by KC Klein
She gently tugged on her captured belt loop, but he tightened his hold.
“Katie, I know that last night wasn’t what . . . well, it wasn’t what either of us expected, but I want you to know I’m happy.”
Shocked, she jerked her head up to meet his gaze. Sure, Cole smiled occasionally and laughed with his ranch hands, even joked around with Jett. But there was always sadness in his eyes, a tiredness that bracketed his mouth. “You’re never happy,” she said, partly as a joke, but there was truth to her words.
“I know,” he laughed. “I have a hangover from hell, my eye hurts like a son of a—, but I’m happy.” His lopsided grin grew to a full smile, his dimple prominent as ever.
And she smiled back. It was that simple; she was happy when he was happy. “I’ve got to go.”
“A good-bye kiss?” His voice was so deep she could feel the rumble of it within his chest.
“What? No!” She turned out of his grasp and started walking back toward her house. The last thing she needed was to have her senses overpowered by his smell, his taste.
“Dinner?” he shouted behind her.
She kept walking.
“Ah, come on, Katie. Are you gonna say no to your husband on our wedding night?”
She put her hand in the air and wiggled her fingers.
“I’ll pick you up at seven then,” he called after her.
And she knew he was smiling, but she wasn’t about to turn around, afraid he’d see her own silly grin from ten feet away.
Nikki had barely kept her emotions under control on the ride home, but now as she ran up the steps of the front porch, her vision blurred into a watery mess. Inside, she braced one hand on the wall beside her and waited for the dam to burst. Her heart thumped in her throat, her stomach felt like a hollowed-out pit. She took in the smashed tequila bottle, the broken window. But the tears wouldn’t come. The front screen door slammed behind her, calling her to action. She started running. Through the living room, down the hall, into her room. Finally—with the bedroom door shut safely behind her—she let the tears come.
Or was it a scream? She clamped one hand across her mouth to stop one from slipping out. But she found she couldn’t do that either. Her hand shook as she bit her fingernail. It wasn’t enough. She bit down on the inside of her cheek instead. The sharpness of her teeth felt good, refocused her, brought her back from the edge.
Why had Jett said that? Why would he have said such a thing? It wasn’t true, couldn’t be.
I love her. I’ve loved her for sure since she was seventeen and probably before that.
Nikki leaned her back against her bedroom door and slid down to rest her forehead against her knees. Why seventeen? But she knew what had happened when she was seventeen. She knew exactly when Jett had fallen in love with her . . . and exactly when she’d fallen in love with him.
The night her mother died.
She’d been so alone. She had begged Cole to stay. Please don’t leave. But he hadn’t. The electric bill was due, and there’d be no paycheck if he didn’t go to work. She remembered thinking she was going to drown. But instead of water suffocating her, it would be the darkness that swallowed her up as she watched Cole’s taillights disappear down the drive.
She hadn’t wanted to go back inside the house. Inside was her mother. Or her mother’s body. The bone-thin vessel that wheezed and struggled with each inhalation. The “death rattle” sound of lungs that had filled up with fluid, vibrating the walls, making a coward out of her.
Seventeen was too young to have the power over life or death. Too young to bear the weight alone. So she’d sat on the broken wood steps with a brown bottle of morphine in one hand, and a fistful of Vicodin in the other.
To this day no one knew how close she’d been to swallowing those white pills and then chasing them with a bottle of morphine. She knew what would happen. The hospice nurse had told her what to expect. The morphine would help with any pain, slow the heart rate, and the respiration, then you would just go to sleep. To Nikki that didn’t seem like such a bad way to go. Not bad at all compared to how her mother was dying inside.
No one should go like that—swaddled in adult diapers, body raging with fever. And that thought alone had gotten Nikki to her feet and walking to her mother’s bedside.
To this day she couldn’t remember giving her mother the morphine, but she did remember the sudden quiet and the empty bottle in her hand. And she remembered exactly what emotion eased her pounding heart and aching muscles—relief.
