by Jennie Marts
“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” Colt said, his voice low and deep, and the timbre of it settled something inside her.
She let out a trembling breath. She did trust him. “I guess I wanted you to understand why I feel like I failed with those kids tonight. I’m an adult now, and I finally had a chance to stand up to my dad… Well, their dad, but you know what I mean.”
He nodded. “I get it. You wanted to protect them like you couldn’t protect yourself before. Or like you wished someone would have done for you.”
He did get it. She put her hand on top of his, gripping his fingers in hers, as she stared into his eyes, trying to make him understand. “Yes. Exactly. But I didn’t do that. I failed them—failed myself. I tried, I swear I did, tried to stand up to him, then he grabbed my arm, and I was a little girl again, terrified and frozen, and couldn’t do anything. How will those kids forgive me? How can I forgive myself?” She looked away, the humiliation tearing at her chest like a rat gnawing through her skin.
“Hey now, come on.” Colt scooted closer and tipped her chin up to look at him again. His brow creased as he held her gaze. “You’re being way too hard on yourself, darlin’. There is nothing to forgive. Those kids don’t see someone who failed them. They see someone who put herself in harm’s way to protect them. You took the focus of their father’s rage and put it on yourself instead of them. You took the pain so they didn’t have to. That isn’t being a failure, or someone who is weak. Those are the actions of someone brave and strong who puts the safety of others above her own. That’s what they see. That’s what I see.”
His words soothed her battered heart, touching a part of her that she normally kept locked away. She wanted to believe him, to see herself through his eyes, but it was hard to shake the years of being told she was worthless.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not even realizing she was leaning toward him until he pulled her into his arms. She rested her head on his broad chest and inhaled the clean scent of laundry detergent on his shirt.
He rubbed his hand over her back. “I hate the idea that someone put their hands on you and that you were scared. I know a few self-defense techniques I could show you, and maybe you’d feel stronger if you ever run up against him or someone like him again.”
“I’d like that. But why did you need to learn self-defense techniques? In case you were attacked by a cow?”
He chuckled. “No. If I get attacked by a cow, I use the ‘run like hell’ technique. But I’ve done some training with the sheriff’s department so I can help out as a volunteer deputy when we have big events or at the county fair.”
She pulled back and looked up at him. “You are a volunteer fireman, a volunteer deputy, and you run a snowplow for the city. Is there anything you don’t do?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. I told you I like to help, and I like to be proficient in a lot of different skills.”
Oh boy. She couldn’t let that one just sit out there without making some kind of comment. Her talent for flirting left a lot to be desired, but he’d plunked that one right out in the middle of the lake, and she couldn’t resist at least reaching for the bait.
She lowered her voice and might have batted her eyelashes a couple of times. “So are you proficient in a lot of different skills?” Her voice was huskier than she’d planned, the desire and nervousness mixing together to tighten in her chest.
He raised an eyebrow as a slow, roguish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I like to think so, but it never hurts to brush up on my technique. They say practice makes perfect.”
Rev. Rev. Her lady-part engines had just turned over, and fuel burned like fire through her veins. She wanted to say something back, some cute, teasing remark, but her mouth had gone dry and her brain refused to feed her any words as Colt’s gaze cut to her lips.
What the hello am I doing? She’d tried to act like she was experienced at this—throwing down the flirting gauntlet like she was some kind of siren. And he’d picked it up and taken her dare. She licked her lips and swallowed back a nervous giggle.
The setting couldn’t be more perfect—the fireplace sending a warm glow into the dim room, the snow falling outside the window, Colt’s arm already around her waist. All she had to do was lean in…but she’d done that before. She’d practically thrown herself at him at the ice rink, and he’d pulled away.
What if she was misinterpreting this whole thing…again? She needed to let him take the lead, make the first move. She couldn’t breathe, like there was literally no air coming into her lungs.
He leaned closer, his grip tightened on her waist. Her heart threatened to pound through the wall of her heaving chest. This was it. This had to be it. He was going to kiss her. Please, please, for the love of gobstoppers, let him kiss me.
Desire swirled and tumbled in her stomach, and she prayed she didn’t throw up. She parted her lips in anticipation…and yawned.
Chapter 13
Holy Mary, mother of pearl. She did not just yawn.
Except she did. She totally did. At the very moment he was leaning in, at the pinnacle of the perfect kiss, a freaking yawn stretched Chloe’s mouth into a gaping black hole. And now all she could do was hope another black hole showed up and sucked her into it.
Colt’s eyes widened as he pulled back and blinked. “Geez. Sorry. You must be exhausted.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “I should let you get to bed.”
She shook her head. “I’m not tired. Really. That was a reflex. I just wasn’t breathing deeply enough because…” What could she say? I wasn’t breathing because I was longing so hard for you to kiss me? Yeah, that wouldn’t make her sound desperate at all.
He stood, and the moment was lost. She collapsed back into the couch cushions, giving herself a mental head slap. Agatha chose that moment to slink through the room, giving her a cool stare as if to say, “Yeah, you blew it again, sis. You’re trying too hard. You need to channel your inner cat and make him beg for your attention.” Or at least that’s what it seemed like the cat was saying. Her look probably meant something more like, “I’m not pleased to be here, and I just threw up in the middle of that guy’s bed to prove it.”
