Page 23 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

COLT

B efore I open my eyes, the first thing I notice is the weight of her leg draped across mine.

The second thing is the smell of her citrus shampoo.

Sunlight filters in through the curtains, casting long beams across the bed and cutting through the quiet like a gentle reminder that morning has arrived.

I shift slightly, not wanting to wake her and not wanting this moment to end. There’s something sacred about the way she fits against me, like she’s always belonged in my arms. When I finally blink my eyes open to steal a glance of her, she’s already watching me.

She smiles, and I return it. Her cheek rests against my arm, and her dark hair fans out across the pillow she didn’t use. Her eyes are soft with sleep, but there’s something else there too.

“Mornin’,” I say, my voice rough from sleep.

Her green eyes sparkle. “You’re a dream.”

The way she says it, unguarded and slightly breathless, makes my chest tighten in the best way.

I stretch, then shift to hold her tighter. The sheet slips lower across my waist, but I don’t bother adjusting it. Her gaze drops for half a second, and her cheeks turn pink.

I let the moment hang before speaking. “Did we share a twenty-thousand-dollar kiss last night, or did I imagine it?”

She laughs and buries her face in my chest for a second. “It happened. I’m sure the local rumors have exploded.”

“Still waiting for the wedding rumors,” I reply.

I reach out and lightly brush her shoulder, where my T-shirt has slipped, exposing the smooth skin there. I let my thumb trace the edge of the fabric.

“Can I kiss you?” I mutter.

My politeness stuns her.

“You don’t have to ask.” Her voice is quiet. “If you ever want to kiss me, I want you to.”

It’s the permission I needed. I lean in, one hand rising to cradle the side of her face.

My fingers slide into her hair, and I watch her eyes flutter shut before our mouths meet.

It’s gentle at first, tender in a way that feels like we have a future.

Her lips move against mine with familiarity that stuns me.

There’s nothing unsure about the way she responds.

She shifts closer, her hand pressing flat against my chest. Her palm is warm and steady, her breath brushing my cheek.

The kiss deepens naturally, and says more than either of us has been willing to put into words. I lose myself in her mouth, in the heat of her body so close to mine, in the quiet vulnerability that fills the space between us.

When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against hers. Her eyes are still closed, and her mouth is curved into the sleepiest smile.

“I’m gonna need more mornings like this,” I whisper.

She lets out a breath and nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

We stay in bed for a while after that kiss, wrapped in quiet smiles and skin-warmed sheets. I don’t think either of us wants to move, not when something real is taking shape between us. But eventually, the sound of birds outside pulls us out of the cocoon we made.

She stretches like a cat before slipping out of bed, wearing one of my old T-shirts, and heading down the hallway barefoot. I pull on some jeans and run a hand across my face that still smells like her hair.

The kiss still lingers on my lips, and I can’t stop smiling.

By the time I get to the kitchen, the air smells like freshly brewed coffee, toasted bread, and something else I can’t quite name yet. She sits on the counter, legs swinging. Her hair is a mess, toast in one hand, coffee mug balanced in the other, like she’s claimed this kitchen for herself.

“You’re making yourself at home,” I say, pouring a mug and moving closer to her.

She shrugs and doesn’t even try to hide her smirk. “I earned it.”

“Twenty thousand dollars does buy a certain level of comfort.”

She rolls her eyes, but can’t stop grinning. “You kissed me and put on a show for everyone.”

“You kissed me back.” I take a long sip of my coffee, fighting a grin.

“I wanted to.” She huffs a laugh and pushes her shoulder into mine when I step closer. “I couldn’t deny myself.”

I move closer and brush a kiss along her jaw, like it’s something I do every morning.

Her breath catches.

“You keep doing that,” she says, “and I might not leave.”

“Counting on it.” I watch the smile curve at the edges of her mouth.

She sips her coffee, but watches me over the rim of the mug.

Whatever this is, whatever we are now, it’s intense and full of possibility.

“We need to run into town,” I say, still watching her. “We should make the donation official.”

“Perfect. I have the cash in my car.”

“Cash? Please tell me you didn’t drive across the country with twenty thousand bones in your car.”

“Uh, actually, it was fifty thousand, stuffed in a leather bag in my trunk.” She says it like it’s normal. Like keeping that much money on hand is another Tuesday.

My mouth falls open. “You sound like a mobster.”