Relief and the desperate need to get out of this house, out of this town. And so she ran. But one could only run if there was someplace to go, and in the middle of the night, on the edge of town, there was nowhere.
That was the night Jett found her in the barn. One moment she was alone, sobbing in a corner, and the next he had her on his lap whispering comforting words to her.
And if the shame of speeding up her mother’s death wasn’t enough, then what happened next would definitely fill her quota.
Jett had been a good kisser even back then. She remembered how his lips were soft against her wet cheeks. How he stroked her hair and held her tight. How his gentle words quieted the screaming inside of her. Her desperate need to affirm life made Nikki ripe for her first make-out session.
They hadn’t had sex. Thank God. Jett had pulled back before things had gotten too far. But really, was there anything worse? Anything worse than having her first orgasm, on the dirt floor of a stable, before her mother’s body was even cold?
Afterward Jett had whispered some sweet promises in her ear, but she held him to none. How could she when she couldn’t even look him in the eye? After her mother’s funeral she had cut Jett cold. Had he been hurt? She hadn’t noticed. She’d been so caught up in her own pain and embarrassment that there was no room for anyone else.
That had been six years ago, and eventually Jett had wormed his way back into being her friend. Jett’s easy manner and Nikki’s gift of putting things out of her mind had them bumping along pretty well.
But now she’d gone and slept with him.
And he’d gone and told her he loved her—always had. Which pushed Nikki right back to where they’d started. Right back to what she had known even at seventeen. What everyone in this town knew. Everyone, apparently, except Jett.
It was simple. He deserved better than a poor, desperate girl who had shamed her mother, and herself. Jett was just too good for her.
“You used to sleep like that as a child, completely dead to the world. A stampede couldn’t wake you,” Pa said.
Katie opened her eyes to the harsh yellow of the hospital lights and peeled her face off the vinyl plastic chair. It took a moment to focus, but finally she could make out Pa sitting up in bed, with more color in his face than she’d seen since she’d been back. She rubbed at the stiffness in her neck, but offered her father a warm smile. “You’re awake. Did you sleep well?”
“Much better than you, apparently,” he grumbled.
Katie shook her head, trying to clear the fuzziness that had collected during sleep. “How are you feeling, Pa? Are you up for some breakfast?”
She walked over and pulled the meal tray across his bed.
Pa pushed the tray back at her. “If that’s the same crap they tried to pass off as oatmeal yesterday, then tell them to forget it. I’ll have eggs and bacon, extra crispy.”
Katie didn’t bother commenting. What was the point? They both knew bacon was nowhere near an option. Instead, she pulled off the plastic lid, and stirred some sort of coagulated soup. After a moment she checked the printed menu—oatmeal. Huh, who would’ve thought? She put the spoon down, glad it wasn’t her breakfast. “You need to eat.”
“Says who?” Pa frowned, creasing his forehead.
“Then don’t.” She shrugged. “And stay in the hospital an extra week.”
He grunted, then picked up his spoon and started shoveling the goop in, probably trying to get it down before the taste
could catch up. Katie bent and kissed where his frown line deepened into a vertical groove.
She settled back into her chair, content to watch her father eat, grumble, and in general get back to normal.
“You look like hell, sweetheart,” he said, coming up for air.
“Yeah, well, not as bad as you.” She tucked the thin hospital blanket that smelled of disinfectant and old men around her feet. Had it gotten colder in here, or was it just her? Maybe when Pa fell back asleep she’d run and get some of the instant crap they passed off as coffee.
“I had a heart attack. What’s your excuse?” he shot back.
Yep, Pa was going to be just fine. “I was worried the black I’d wear at your funeral would clash with my eyes.”
He chuckled. “No, honey. Wear red and dance at my funeral. Don’t waste a moment grieving over this old bag of bones.”
As if. Katie had lost her mother, and the thought of losing her father terrified her, but Pa was uncomfortable with such declarations. So instead, she gave him her special annoyed look. “How about neither. What about laying off the bacon and hanging around a while?”
