Rodeo rebel, p.14
Rodeo Rebel, page 14
Shortsighted of him now that he’d met a woman whose opinion really mattered.
She really mattered.
And that was the other thing that troubled him. What did he do about the growing feelings for Lauryn when he wasn’t going to remain in Silent Spring even one day after that bachelor auction? The war with his father had died along with Duke Kingsley, but that didn’t mean Gavin wanted any part of the complex network of businesses tied to the family name, let alone Kingsland Ranch.
At least he’d been able to share his point of view about that with his followers when he’d scheduled his spotlight post for the bachelor auction. He hadn’t seen the reaction online yet, but he hoped once his fans knew it was his decision to part ways with the family businesses, they would halt the boycott efforts of Kingsley holdings. He’d hated seeing the Stockyard so empty, especially when Levi had started the place on his own.
Now, turning onto the back road that led to Lauryn’s horse rescue, he admired the obvious hard work she’d put into the place. He recalled the property from years before, when it had been a hobby ranch for a family who fell on hard times. Gavin had been friends with the younger son, and could remember how overgrown it had been at the time.
Today, the access road had been paved and widened, brush cleared from both sides and symmetrical rows of ornamental trees planted. The effect was welcoming, and he had no doubt the horses entering the rescue appreciated the smoother ride to their new home.
Farther ahead, he could see the arched sign reading Hooves and Hearts. Six-foot brick columns held the wooden fence posts, wrought iron lamps on either side illuminating his way. Seeing what she was doing here, especially once he reached the spacious new stables she’d built, made him glad she’d talked him into staying through the bachelor auction. Her cause was a good one, and she would put the funds raised to truly worthwhile use.
He admired her work ethic, especially knowing that life had come easier for him, given his father’s wealth. Even though he wanted to forge his own future going forward, he was still launching from a platform of support.
Pulling up to the stone ranch house with wide wooden porches, he parked in the driveway. He half wished he’d brought Rocco with him, as his dog adored Lauryn, and the Rottweiler would have fun exploring this place. But it wouldn’t have been fair to the animal to be cooped up in the truck for the three-and-a-half-hour drive each way to view prospective ranches.
As he opened the truck door and stepped down to the driveway, Lauryn appeared, silhouetted in the front entrance way.
His heart rate kicked up just seeing her.
Until, as he walked closer, the expression on her face became clearer. Her eyes were glistening. Her lower lip trembled.
Worry for her filled his chest as he quickened his step.
“Lauryn, what’s wrong? Are you all right?” He slid a protective arm around her shoulders, feeling her warmth through the long gray sweater she wore over a Hooves and Hearts–logo T-shirt and black leggings.
A tiger-striped cat curled figure eights around her legs, offering feline comfort as they stood on the welcome mat under the glow of the porch light.
“I’m okay.” She sniffed, swiping the sleeve of her sweater beneath her eyes. “The past few days have been a lot, after learning the truth about my dad and some other things he told me. And now today—”
A long, shaky sigh eased free as he held her.
“What about today?” he prompted, regretting that he’d shared something causing her pain.
She bit her lip for a long moment. Then, seeming to come to a decision, she nodded toward the porch swing swaying gently in the evening breeze.
“Let’s sit,” she suggested, sniffling once more, her eyes puffy. “I owed you an explanation anyway.”
Confused, he moved with her toward the swing, holding the cedar bench seat steady for her while she took a seat on the thick blue cushion. Then he settled into the spot beside her.
“You don’t need to share anything unless you want to,” he reminded her, unwilling to pry even though he was curious.
Mostly, he just wanted to offer whatever comfort he could.
“But I told you that I would explain the anxiety attack, and I never did.” Taking a deep breath, she relaxed against the planked seat, tipping her head onto his shoulder. “Today I want to share the story. I need to.”
“Of course,” he reassured her, stroking a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m listening.”
Around them, the evening grew cooler, so he pulled a spare fleece blanket from the back of the swing to drape over her legs. The scents of hay and earth from the stables and paddock nearby permeated the air. Every now and then, a whinny or a soft snort came from the barn area. The tiger-striped cat jumped onto the swing to take a seat on Lauryn’s other side.
“I told you that, before the Hamiltons adopted me, I was in foster homes,” she began, smoothing the blanket over her lap. “But I didn’t tell you about the best friend I made in a group home where I lived for a couple of years. Jamie.”
The careful way she said the name, with a wealth of emotion behind the word, made his gut clench for fear of where the story would end. He tucked her closer to his side, letting her speak without interrupting.
“She was a year older than me,” Lauryn continued, her breath warm against his shirt where she rested against him. “Jamie liked all the same books I did, and we were happy kindred spirits in a house full of hard-luck kids. The farmhouse was old and not well maintained, but our foster parents made some of the outer buildings off-limits to keep us safe.”
He felt colder by the minute as she spoke, so he couldn’t begin to imagine what the story was doing to her. Tension clawed up the back of his neck, but he tried not let it affect the way he held her.