She lifts one shoulder. “Maybe I am.”

I stare at her … stunned. Not because she has money. I figured that out by her clothes, her attitude, and how she carries herself in every situation. It’s formal training that a person doesn’t learn on a ranch.

“You know normal people carry debit cards, right?” I ask, still trying to piece together what I know about her.

She grins. “There’s nothing normal about me, Colt.”

“You’re living a full-on outlaw fantasy. Guess you stayed at roadside motels that took hundreds under the table?”

“Yep. But I like your bed better than any of them,” she says, lifting her mug for another sip.

That one lands harder than she probably meant it to.

She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

“You want to take your getaway cash to the shelter after I feed the horses?” I ask.

“Sounds good. I need to change clothes.” She hops down from the counter and brushes past me. “If anyone asks about the money, I won it in a poker game.”

“I’m not sure that’ll help the rumors that are undoubtedly floating around.”

She glances back at me, eyes sparkling. “You didn’t seem too worried about that when you slid your tongue in my mouth last night.”

I smirk and lean against the counter again, watching her move through my kitchen like she owns it. “Keep it up, and I’ll do it again.”

I take a moment to drink in her long legs, messy hair, and the way she wears my T-shirt like it was made for her. If I’m not careful, I’m going to fall madly in love with this woman. I currently am.

She exits the kitchen, and I finish my coffee. I tug on my boots and head out to the barn. Cheerio and Fruit Loops lazily walk into their stalls, knowing it’s time to eat.

I move into the feed room and scoop grain into the buckets, the rhythmic sound grounding me while my thoughts run wild.

Stormy.

I roll her name around in my head like I’m still getting used to it. Sunny does fit her—bright smile, sudden warmth, along with the ability to light up a room by walking into it. But Stormy? Now that I’ve seen what’s under the surface … yeah. That fits too.

I grab the buckets, pouring one into Cheerio’s trough, and scratch the spot behind his ears. He pushes into my hand like he misses me.

“We’re gonna go on a ride soon, I promise,” I say.

He snorts and goes back to eating. It’s been a while since I’ve gone riding because I’ve been so focused on the house, but it’s my favorite hobby. I move into Fruit Loops’s stall and feed her, giving quality pets before putting up the empty buckets.

I stare at the back pasture that seems to go on forever.

Last night, I kissed her. When we came home, she climbed into my lap and made the first move. That kiss wasn’t sweet. It was scorching. Messy. Real.

And now?

Now I’m standing in a barn, body buzzing with thoughts of her, and I still don’t know her last name.

Stormy probably has staff and stock portfolios and God knows what else tucked behind that perfect smile. I’m just a country guy with dirt under his nails and a house I’m rebuilding piece by piece.

I lean against the post and drag a hand down my jaw.

Does knowing these details about her change anything?

No. I don’t give a damn what her last name is, where her money comes from, or what kind of world she walked away from. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t reeling a little. Not because I’m intimidated, but because I’ve never wanted something this bad and still felt like it wasn’t mine to have.

I glance back at the half-painted house. The windows reflect the morning light. She’s probably moving around in there, pulling on jeans, brushing her hair, not even knowing how she’s already sunk her claws so deep into me that I can’t breathe without thinking of her.

I lock the feed room and take a moment to watch the sky shift. It’s pale blue this morning with no signs of storm clouds.

After ten minutes, I move back inside and grab a baseball cap.

She’s wearing exactly what I imagined, along with a smile that’s reserved for me.

Before we head to the shelter, she leads me to her Camaro, and knowing it’s her ex’s makes me want to set it on fire.

The sun is higher now, baking the gravel beneath our boots, and the breeze has all but disappeared.

She pops the trunk. The lid lifts with a soft groan, and for a second, I think I’m only going to see a duffel bag or some spare clothes. But what’s there makes me go still.

The wedding dress is balled up and shoved deep in the corner.

It’s wrinkled, but still unmistakably expensive.

White lace, silk, a flash of satin that probably cost more than every rental property I own.

One diamond-studded heel is lying on its side, the other wedged beneath the bag.

It looks like something she meant to throw away, but couldn’t.

I glance at her, but she doesn’t say anything. She stares into the trunk like it’s something she’s been avoiding for too long.

Without hesitation, I place my hand on her shoulder. My palm rests there gently, firm enough to say I see it, soft enough to say she doesn’t owe me an explanation.