Chasing forever, p.11
Chasing Forever, page 11
“You don’t have to tell me this. I’m not—”
“You are,” he interrupts. “You are my wife. I know it’s only on paper right now, but I’m trying to be your husband off paper, Lottie. Thought I’d made that obvious. So, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you we were running late. But if it makes you feel better, Moore will get my cold shoulder all day for fucking up our morning.”
Our. My heart shouldn’t react to that word. But it does. Oh god, it really, really does.
His strong chest rests along my back, and he nuzzles into my neck. My eyes close of their own accord.
“Are you free Friday?” he whispers, and goose bumps explode across my back. “It’s my turn to plan a date.”
I nod.
“Good. I’ll pick you up at six. Casual dress.” And then he leans in as if I’m his favorite scent and inhales. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Lottie.”
His hand slides between my arm and waist, picking up his coffee, then he’s gone.
I wait for the bell to chime to announce that he’s left before I release a breath.
I’m in so much fucking trouble because I think I’m falling for Brooks Watson.
Chapter Twenty
Lottie
As soon as I flip the closed sign over at The Harvest Depot, I drive my UTV straight to the horse stables. All day long, I’ve only thought of Brooks. The way his breath ghosted across my skin, the way he caged me against the counter like I was his and he didn’t want to let go of me.
I want to be your husband off paper.
That sentence has been looping in my head like a mantra. And every time it replays, my body reacts. My heart flutters, my skin flushes, my chest aches like I’m starved for something I’ve never allowed myself to want. You’d think I was the lead in some over-the-top Valentine’s Day commercial. It’s ridiculous.
I need to get a grip.
Normally, when my head’s a storm, I retreat to my she-shed. It’s my space to breathe, to think, to unravel my anger or sadness. But tonight, it’s not anger or sadness I’m dealing with. When I’m emotionally twisted like I am now, I turn to horseback riding to gain some clarity.
What are these feelings stirring inside of me? What do they mean, and why are they so scary?
“You riding?” Nash asks as he steps out of the stall, shutting the door behind him. He’s my cousin Jenson’s best friend and the horse trainer on the ranch.
I head toward the stalls, and my horse peeks out like she heard me coming before I even said a word. “I’m taking Echo for a little ride.”
He runs a hand through his dirty-blond hair. “It’s getting late.” He hesitates, shifting his weight, sighing like he wants to stop me but knows I won’t listen.
“You don’t have to take me,” I say gently. “I do this all the time.”
“But…”
Nash is trouble, mostly. Can’t settle down, spends weekends chasing an adrenaline rush on the rodeo circuit. But beneath the swagger, he’s a solid guy who cares for my extended family as much as we do him.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Honestly, head home.” I enter Echo’s stall, my hand trailing down her dark, silken coat.
“Lottie,” he says, still clearly torn about letting me ride off alone.
“I’ll use the trail and be back before dark. Promise.” He exhales a big, reluctant breath, his baby blues that make women fall for him narrowing in concern.
“Go,” I say, forcing a small smile.
He shakes his head. “Does Brooks know you’re here?”
I frown. “Why would he?”
He chuckles. “I don’t know? Because he’s your husband, from what I hear.”
“It was a Vegas marriage. Are those even real?”
I push down the swirl of new, unwanted feelings rising up whenever someone says his name. Denial is easier than admitting my drunk self might’ve known something my sober self still won’t say out loud. That I… might actually like Brooks.
“I’m pretty sure they are.” Nash chuckles.
I step out of the stable and grab my saddle.
“You’re really going?”
“I said I was.”
He frowns. “I’d hoped you’d change your mind.”
“Nash.” I walk back in with Echo and start saddling her up. “I’m older than you last time I checked. I grew up on this ranch. I can ride by myself and return safely. You don’t need to babysit me.”
“The sheriff might think different.”
I throw my hands up. “I’m so done with everyone telling me what I can and cannot do. Even if my marriage to Brooks Watson was real, he wouldn’t get to tell me when I can or cannot ride.”
I take the reins and guide Echo out of the stall. “Now out of my way.”
Once I reach the opening of the stable, I climb onto Echo and trot her out onto the trail that winds through our property toward Sadie’s, following the creek. Nash doesn’t say another word, and I’m grateful for the silence.
The sun is hanging low, glowing and stretching its golden rays across the land. How did I ever think I could live anywhere else? If I had moved to the city, where would I go when my head is this scrambled? A crowded park, boxed in by concrete buildings?
“Oh, Echo,” I murmur, running my hand down her neck. “I think I’ve gotten myself in some trouble.”
She doesn’t answer, of course, just walks on like she always does, calm and steady—exactly the reason I came here tonight.
“How could I ever be with Brooks?” I whisper into the breeze. “He’s Holden’s brother. The town… my past… it’s all a tangled mess, but I can’t stop thinking about him. And why does it bother me so much that he never showed his face the whole weekend? The panic I felt this morning when he was late flared way hotter than I’m comfortable with. These are all very bad signs.” I laugh bitterly. “I mean, it was a Vegas drunk marriage.”
Echo snorts as though she understands.