“You can take my room, and I’ll crash out here on the sofa,” Colt told her as he set their mugs in the sink.
“Oh no, I couldn’t. You’ve done enough for me. I can’t take your bed too. I’ll be fine on the sofa.”
He leveled a cool stare at her. “I’m nothing if not a gentleman, and there is no way I’m letting you take the sofa. Period. Besides, I’ll probably have to get up early and take care of a few chores, and I wouldn’t want to wake you.”
She could see there was no use arguing with him. “Fine. And thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He picked up the bag they’d left by the front door and led her to the bedroom. Setting her things on the bed, he gestured around the room. “Master bath is through there. Clean towels are in the cabinet next to the shower. If you need something, feel free to rummage through the drawers to find it. Extra blankets are in the chest at the end of the bed if you get cold.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” The bed was king-size and covered in a thick navy-blue down comforter. The cabin decor flowed into this room, and the headboard and dressers were made from heavy oak. A lamp sat on one bedside table, its base shaped like a pine cone, and a chunky ivory candle surrounded by sprigs of evergreen sat on the other. A paperback spy novel sat haphazardly on the edge of the nightstand, and she cringed at the dog-eared page.
He snagged one of the pillows from the side of the bed. “I’ll probably be up reading for a little bit, so just holler if you need me.”
I need you, she mentally hollered. Don’t go. Stay with me. But all she managed to say was “Thanks.”
Her shoulders slumped as Agatha jumped on the bed and sniffed Chloe’s bag. She knew she’d be up
for a while too. There was no way she’d be able to fall asleep with Captain Cowboy in the next room, but she might as well go through the motions of putting on her pajamas and brushing her teeth. She unzipped the bag and peered inside. Oh no. She dug through the sparse collection of things she’d thrown in the bag, tossing out a fresh pair of socks and undies and her toiletry kit, but didn’t find what she was searching for.
Well, Fraggle Rock. She’d remembered her toothbrush and her cell phone charger, but she’d forgotten to throw in some pajamas. That was great. She’d have to sleep in her clothes. Or…maybe she should sleep in the nude. Just the thought of it sent a thrill up her spine. Her normal sleeping attire consisted of a certain favorite jersey or a T-shirt, flannel pants, and occasionally a pair of fuzzy socks. She didn’t think she’d ever slept in the nude. But there was a first time for everything, and slipping naked into the sheets of Colt’s bed seemed like the perfect inauguration into birthday-suit snoozing.
And maybe she’d have a bad dream and cry out in her sleep, and Colt would come racing in to rescue her, only to discover she was naked, and he would be overcome with passion and not able to bear another moment without her, and he’d strip off his clothes and…
“You okay?” Colt asked, startling her as he leaned in the doorway.
“Wha… Yeah, yes, fine.” A little warm, and her hoo-haw was humming like a harmonica at the Grand Ole Opry, but other than that, she was totally fine.
“I forgot my book.” He grabbed the paperback off the bedside table, then nodded to her bag. “There must be something pretty amazing in the bottom of that thing. You’ve been staring into it for the last few minutes.”
She shook her head, heat flaming her cheeks, and her chest, and her… Well, never mind. “Nope, nothing amazing. Just got lost in thought.” Thoughts of you stripping off your jeans and climbing into bed with me. “I was looking for my pajamas, but I must have forgot to throw some in.” Why did she tell him that? So he’d imagine her sleeping in the nude?
He crossed the room and opened the top drawer of his dresser. “Here. You can borrow one of my shirts.” He dug through the stack, pulled free a blue T-shirt, and held it out to her. “This is one of my favorites.”
She took the shirt, a thrill already coursing through her at the thought of the soft cotton fabric of his shirt against her skin. Geez-o-pete, she was acting like a teenager, fawning over the cute boy who’d just given her his letter jacket. But she felt like a teenager, a lovesick adolescent with a crush on a boy who was totally out of her league.
That thought sobered her up, and she suddenly felt shy and awkward, like a stupid girl who’d been caught fantasizing about Prince Charming. And that’s all it was, a fantasy. Hadn’t she chastised herself earlier for this very thing? Her life wasn’t a fairy tale, and she was certainly no princess.
“Well, I’ll let you get to it,” Colt said, after she’d spent the last several seconds silent as a mime. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she said to his retreating back, then buried her face in his shirt. She was such a dorkahontas.
It didn’t take her long to brush her teeth and wash her face. She debated closing the bedroom door, but decided to leave it open, figuring if there was any hope of her fantasy coming true, she might as well give it a fighting chance.
She quickly took her sweater and shirt off and pulled Colt’s T-shirt over her head. It fell almost to her knees. She shimmied out of her jeans but left her socks on, then neatly folded her clothes and laid them in a pile on the chest at the end of the bed. Now what? Bra on or off?
