Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
And I’m being completely honest.
“Was that night…? What almost happened… Did that have anything to do with why you didn’t come when my mom asked?”
Whoa. Is that what he’s really thinking now? I was pretty screwed up after that night—still am—but that wasn’t the reason I didn’t go running.
I drag a breath in, inhaling the damp air. “I didn’t come to the hospital because I was afraid of turning into someone I don’t respect. The girl who abandons the one thing she worked for because a man is bleeding. But when your mom called? I almost did it anyway. I almost packed a bag and got in my car. Then I remembered you telling me we had no future, and I thought, okay, don’t go running toward nothing. Build the future you promised yourself.”
His mouth tightens. “I earned that,” he says. “And I’m trying to un-earn it.”
I offer a small smile. “I know.”
We stand there, a foot of space and a thousand miles between us.
“Lance is a good man,” I say because it’s the truth and we promised each other honesty. “He stepped in when it counted. He asked me out like a gentleman. I turned him down anyway. Not because I owe you anything, but because I can’t manage half measures with other people while I’m this”—I gesture between us—“compromised.”
Henry’s expression shifts. Something uncoils in his posture. He steps close enough that our breaths mix but not close enough to trap me.
“Compromised isn’t the word I’d use,” he says. “Committed, maybe. Or doomed.”
“Morbid,” I say, even as my mouth curves.
He cups my face. “I’m sorry about what happened. Every part of me wants to find that asshole and take him out.”
“I know,” I say. “And I also know what it costs you to feel that way.”
He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to. We both know he’s still struggling with taking Ralph’s life.
He bends. I don’t stop him. He brushes his lips against mine.
The kiss is not like last night’s. It’s careful. Patient. He tastes like tea and rain. He slides one hand to the back of my neck, and I sway into him.
“Good?” he asks against my mouth.
“Different,” I whisper.
“Good different?”
“Yes.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time but still measured. I fist my hands in his shirt, which is damp from mist. I want to peel it off him.
But I also want to leave it on him because if I take it off we’ll be other people again, the ones from the storm. I’m not ready to be them. Not yet. Not until I’m strong enough to walk away again.
“Walk with me,” he says, our foreheads touching.
“We’re already walking.”
He gestures down the trail. “A little longer.”
We continue, sometimes holding hands, sometimes not.
He points to a row of columbines sprouting where the trail dips. “Angie used to pick those for Mom,” he says. “Then Sage decided, at the bright age of ten, to go into the wildflower business. She wanted three cents a stem.”
“Did she get rich?” I roll my eyes. “Sorry. Stupid question to ask about a girl with a trust fund.”
He laughs. “That’s Sage. Always looking at numbers.”
We circle back toward the cabin. My jeans are damp at the hem, but I don’t mind. The walk was just what I needed.
Air.
Air between Henry and me and whatever is going on between us.
I love him.
I love him with all my heart.
But he’s not ready to hear that yet, and I’m not ready to say it.
Plus…there’s my seminar. My career. My dream.
I can’t be a surgeon living on a ranch.
Inside, the cabin is dim. Is the power back on? Probably. I flick a light switch.
Okay, I guess not.
“It takes a while out here sometimes,” Henry says.
We head into the great room. Henry kneels in front of the hearth and brushes away excess soot from last night. Then he stacks some kindling and logs, adds crumpled-up newspaper, and strikes a match. It catches, flickering, as the paper burns quickly.
“Come here,” he says without looking back.
I go. Because of course I do.
We sit together on the rug, not touching at first. The fire cracks softly.
“I asked for you in the hospital,” he says, eyes on the flames. “Not because I thought you owed me anything. Because your name was the only one that made the room feel less…smothering.”
I blink. “Really?”
He nods. “My mom wanted to drive to Boulder and haul you back by your hair.” He reaches, tucks a stray lock behind my hair, leaving his hand there longer than he needs to.
I like the feeling.
We sit like that as the fire builds.
“So are you back at work?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. I went in yesterday, planning to work all day until Angie called with the bright idea that I should come here to relax.”
I give a chuckle. “We both walked right into that one.”