“I know. It’s not real. Brooks wasn’t in his right mind when he agreed to marry me. God knows how we went from a bar to a chapel. He’s not a rash guy. There’s no way it was his idea, but can you imagine if it was mine?”
Echo’s hooves swish through the tall grass. The creek’s low murmur lets her know we’re close.
I slow our pace and dismount, tying Echo to a tree with enough slack for her to graze. Then I step to the creek’s edge and watch the sun sink lower, smearing the sky with shades of amber and honey.
There are so many questions rattling around in my head, and I can’t seem to sort through them. Brooks should be in the “do not touch” box—but somehow, he slipped into the “husband” one. How did that happen?
I mean, I know how it happened. I’m not immune to his charm despite what I try to present. I’ve seen all the good qualities he has. But now there are real, rising feelings that whisper maybe he deserves a spot in the “maybe” box. At the very least, the “dating” one.
I don’t know how long I’ve been standing at the creek’s edge. The sun is half gone now, casting a warm buttercream haze over everything.
This wasn’t the kind of clarity I expected to find tonight. But one thing is clear—something between Brooks and me has shifted. That flirtation, the teasing we tossed at one another for years, it’s turned into something with… weight. And I’m not the kind of person who can ignore that.
Echo whines softly. I glance toward the sound and catch a shadow lengthening behind me.
Brooks.
He’s riding Gunner. My whole body tenses.
Fucking Nash.
I pretend to admire the stream, but every crunch of his boots, every rush of his horse’s breath, sends those stupid butterflies into a frenzy. God, this is worse than I thought.
“Hey.” His voice is deep and smooth like the creek in front of me and laced with that drawl that weakens my knees.
“Did Nash call you?” I cross my arms because the spring air has turned cool as the sun dips further.
A heavy coat settles across my shoulders. The smell of his soap lingers around me, and I force myself not to inhale any deeper.
“He might’ve passed me and mumbled something, but I was taking Gunner out anyway.” He stands beside me, too close for me to keep pretending nothing’s happening here.
“Why don’t you keep Gunner with you?”
He tilts his head toward the horses. I follow his gaze. Sure enough, Echo and Gunner are brushing noses.
“He’d be lonely.”
“I’m sure he’d manage.”
“I think Echo might miss him.”
“That’s presumptuous.” I lift my chin.
He raises an eyebrow and looks at the horses, clearly enjoying each other. “I don’t think so.”
“I don’t need your coat.” I reach up to shrug it off, but his hand covers mine, gently keeping it in place.
“Humor me?”
“Why?”
He sighs and shoves his hands into his jean pockets. He’s still in his sheriff shirt though. Clearly, not dressed to ride tonight.
“Because you’re cold, and I’m giving you my jacket to be nice. Just say thank you and leave it on.”
There’s a frustrated edge to his voice that’s not normally present.
“Thank you,” I say in a soft voice.
His brows lift, surprised. “Really?”
“You’re right. I’m just… bad day.”
“You too, huh?” He bends down and grabs a few small rocks, handing one to me. “If you hit the boulder over there, you don’t have to tell me about it.”
“What if I just don’t tell you anyway?”
“What fun is that?” He winks.
I toss the rock because of course I’m going to hit it. The breeze kicks up, and the rock drops short of the boulder, landing with a quiet plop in the water.
“Two out of three?”
He squints, shakes his head. “Afraid not. What happened?”
I shrug. “I don’t know how to word it. It’s not one thing, but…”
“Us?” he asks, like it’s gnawing at him.
I lift a shoulder. “Yeah. I mean, I wish I knew what we were thinking in Vegas. What made us decide to go to the chapel?”
“Me too. For a few reasons. Like knowing what happened when we got back to the hotel room.”
“Brooks!” I screech.
He chuckles. “You can’t blame me. I’ve wanted you for a long time, Lottie.”
There it is again. Heat rolling through me in waves.
“Well, I guess that and the answer to why we decided to marry one another is locked in our drunken subconscious forever. Sorry to disappoint.”
He nods. “I shouldn’t pressure you into going on the dates.”
I should agree with him and tell him he’s right. Say I want to end our agreement so we can carry on with our separate lives, but I don’t. Maybe three more dates is a perfect way for me to test these feelings for him.
“Why’d you come here?” I ask.
“Honestly?”
I nod.
“You.”
“Were you really going to ride Gunner tonight?”
He shakes his head.
“I was at Ben’s. Nash came over to watch the Colts game. He mentioned he saw you at the stables and…” He shrugs, suddenly looking unsure. Like he’s worried about admitting he came just for me.
“Thank you.” I look up at the sky, the last bit of sun painting it in streaks of blush and gold.
We don’t speak, but our gazes meet, the silence between us soft and silent. Comfortable.
“Come on. Let’s ride into the sunset,” I say, walking toward Echo and Gunner.
“Careful of your words there,” Brooks says, stopping beside me. “Want some help?”
I lift my foot into the stirrup and climb onto Echo. “Looking for an excuse to touch my ass, Sheriff?”
He mounts Gunner with the ease of a damn cowboy, smooth and sexy, and there goes another zing straight between my thighs.
