on was how sheer they were. You can see everything through the soft pink lace.
“Jesus,” Colt mutters under his breath and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows audibly.
Sweet and Wild (Winchester Wild Book 1) Page 12