Pausing, she placed a hand on his chest and levered herself up a little so she could face him before she continued. “But I was really drawn to one of them—a dilapidated potting shed with a small porch—just a step, really, and two columns in front of it.” Her eyes closed briefly as she dragged in a shuddering breath. “And I talked Jamie into going in there with me one day even though she thought it looked...unsafe.” She bit her lip. “She went in with me anyhow, and we started reading A Separate Peace.” Her voice failed her. She swallowed hard. “There was a terrible cracking sound. Like a tree falling. I looked up at her for a fraction of an instant before the structure collapsed.”
“Lauryn.” Her name erupted from his lips on a pained sound he hadn’t meant to make. But he couldn’t imagine how awful that had been for her. “How badly were you hurt?”
She shook her head impatiently. “It’s not a story about me. You felt the scars on my shoulder. What happened to me was nothing. I tried to get Jamie out, but—”
He waited, wishing she didn’t have to say the next words. But only because he hated that she’d lived them.
“—she didn’t make it,” Lauryn finished, exhaling a long, slow breath. “She died because I convinced her to be somewhere we shouldn’t have been in the first place. If I’d listened to her—”
His stomach dropped as he reached for her, sick in his gut for what Lauryn had been through. She couldn’t have been more than twelve at that time, and she’d had to grapple with something horrific all on her own.
“It wasn’t your fault, Lauryn.” He hugged her to him. Stroked a hand over her back. “You were a child. Both of you were. And you both deserved people looking out for your welfare.”
“Logically, I know you’re right,” she admitted softly, her voice muffled against his shirt. “But it took a lot of years to let go of the guilt. And even now...it’s an effort to remember that I shouldn’t blame myself.”
She pulled back from him, peering up into his eyes.
“I’m so sorry you went through that.” He cupped her shoulders in his hands, rubbing along her arms. “So, so damned sorry. And I can’t even imagine how much it upset you when those kids shook the tent poles in 4-H that day.”
He hated that he’d been a part of that. Not that he’d done the shaking, but he’d been there when she’d turned and run. That day must have been an awful reminder for her.
“I didn’t even remember the 4-H incident until you brought it up. It’s odd that I blocked that episode out of my mind, but all these years later, I still remember exactly where we were in A Separate Peace.”
“I would have never let them touch that tent pole if I’d known.” It was a useless thing to say about a moment long past when she’d gone through something so much worse. But it was the only thing he’d had any control of in that time of her life.
“I know.” A wobbly smile brightened her face briefly. “And living without her has been hard, but I’ve done it, year after year. It’s just always tougher on this date, the anniversary of her death.”
“Today?”
At her nod of confirmation, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. He’d read somewhere once that a hug helped someone hurt or grieving because it gave a boundary to pain, enclosing it. He didn’t know if that was true for how Lauryn felt now, but he hoped so.
He’d do anything to ease her hurt. Needed to do more for this woman who gave so much of herself to help others.
Which gave him an idea.
Easing away from her, he tipped her chin up so he could see into her eyes. “We could have a bonfire.” He’d noticed a firepit when he’d dropped her off here before. “And make it like a memorial in her honor.”
Something shifted in her gaze. Something that looked almost...hopeful.
Straightening, he warmed to the idea, remembering a similar gesture his mother had made for him a long time ago, when they’d said a formal goodbye to their old life as full-time residents of Kingsland Ranch. “I don’t know if it would help, but you could even write a letter to her—”
“—and let the fire carry the ashes of my words to her.” Lauryn finished the sentence her own way, already nodding. “Yes, Gavin. I would really like that.”
* * *
An hour later, Lauryn sat beside Gavin at the roaring blaze he’d built to commemorate Jamie.
He’d pulled over a patio bench from her back deck so they could sit beside each other while she penned her letter on a notepad lit by the orange flames inside the stone-rimmed pit. Her legs were curled beneath her as she worked. She’d put her cat, Festus, in the house earlier so she wouldn’t have to try finding him in the dark. Night birds called to one another, their whistles and songs audible over the crackling of the logs and hiss of sparks that made their way onto the cool, damp grass.
Even the act of writing the letter felt therapeutic, reminding her of the days at equine therapy. Gavin had been wise to suggest the exercise. And the fire itself.
Both comforted her in a way she’d really needed today.
For now, she’d put aside the other worries about her father, about her parents’ marriage. About Gavin himself and what would happen after the bachelor auction. She simply concentrated on her lost foster sister, the grief and the love still overflowing her heart.
“I’m finished with my letter now.” She stared down at the pages on her legal pad. The reminiscences about stories they’d shared—those they’d read and those they’d told one another about their lives. Details she hadn’t shared with another soul since.
“Your hands must be cold,” he observed, his brown eyes full of concern and tenderness.
She appreciated him being here so much.
“They’re fine.” Still, she pressed the back of her knuckles to her cheek to warm them. “And I’m glad I wrote it all out.”