“Always.”
He nudges Gunner forward, and Echo falls into step beside them. The two of us ride side by side toward the watercolor-painted sky.
I have no idea what we’re doing, but one thing is for sure. I’m not ready for it to be done yet.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brooks
I’m in my barn Thursday night after my shift, working on the truck for my client. My thoughts haven’t stopped focusing on Lottie since Monday. As much as I’m still ready to take Moore to the ground for making her upset, there’s a twisted part of me that’s thankful. Because that look on her face? That flinch like she missed me? It cracked her armor. Showed me I’m right to keep pushing for these damn dates. She’s not uninterested—she’s scared. Scared to start something new. Scared to trust me with her heart.
A car crunches down the gravel path and stops in front of the house. Mack perks up, ears stiff, but doesn’t move. The woman getting out isn’t someone he cares to greet. Which says a hell of a lot. Mack loves everybody.
She stands, scanning the property, eyes locking on me in the barn doorway. I go back to the truck, tightening a bolt I’ve already torqued twice. Her footsteps get louder, and just like that, whatever peace I’d carved out tonight evaporates.
My chest tightens. I brace myself. Bet my dad sent her here on some mission to knock some sense into me.
“You’re not answering my calls,” my mom says, walking in as if this is her property and sitting down at my workbench.
“Your voicemails mentioned why you’re calling. I’m not interested in hearing your opinion on my marriage.”
She scoffs. “Please, you’re not really married to her.”
“I am.” I wipe my hands on a rag. “Want to see the marriage license?”
“This town talks.”
And there it is.
I grab another wrench from the set, wishing she’d leave me the hell alone. “Just say what you came here to say.”
“You’re the town fool.”
I shove the wrench back into the drawer harder than necessary, trying not to blow. My parents preach respect but never model it. I was always the disappointment. The loud one. The bruised-knuckle kid brought home in the same kind of squad car I drive now. Always getting the speech about character, the family name, why I couldn’t be more like my brother.
“I see you’re upset. I didn’t come here to upset you. But someone needs to tell you that this is a fool’s errand. She’s not going to soften toward you. I heard about the deal and the dates. Why the hell are you trying this hard for that girl?”
Her voice has changed since my dad became mayor. She wasn’t always like this. She used to be Mom. The one who wrapped me in hugs after my father’s explosions, whispering to Holden and me that we weren’t screwups. She took the worst of his cruelty and still found a way to love us. But now? Now she’s like him and somehow that feels worse. He’s always been who he is, but once upon a time, my mom was a good woman.
I stay quiet. Not because I don’t have something to say, but because I might say something I can’t take back. She doesn’t deserve my restraint, but I give it anyway. I know what weaponized words feel like. I watched my dad sharpen them into knives and throw them at us, not caring where they landed and how badly they hurt. I will never become him.
“I’ve seen the way you look at her. Since the first time Holden brought her home.”
“She wasn’t a stranger. She’s Ben’s cousin. She’s lived in this town her whole damn life. Same as us.”
She claps her hands for Mack to come to her. He doesn’t budge. Good boy. “You know what I mean,” she presses. “Your father pitted you and Holden against each other your entire lives, and you see her as some kind of prize—”
“Fucking hell, Mom.” I slam my fist onto the top of the truck. That’s it. I’m done playing nice.
“Brooks,” she snaps, sharp and stern, as if I’m thirteen again.
I don’t flinch. “I love her, and you know it. You always have. So stop making excuses as if she’s to blame for what Holden did.”
She leans back, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Her silence isn’t thoughtful but rather judgmental. “Your father… the election—”
“I don’t give one fuck about either of those things.”
“That was clear when you were seen talking to Greg Miller.”
There it is. Guess I was wrong. This isn’t about Lottie. This is about appearances.
“It doesn’t look good,” she says. “You know that.”
“I was at the fair. Wren knows his daughter. That’s it.”
She tilts her head, smirking as though she knows better. “Did you enjoy playing family? Breaking your father’s heart?”
“Spare me.”
“I forbid you to do this.”
“You forbid me?” I laugh, bitter and cold. “I’m thirty-four, in case you forgot. I don’t answer to you.”
I stalk over to the fridge, pull out a bottle, and crack open a beer.
“You’re ruining our image. First you marry the girl who ruined Holden—”
“Ruined Holden? Jesus Christ, Mom. He left her at the altar.” I toss the bottle cap in the trash. “He’s living his perfect life far away, like he always wanted. If anything, he’s the one who got exactly what he wanted.”
“He would’ve come back here if it wasn’t for her. But she walks around like he shattered her whole damn life, trying to make everyone feel sorry for her. It’s pathetic. Why would you want someone that weak?”
I slam the bottle down so hard beer bursts out the top. Mack jolts up and saunters outside.
“Get out. You’re not welcome here.” I point out of the barn toward where her car is parked.
“Surely—”
“No, Mom. Out. Lottie is my wife. And until you respect that, you’re not a part of my life.”
She rises slowly, smoothing her blouse as though she’s deciding to leave, and I’m not throwing her out. “Do I need to remind you that I’m your mother?”
