Page 37 of Captivated (Salvation #3)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Nate was torn between enjoying the campfire and regretting what had to follow it. He hadn’t packed his bags yet: that could wait until the morning before breakfast.

Forget about tomorrow. Enjoy tonight.

Teague had set up the campfire on a patch of ground away from the barns, but within walking distance.

The location had obviously been used for campfires before.

Four huge tree trunks, sawn clean at both ends, were arranged in a square around the fire.

Lanterns stood at intervals, but the light from the fire was enough to illuminate the faces of the men sitting around it.

The wind stirred through the grass like a whisper, playing with the flames, brushing the edges of the world with a hush that hinted of rain yet to come.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and roasting meat, the crackle of the fire adding to the sound of birds calling in the night.

Shadows danced long and loose across the ground.

The stars were hidden behind the clouds that had rolled in.

Increasingly denser clouds.

Zeeb said there was a storm coming. It seemed the weathermen’s forecast had been accurate.

Nate sat on a log, the warmth of the fire brushing his shins, a paper plate balanced on his knees, all but forgotten.

Around him, laughter spilled out, raw and raucous, the kind that always felt just shy of rude but never quite crossed the line.

Teague, Walt, and Paul were knee-deep in some bawdy tale about a bull, a busted fence, and Matt’s questionable ability to run in boots. Nate was only half-listening.

His attention was focused elsewhere.

Across the fire, Robert had an arm lazily draped over Toby’s shoulder, their hands intertwined. Now and then, their eyes met and they smiled. Sol and Butch were sharing a blanket, their legs tangled as if they’d done it every night of their lives.

They don’t care who sees them. This is a safe space.

Nate let the laughter roll over him, his gaze wandering. To his left, close but not close enough to touch, Zeeb sat with his elbows on his knees, a toothpick at the corner of his mouth and a long-limbed stillness Nate had come to associate with him.

He looks lost in thought.

A moment later, Nate’s heartbeat quickened a little.

Am I in those thoughts?

Zeeb’s name was no longer just a sound but a feeling, rough as rope and warm as worn leather. It had grown in him over two weeks of long silences, slow-building trust, and the calloused gentleness of a man who probably knew horses better than people.

A man who saw Nate better than most of the people Nate had ever known.

The fire crackled loudly, and Nate blinked.

He isn’t the only one who sees me.

There was Sol who’d helped untangle Nate’s mess of thoughts to form something more coherent. The hands, most of them gruff and foul-mouthed, sure, but all of them kind.

His gaze returned to Robert and Toby, Butch and Sol.

I believed the kind of love they share wasn’t meant for me. The aching kind. The safe kind. It had been hidden from Nate’s sight, locked behind a wide door with no visible keyhole.

Only now, it was open, and he could peer inside. And for the first time he could think about what lay there.

What waited for him.

And then there was Zeeb, solid beside him, his arms bare under a rolled-up flannel, open at the neck, the firelight licking shadows into the hollow of his collarbones.

Nate caught himself looking. Staring. Again.

Zeeb’s description of Eli flickered into Nate’s mind, how people had gravitated toward him, had circled him as though they were orbiting planets. All of a sudden Nate saw himself in those words.

Zeeb pulls me in. Draws me to him.

A pull Nate didn’t want to resist.

Zeeb could feel them watching. Walt was the worst, barely hiding a grin as he elbowed Matt and made some crack Zeeb didn’t quite catch. Teague’s gaze was more subtle, the narrowed eyes of a man who’d known him too long and said too little.

Sol’s gaze drifted in Zeeb’s direction now and then, but Zeeb couldn’t read his expression.

Zeeb kept his face forward, tried to focus on the fire, but Nate was a heat at his side that tugged at something raw and restless in him.

What came to mind was that rubdown.

This is stupid. It was just a massage. But the second his palms had met Nate’s bare skin, his back so much tenser than it had any right to be, Zeeb had known the truth. There was no getting around it anymore.

I wanted to keep goin’. I wanted to touch and stroke…

To kiss.

The sound that had tumbled from Nate’s lips, low and grateful, had unfurled something deep and secret. And here they were, sitting shoulder to shoulder, and every time Nate shifted a little closer, even unconsciously, it was as if someone ran a wire between Zeeb’s ribs and tugged.

Hard.

He glanced at Nate who was gazing into the fire, his jaw tense.

Zeeb swallowed. I should move. Say something dumb to kill the moment.