He withdrew a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of his jacket. All this time, he’d been dressed in a gray suit and dark blue dress shirt. She knew he’d been touring ranch properties across the border today, and he looked every inch the high-powered rancher.
“I hope you don’t mind if I—” He closed his hand again. Crumpling the paper a bit. He cleared his throat and began once more. “I wrote my own goodbye just now. This one is a bit overdue as well.”
His father? If it was Duke Kingsley he had in mind, that seemed like a good thing. She recognized Gavin had been deeply hurt by the disinheritance and hoped maybe this would help give him closure.
She took his free hand in hers and squeezed it tight. “Of course I don’t mind.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder for a long moment, staring into the yellow and red flames flickering upward.
“Are you ready?” Gavin held out his paper toward the pit, the firelight casting shadows over his handsome face.
“I am.” Folding the pages of her letter, she kissed the missive and tossed it into the hungry inferno.
She watched as the paper curled and turned black. Shrinking and then disintegrating. Sending a few white ashes out into the spring wind.
Beside her, she felt Gavin pitch his letter into the fire a moment afterward. She closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her. The grief and the goodbye, the love and the remembering. Her heart felt full, but in a good way. Or at least, a better way.
“Thank you for this.” Her voice sounded scratchy from the emotions in her throat.
“I’m glad I could be here with you today.”
Turning toward him, seeing the strength and warmth of his big body beside her, she felt a rush of hunger for him. Need.
He reached toward her, thumbing aside a tear she hadn’t realized was on her cheek. His touch sent a shiver through her.
Not questioning the impulse, she captured his wrist and held his hand to her face, kissing his palm.
“I’m glad you were here, too, because I’m not done needing you tonight.” She stepped closer until they were chest to chest, breathing one another’s air. “If I put out this blaze, will you come in the house and start another one with me?”
“I want that. So much, Lauryn, I want that.” In spite of his words, he didn’t move. He remained very, very still. “But I don’t want to take advantage of a vulnerable time—”
“You won’t be,” she urged him, laying both hands on his chest. Smoothing her way down his shirt front. “How is it taking advantage of me when I’m doing the asking? I just want to lose myself. Forget about everything else.”
His hands gripped her hips. To halt her? Or to pull her nearer?
She held her breath while she waited to find out, her breath coming faster as she remembered the taste of his kisses. The feel of his mouth all over her body.
Maybe her thoughts showed in her eyes, because a moment later, he was kissing her like his life depended on it. Hungrily. Demanding.
And she answered him with her whole body, pressing shamelessly to him, rocking closer still. Her hands worked under his jacket to splay over the broad muscles of his shoulders until he jerked back.
“I’ll take care of the fire,” he announced, already moving toward the hose she’d laid out when they first began laying the logs in the pit. “You should go inside and warm up.”
Switching on the water, he sprayed down the flames so they smoked and hissed.
“I’ll wait and warm up with you.” She grabbed a bucket of dirt she kept nearby and added that to the pit, smothering the remaining fire.
He’d already made things better with the bonfire and his physical presence and his compassionate ear. Surely if she lost herself in the chemistry of their attraction, she would be able to burn away the rest of the feelings buzzing all through her.
Gavin shut off the hose and took her by the hand, the determined expression on his face sending a thrill of anticipation through her in spite of all the heavy feelings of the day. She needed this. Desperately.
Needed him.
Minutes later, they were in her dark kitchen, kissing their way through the house and bumping into things, unable to let one another go long enough to switch on a light. She toed off her shoes and then tripped on them, all without letting go of Gavin.
“Where is your bedroom?” he asked when he released her lips long enough to lick a path along her neck.
“Left,” she murmured, her legs already trembling from that wicked glide of his tongue over her throat. “We’re close.”
She tried to guide them, but his hands sliding up under her shirt distracted her. Her skin tingled. She backed them into the hallway wall before righting their path.
Maybe his eyes had adjusted then, because he lifted her up and carried her the rest of the way, elbowing closed the door behind them. Her bedside alarm had a blue light around the base, enough to see once they were inside. She peeled off her cardigan and tee with zero finesse, unsteady on her feet.
“Lauryn.” His voice halted her briefly, and she paused in unhooking her bra to see his eyes fastened to her body. “Let me.”
Awareness stirred in her belly. Lower. But she forced her arms down to her side while he closed the distance between them, his shirt and jacket already discarded. Then she couldn’t think anymore because his mouth found her nipple, licking his way around the peak before drawing on it. Her back arched, sensations spiraling to all corners of her body from that hot kiss.
He unhooked her bra and slipped it off her before giving her other breast the same attention. She reached to unfasten his belt and found his hand already there, working the clasp and placket before he stepped out of his pants.
“Do you have a condom?” She had purchased some just in case after their time together at the mountain retreat, but retrieving them from the bathroom would delay what she wanted—needed—most.
“Yes, here. You hold on to it.” He passed the packet to her a moment before he picked her up and laid her on the bed.