He grunted. “Still trying to convert me to vegetarianism. Man’s not supposed to live on vegetables alone.”
Katie rolled her eyes, but was too tired to rehash old arguments. She was just thankful Pa was feeling feisty enough to argue. In comfortable silence she watched him sip his coffee. He was a bit shaky, but still managed. The lump she carried in her throat since the early morning phone call two days ago relaxed. Pa was weak, but the worst was over. He’d make it.
Pa’s health scare had made her reprioritize her life. He was the only family she had left. She couldn’t be halfway across the country in New York. Not that she was dying to go to vet school. After seeing Sweet Thing, something had stirred within her, and the passion she remembered years ago resurfaced. There was something about bringing an abused horse like Sweet Thing back to health. She’d thought vet school was the best way to learn to rehabilitate horses, but after fixing broken bones and mending flesh, there were still deeper wounds that medicine couldn’t touch.
The thoughts of clear pastures and training sessions in the round pen drifted through her mind. Pa’s voice crashed through her dream.
“What?” She sat up with a start, not believing she’d fallen asleep again.
“I said whose ring is on your finger?”
Ring? And for a split second her mind failed her.
Whose? She spread her fingers wide and stared at the gold-and-diamond ring that fit snuggly on her left finger. And it all came back to her. Last night. Jett’s house. Cole down on one knee. Her shaky and mortified “Yes.” She placed her palm over her rolling stomach.
“It better not be that one boy’s ring on your finger,” Pa said, working himself up. “The one I’ve never met. What’s his name? Toby?”
Oh God, Thomas. Her head was suddenly pounding, and she pressed hard on her temples. Last night, Cole had been drinking, and she had been what? Crazy?
“Thomas,” she mumbled.
Pa scowled, his bushy brows forming into one line. “Sounds like a damn train conductor. Weak name if you ask me. What kind of man proposes to a woman without asking her father first?”
“Thomas is a perfectly fine name, Pa.” Katie rubbed at the spot between her eyes. Why was she having this conversation anyway? Duh, arguing about Thomas was easier than talking about the truth.
“At least Cole had the decency to ask me to marry you,” Pa grumbled into his coffee.
Katie’s head snapped up. Her father was delusional; there was no way. She’d been at Pa’s bedside every waking moment. “What? When?”
“Ah, this was years ago.” Pa finished his coffee and placed the Styrofoam cup on the bedside tray. “Back when you were eighteen, or was it nineteen? I don’t remember, but before you went away to college.”
He pressed the button on the hospital-bed remote and reclined.
In her head she heard Pa’s words, but her heart refused to believe it. Cole had asked to marry her? She stood and began pacing the width of the cramped room. Her head spun as she tried to realign all her perceptions over the last three years.
“Eighteen,” she whispered. “I left home and went to college at eighteen.”
Pa yawned and closed his eyes. He snuggled deeper into the pillow. “Yeah, that must’ve been it.”
She whipped her head around to pin him with a stare. Was he really going to take a nap? She walked over and pounded on the foot of his bed. Only the rationalization that he’d almost died kept her from shaking him. “Then what?”
“Then what, honey?” Pa didn’t even open his eyes, his voice a bit garbled.
“Then what did you say, Pa?” Heart attack or not, she couldn’t believe he’d kept this from her all these years.
“I told him no, of course. Your mom and I had long decided you needed to go off to college. Doesn’t matter now. You seem happy with your . . . what’s his name? Train conductor boy.”
“Thomas!” She probably shouldn’t be yelling in a hospital, but realizing Cole had told the truth made her . . .
Couldn’t breathe.
She pulled on the collar of her shirt.
Fresh air.
She walked over to the window, but was met by sealed double-paned glass.
“Yeah, yeah him. Can you get the light on your way out, sweetheart? I’m exhausted.”
Katie had to physically rein herself in, catch her breath. A few moments passed before she could speak. “Of course, Pa,” she said, softly.