Leaning back on her heels, Chloe risked a quick peek into the living room. The lights were off, but the fire still burned, and in the glow, she could see the top of Colt’s head as he reclined on the sofa.
The soft cotton of his shirt caressed her skin. She chewed her lip. No bra.
Reaching under the back of her shirt, she released the clasp and drew the strap out one sleeve, then tugged the whole thing out the other sleeve and dropped it on top of the pile. It was only a stupid shirt, but it belonged to him, and the light touch of the soft fabric against her breasts had her nipples tightening into pebbled nubs. Pulling back the covers, she slid between the sheets and laid her head on the same pillow where Colt laid his every night.
She tried to close her eyes, but every creak and groan of the cabin had her popping them open and straining her ears to hear if Colt’s footsteps were headed for the bedroom.
There’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep. I haven’t even checked the locks, were her last thoughts before the exhaustion of the day finally caught up to her, and she drifted off.
* * *
The comforter fell off the sofa as Colt tossed and turned to his other side. Again. He’d taken plenty of naps and slept easily on this couch many nights before, but tonight he couldn’t seem to find a comfortable spot. It wasn’t the sofa’s fault. He couldn’t get his brain to turn off either. His brain and a few other parts of his body as well.
Not with having the woman who’d been haunting his dreams in the next room sleeping in his bed. Without him.
Something about this picture didn’t seem right. Not right at all.
Forget it. He pushed off the sofa and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Staring out the window, he watched the snow fall on the lake as he leaned against the sink and drank a glass of water. The swirling flakes had a hypnotic effect, and he headed back to the sofa to try again. Except instead of his feet taking him toward the living room, they carried him toward his bedroom.
He didn’t go in. Just stood in the doorway and watched her sleep, listened to the rise and fall of her steady breathing. It was the third time that night he’d checked on her, the third time he’d stood in this same spot and listened to her breathe.
He knew he shouldn’t be standing there. It was probably some rule in the pervs’ handbook about stalking women, but he couldn’t help it. She looked so pretty while she slept—curled on her side, her hand tucked under her chin, wavy curls of hair spread out on the pillow. If he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, would she be his forever?
Or would she slap him upside the head for even considering such dopey fairy tales? He knew that’s what his brothers would do. Hell, he should slap himself silly for pondering the idea that he could be a prince to any woman. He knew better. And he knew that nowhere in his life did he get to have that elusive happily-ever-after.
He might get to see it, to picture it, even dare to reach for it, but experience and hard lessons had taught him that it didn’t matter how much he dreamed of it, how hard he wanted it, or how close he got to it. That old brass ring was always snatched away before he could grab it.
Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Shut up and appreciate the beautiful woman sleeping like Goldilocks in your just-right bed.
No wonder she was sleeping so peacefully. She was surrounded by the coziness of both her animal and his as the cat lay curled on one side of her and Watson snoozed on the other.
A smile tugged at his lips at his dumb dog, all spread out in the middle of the bed and snugly cozied up to Chloe’s back. Traitor. Watson was supposed to be his loyal companion, but one scent of a damsel in distress, and the dog deserted him faster than a bucking bronc. Although he had often wondered about the intuitiveness and compassion that his dog displayed. Some dogs acted aloof, some skittish, some only loyal to their alpha. Not Watson. For a scratch, or even the slightest hint that he might possibly get a scratch, he’d offer to be just about anyone’s friend. And that dog was a great friend to have.
Watson had taken to Chloe from the moment she entered the house, as if he could recognize her kind heart and knew she needed him. That was okay. She could have the dog for the night. Colt wasn’t concerned about the loyalty of his faithful companion—that dog had more than enough love to give—he was just jealous that Watson got to curl his body around Chloe to sleep
.
Colt glanced around the room, not ready to go back to the sofa just yet. The pile of neatly folded clothes on the chest at the end of the bed made him smile. The black lacy bra draped over the pile did other things to him than just draw a smile. Somehow, he’d pictured her as more of a white-cotton-bra-and-undies kind of woman. This woman continually surprised him—and he liked it, liked the idea of exploring her depths to discover her secrets and the mysteries she hid. The idea of exploring her body encased in that black lace sent his thoughts to a darker place, and heat swept up his spine. Now he’d never be able to fall asleep.
Turning away from the door, he headed back to the couch. The embers had all but died in the fireplace, and his chest felt as ashen as the burnt logs. He could dream of Chloe all he wanted, but she deserved someone better than a guy like him, a guy with no future who screwed up every real chance he’d ever been given at securing any kind of success for himself.
The curse was real, but it was a curse of his own doing. He knew the accident was his own damn fault. He’d been driving too fast, too cocky and full of himself, so sure of his own destiny, as if fame and fortune were already his. Losing Ashley had been his fault too. He’d turned into an asshole of the highest order, treating her like crap and pushing her away instead of appreciating all she’d tried to do for him. No wonder she’d left him.
It was always the same. He’d come to accept it and just appreciate the good things in life he did have—friends, the ranch, a great family, and a good dog. He let out a sigh and punched his pillow into a different balled-up shape. It had been a long time since he’d let himself imagine something more in his life. Someone more.