Instead, he said in a low voice, “Storm’s comin’ after all.”

Nate turned his head toward him. “You can feel it?”

Zeeb nodded. “Pressure’s dropping. Sky’s too quiet.”

Nate’s gaze flicked up to the clouds building like dark muscle over the hills. “I know I’m not fond of storms, but what about you?”

Zeeb smiled. “I’m afraid of a lotta things. Not that, though.”

Nate cocked his head. “What are you afraid of?”

It was a question dressed like small talk, but the way Nate asked it, soft, as though maybe he already knew the answer, tightened Zeeb’s throat.

He looked away. “You don’t wanna know.”

Nate fell silent, but Zeeb saw that for what it was. Nate was waiting, patient, the way horses were when they liked someone.

When they trust you enough to stand still and let you come to them.

The words were right there on the tip of Zeeb’s tongue, but he didn’t possess the courage to set them free.

I’m afraid of this . Of what happens if I want you the way I do.

Of what changes if you want me back.

The silence between them carried its own charge. Nate felt it in the hairs lifting on the back of his arms, in the way his breathing slowed as though he was matching Zeeb’s without meaning to.

Sol had talked about an internal shift, and he’d been right. But something was shifting again, only this time it was different.

No one ever touched me the way Zeeb did. Nothing compared to the sensations he’d experienced when Zeeb’s rough palms slid over his shoulders and down his back. But it was more than Zeeb’s touch.

It was the way Zeeb didn’t flinch from Nate’s past. The way he looked at Nate as if there wasn’t anything broken there to fix, only a man worth standing beside.

“Storms have always scared me,” Nate said finally. “But what scares me even more right now is going home and forgetting what this place has given me.”

Zeeb turned his head and stared into Nate’s eyes.

“I won’t let you forget.”

The words felt too raw, and Nate’s mouth dried up.

The wind picked up, tossing sparks into the dark. Someone shouted a joke across the fire, and laughter echoed again, but none of it touched the small, still place that existed between them.

Zeeb shifted closer, his thigh brushing Nate’s.

Neither of them moved away.

I could kiss him. Right now.

He could lean in and let the storm break open inside him before the sky ever did. But he wouldn’t do that, because Nate was still healing.

Still hiding.

Zeeb took a deep breath. “You’re not goin’ back to who you were. You couldn’t if you tried.” He kept his voice low, his words destined for Nate’s ears alone.

Nate swallowed hard, then nodded. His eyes dropped to Zeeb’s mouth, and Zeeb’s heartbeat slid into a higher gear.

“Maybe I’m more scared of wanting something I’ve never let myself have,” Nate whispered.

Zeeb couldn’t help himself. “You’re not the only one.”

A crack of distant thunder rolled over the ridge as though the earth was clearing its throat. Overhead, the clouds darkened even more.

Zeeb watched the firelight dance over Nate’s features, watched Nate lick his lips, and the sight tightened his belly.

Lord, it feels like I’m teeterin’ at the edge of something holy ‘n’ wild.

Something that had been waiting patiently for him—for either of them—to say yes.

The first heavy drops fell like warning shots, plunking through the tree canopy and hissing against the fire.

Teague stood, brushing ash off his jeans. “That’s our cue, folks. Unless someone brought a boat.”

Laughter broke again, but with an edge this time.

Walt stood and cursed as his beer spilled.

Matt hauled the cooler under one arm as if it weighed nothing and made a break for the bunkhouse, followed by the two guests.

Paul doused the fire. Butch and Sol left together, their heads ducked close under the blanket Sol held over them.

Robert and Toby made a run for the path that led up to the house.

Lightning stretched across the dark sky, and thunder followed, way too close.

“You all right?”

Nate nodded, but it was a lie. The wind was up, sharp and electric, and something deep in his chest cracked like a dry branch. He hated the way storms made him feel, had made him feel since he was a boy, helpless and small. The noise only added to the fear lancing through his chest.

They jogged through the downpour, their shirts and jeans soaked through and clinging to their bodies by the time they reached Zeeb’s truck.

“We could’ve waited it out at the bunkhouse,” Zeeb said as he headed for the cabin, the wipers working at full tilt. “But I figured you’d rather get back.”

Nate nodded, his teeth chattering, his skin like ice.

Zeeb pulled up behind the cabin, and they made another run for it. The rain had gotten heavier, and Nate shuddered with relief when they reached the safe haven of the porch.