She reached over and turned off the light, then returned to the small cut-out window. In the darkened room, the blue sky contrasted brightly. She leaned against the wall, her arms clasped around her middle, and watched the clouds drift by. At the age of eight she’d stared at this same sky, confident in the way her life would turn out.
And wasn’t it funny how the days of your life could bleed into years, horizons disappear into skies, and lies turn back into truths.
Jett was sprawled out on his couch watching the ceiling fan throw shadows on the wall as it spun round and round. ESPN was on, running the same episode of SportsCenter for the third time. He’d muted it an hour ago.
He should get up. Take a shower, a pain pill, and go back to bed. He should get the stain remover and scrub out the blood spot on his white couch. The thought made him grimace, but he quickly relaxed. His nose hurt too much.
Screw it. He’d leave the stain. It would serve as a reminder of how much he hated that pecker Cole anyway. Remind him that this time he was really done with the Logans.
But Cole wasn’t the Logan who was occupying his mind.
It was Nikki. Specifically, Nikki when she’d been lying in his bed, her cocoa skin beautiful against his white sheets. When she had said he could do one more thing. When she said yes, he knew right then and there that she was his. He knew that there was no turning back after what he’d planned to do to her.
He hadn’t even worked his way into it—so afraid she’d come to her senses and tell him to go to hell in typical Nikki fashion. No, he went straight down on her, parted her thighs, and kissed her right on her very moist center. He could still remember her shout of surprise, which of course, was nothing compared to her screaming his name later.
He’d played dirty. He knew that. Wasn’t proud, but she’d been naked in his bed and anything outside the touch of her skin, the scent of her arousal, the moan of his name on her lips was dead to him.
And he had waited a very long time to get Nikki into his bed.
He hadn’t even stopped to ask, too afraid of the answer, just found his way inside her—and then f—ing lost it.
The recollection of the feeling of her wrapped around him, joined in the most intimate way, had him groaning for a whole different reason than his broken nose. He took a moment. He, who was always in control, always a bit detached, had to take a moment to breathe and remember sleeping with Nikki didn’t mean a damn th
ing.
He’d brought her close, every time just on the brink until she was sobbing, past all sense. Then even when he knew he had her, he did it again. Brought her close to climaxing, then stopped just to be a prick, just to show her he could. Just because she’d made him wait all those years. And this time he wanted her to wait for him, even if it was just for a moment.
His emotions had surprised him—shocked him really. He was never aggressive in bed, wasn’t his thing. Except with Nikki. He had wanted her to know it was him pounding into her. Him that had brought her to the best climax of her life.
The funny part was she knew, all right, but just didn’t seem to care. And that’s what Jett didn’t get. What the hell had happened? He was a good-looking guy. Had enough money to pay for dinner, always treated his dates well, and the first time he’d ever declared his love to a woman, she went the color of the stomach flu.
Sure, the night hadn’t been ideal. He was usually way smoother than what he’d pulled last night. But this was Nikki. She knew him. All that sweet-talking and charming would’ve had her laughing in his face.
Then Cole had come and all hell had broken loose. He’d been lying there looking at the hurt in his best friend’s eyes, and he knew he had to tell Cole the truth. Had to tell Nikki the truth. He loved her. Always had.
The biggest problem with the Logans (and there were many) was that they didn’t know a good thing even if it knocked their feet out from under them and dragged them kicking and screaming into happiness.
Jett shook his head. It just didn’t make sense. Any woman in this town, married or not, would’ve been screaming her head off over him telling her he loved her. Lord knows, enough had tried to corner him into saying it.
Screw it.
No, screw Nikki. Oh yeah, he had. Good. Everyone deserved at least one good one-night stand in their life. She couldn’t say he’d never given her anything.
It was better this way. His mother wouldn’t have been happy if he’d brought a Logan home for dinner. There was a certain type of woman he was expected to marry: blond, rich, and politically connected. Nikki was none of those. Not that he would’ve married her. Hell no, it would take a hell of a lot better man than he to pull her out of her downward spiral.
