Page 2 of Autumn be His Wife (Alphas Fall Hard Collection #4)

Piper

When I open my eyes, I expect to be blinded by sunlight, not drowned in darkness.

What time is it? Too early for me to be awake.

After yesterday, the entire day dedicated to traveling, I should be sleeping like a baby. Instead, I’m feeling as restless as someone in my shoes can.

Sighing into a pillow that smells of fresh linen and stretching on a bed that’s barely shy of being too small, I pull myself up. My eyes are heavy with exhaustion, and my limbs feel like they’re made of lead as I throw off the blankets.

No point in trying to sleep if I know it won’t be coming anytime soon.

Leaving the room, I use my fingertips against the wall to guide me through the darkness. While I’m not totally blinded, my environment is still one that is unknown.

It kind of feels like anything can jump out and snatch me if they want.

Eli’s a little too small to be taken as a serious threat, and Dusty kept a respectable distance up until he was wishing me a good night. I don’t think I have anything to worry about when it comes to those two.

Entering the living room, the area is surprisingly warm. Spotting the flickering flame in the fireplace, I approach to soak up the heat.

Someone’s been feeding the fire. The logs tucked inside are hardly burned through.

Reaching out, my fingertips tingle as I enjoy the soft pops.

The night before, I slept at the airport. It’s hardly warm there. Before that, my old room didn’t hold heat too well, did it?

My nose scrunches at the thought.

Has my uncle noticed that I’m gone? Is there a missing report with my face printed on some paper, plastered up with other forgotten people? Doubtful.

Even when I was home, I wasn’t acknowledged. Seen more as a waste of space in his eyes.

A distant creak in the house makes my body straighten. It’s most likely Dusty. Is he unable to sleep as well?

Using the fire’s light to guide me, I pad into the dining room. In the kitchen, a light burns, revealing life.

Used to tiptoeing through my own existence, I don’t make a sound as I approach the doorway.

Dusty is hovering over a cup of coffee, his hand slowly stirring with a spoon as if in a trance. Maybe he’s as tired as I am.

Leaning against the door frame, I let myself take in the guy. Yesterday, I couldn’t keep eye contact for more than a few seconds before he caught me looking. No matter how many times I tried, keeping eye contact with those deep brown eyes offered a challenge too tough for me to take on.

The thin cotton of his shirt does nothing to conceal the powerful build of his body.

It drapes over a back that was carved by labor, not a gym, tracing the hard, V-shaped taper from his impossibly broad shoulders down to a narrow waist. Each slow, circular stir of the spoon makes the dense muscle in his shoulders and back shift and roll with a strength I’ve never seen in a man before.

Dusty is not like anyone I’ve met. So strange, but not scary. The opposite. I can feel a pull each time I try to put distance between us.

A foreign heat flickers low in my stomach, tightening into a knot that’s equal parts anxiety and something else I can’t name.

My breath feels a little shallow. It’s a dizzying awareness of his sheer physicality that leaves me feeling like I don’t recognize my body. These feelings are unknown, unfamiliar.

He’s got a kid. He has a lifetime of stories in the lines on his face, surely nearly two decades on me.

I shouldn’t be staring. I shouldn’t be noticing the way his forearms cord with the simple motion of any movements or how his frame seems to swallow the space around him, making the kitchen feel small.

Is this what a crush feels like? This confusing, unwelcome thrill? It seems absurd. I’ve known the man for less than a day. I’ve heard of love at first sight, but that’s something that only happens in fairytales.

Just the thought of becoming a mail-order bride to Julian Adams—a man of forty-five with cool blue eyes in the single photograph I’d seen—had made my stomach clench with a nausea born of pure dread at the unknown of marrying a man for an escape.

I stooped pretty low to leave my old life behind. Accepted that I’d have to give myself to a stranger to get a taste of fresh air.

That’s why I picked Julian. Forest Grove looked perfect online, and every step I’ve taken, even if it was during a storm, has been wonderful. The only thing weighing me down was the dreaded introduction.

But right now, standing in the shadow of this doorway, that sickening fear is absent.

The knot in my stomach isn’t one of revulsion; it’s a strange, fluttering tension.

I don’t feel like I’m going to keel over.

Might be the opposite, strangely enough—a dizzying sensation that leaves me feeling like I may just float away at this startling rate.

I’ve never felt anything for another person before. Maybe a simmering resentment for my uncle, a hollow ache of neglect, but that’s it. I didn’t leave often enough to meet anyone, to learn the unspoken language of glances and attraction.

Maybe that’s my entire problem.

I’m socially starved, an amateur reacting to the first genuine act of kindness I’ve received in years. This isn’t about him; it’s about the novelty of decency.

Needing to break the spell of my own thoughts, I step into the kitchen. The floorboard gives a soft sigh under my weight. I peer around his formidable silhouette and breathe in deep.

The smell of coffee is immediate, brewed dark and rich enough to taste in the air. Underneath it is something else, the clean, sharp scent of pine sap and cold night air. It clings to him. Is it his soap, something rugged and unsweetened? Or does he spend his free time running through the trees?

At this hour? The thought is completely nonsensical, a fanciful invention of a mind that’s working too hard to explain the unexplainable. It’s so absurd that a small, unintended snort of laughter escapes me.

No, he probably just got wet collecting more wood to throw in the fire. Still, it’s a funny thought.

The sound engulfs the quiet. Dusty jerks as if struck, the spoon clattering against the mug. He turns, his wide, surprised eyes finding me standing there. There’s exhaustion weighing down his gaze and something else entirely.

“Sorry.” The word slips out of habit, but I can’t find the strength to pull away from him. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I couldn’t sleep.”

His shoulders relax, and he continues preparing his coffee, stopping short to offer a cup.

It might help, so I take it appreciatively.

“I have to get Eli up for school soon. Might as well get what energy you can.” He fetches his spoon, offering it to me. “You’ll have to stay with us as we take on our day. I hope you understand.”

I get it, he doesn’t want to leave me alone in his home, and it’s too early for me to leave to continue my search. We’re strangers. For all he knows, I could be a thief ready to steal all of his valuables the moment an opportunity comes up.

“Happy to do whatever makes me not an inconvenience for you.” Making my cup, my voice stays soft.

“You’re not an inconvenience.”

When I look his way, I catch him frowning at his cup before he drinks down a mouthful.

Just like that, the tingles are back. Saying the words so firmly, there’s no point in arguing. Instead, I flood my cup with enough creamer and sugar to make him grimace.

I don’t drink coffee too often. It’s a bitter drink that needs as much help as it can get to become drinkable. I’m pretty sure he’s drinking it black with a teaspoon’s worth of creamer.

I could never.

He suggests we move to the dining room to sit down. I happily follow behind until I’m settled across from him.

While I sip delicately at my cup, his thumb brushes along the handle.

We both have a secret love for silence. It’s peaceful and calming. How many seconds pass by before he’s ready to break it? Enough to appreciate the most serenity that’s come my way in what feels like years.

“What are you going to do if you can’t find the man you’re looking for?” The question hangs between us, simple and devastating. His frown deepens into a furrow. “And who is Julian Adams?”

He deserves the truth. After his kindness, he at least know who he invited into his home. Maybe if I explain it right, he’ll understand. He’ll see I’m not a fool, just a person out of options. A good person. The kind who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“I don’t have an answer for the first question.” It’s the most honest thing I’ve said in a while. Thinking about failure is a luxury I can’t afford. “And I don’t know much about him, to be honest. He’s someone I met online.”

A grimace twists my lips the second the words are out. It sounds exactly as naive and reckless as it is. And that’s not even the worst of it.

“I’m, um, supposed to be marrying him when I find him.” Heat flames in my cheeks. I duck my head and take a scalding gulp of coffee, letting the liquid buy me a few seconds of silence. This time, it’s not peaceful.

Dusty makes a choked, coughing sound. When I risk a glance, his frown has hardened, his eyes filled with something that isn’t judgment, but is far from approval.

He doesn’t like the idea one bit from the looks of it.

“You’re going to marry a man you don’t know?” The question is blunt, landing like a physical weight against my chest. “You’re willing to do something that…permanent?”

He might deserve the truth, but his interrogation scrapes at my edges. For all I know, I’ll take one look at Julian Adams and my courage will vanish like smoke. The whole plan is a house of cards, and Dusty’s questions are a dangerous breeze.

“Maybe,” I whisper, the word coming out shaky. “It’s not like I have much of a choice here…”

The alternative—going back home—is so much worse. Home. The word is a mockery. The house I was sent to after my parents died was just a building with my uncle’s cold presence in it.

I can see the questions stacking up behind his eyes, a dozen more poised on his tongue, but he holds them back. His gaze drops to where my shoulders are curving inward, my whole body folding in on itself as I stare into the dregs of my coffee. No amount of sugar can make this taste sweet now.

The silence is thick and heavy, pressing in on us. My knee begins to bounce under the table, a nervous piston. I can’t stand the weight of his unasked questions. If I have to be laid bare, then so does he. It’s only fair.

“Where’s Eli’s mother?” The question cracks the silence, a desperate, clumsy change of subject.

I’ve noticed the absence of a wedding ring on his finger. Not that I was looking. Not exactly. But the question has been prickling at me since I saw them together—a father and son, a perfect unit, with a space where someone else should be.

At my words, Dusty’s brows unknit. His face goes still, then softens, the stern lines smoothing away into something unreadable.

“Lost her when Eli was four.” He finally takes a long sip of his coffee. “Car accident. Drunk driver.”

His words are clipped, and I know not to push for more. I also know I shouldn’t feed into these pesky feelings. Now that I know he’s lost love once, there’s no way he’d want to humor a crush and try again.

Dusty’s eyes drift to the clock on the wall, and he sighs, a soft, weary sound that seems to carry the weight of years. He pushes back from the table, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor in the quiet room.

“Better go wake Eli,” he mutters, not quite looking at me. He pauses at the doorway. “Wear something warm today.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with the bitter dregs of my coffee and the echoing silence.

Good going, Piper.

Curiosity killed the cat, and now I’ve shot myself in the foot. I came here for one man, and all I’ve managed to do is show another exactly why he should keep his distance. I have no one to blame but myself.