Page 12 of Harvest His Heart (Alphas Fall Hard Collection #6)

Chapter

Ten

ANSON

Lacey sleeps hard pressed against my chest, blanket sagging at her shoulder. Skin on skin. Breath soft as the faint vanilla enveloping me.

Outside, the wind howls, the windows rattle. Haven’t felt this kind of build before a storm in a long time. Weather changing, autumn slipping into winter.

I run my hand gently down her back, touch whisper-soft, careful not to wake her. Not sure if that’s possible. She’s heavy in my arms, like it’s the first good rest in years.

I kiss the silk of her hair, whisper against the top of her head, “No one’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

The fire crackles, down to glowing embers, blue and orange, gray ash curling at the edges. I absorb the calm of her sleeping face, caught in the receding, unyielding glow of the dying flames.

A gust slams the house, boards straining against the force. She shivers despite the blanket, the warmth. “Sounds terrible out there.”

“Storm coming for sure. But you’re safe with me.”

The wind’s got a strange edge to it—sharp, metallic, like it’s dragging the scent of far-off trouble. Might just be the shift in pressure, but it crawls down my spine all the same.

She relaxes against my chest, her pillow. The softness of her steady breath curling along my muscles, tender, sweet. It puts a sting in the back of my eyes. Coils me like a trap, ready to spring against any threat. To keep her safe. To keep her mine.

“Maybe it’s warning us,” she murmurs, scratchy and drowsy.

I vow in low tones, raw-voiced, heart hammering steady. “If the storm’s coming, it’ll have to go through me first.”

Morning comes too soon. Lacey in my arms, warm and soft. I never want to let go or leave her side. But today’s about doing. Preparing. Making sure I can keep every vow made to her in the dead of night.

Breakfast is lazy, slow. Me feeding her from the plate of scones I saw her eyeing yesterday. Snagged a few, brought them home for this. Shared coffee. Her in my lap, wearing my flannel, teasing and kissing, making love with our fingers until her breath goes ragged, eyes simmering. She needs more.

Heart bursting, I rise, carry her to the kitchen counter, pulling the blinds when her eyes flick to the window uneasily. I drop to my knees, her breath catches as I worship her the way I should. With my fingers and my mouth, taste exploding on my tongue, the only heat I need.

Her legs drape over my shoulders, shaking, pulling me closer as I learn every inch of her.

Thumb sliding and circling, tongue lapping and driving deep.

Fingers seeking and wicked, not stopping until her back arches, hips grind into my face.

Her walls quiver, spasm violently against my coaxing touch.

She surrenders, melts into me like I’m her world, warm gush dragging me under with her.

Sweet honey, not a drop wasted. I moan against the gift, lapping up her pleasure.

Then, straighten, grab her around the waist, and pull her into me hard.

Her legs lock around my waist, arms thread around my neck, fingers teasing the nape of my neck as I take her in the slanting light of dawn.

Breath rushing, body tightening, drenched in her heat and pleasure.

Her fingernails gouge, leave their mark as she fractures around me again, riding waves of pleasure.

Heady, needy as I finally let the heat at the base of my spine take over, drive into her decisively, giving and taking, again and again.

Flesh slapping, wet and welcome, until I bury my need deep, leave a part of myself.

Eyes fracturing, hearts unraveling, bleeding into each other like our flesh.

I prop her ass on the counter, panting, resting my forehead against hers.

Savoring the curl of spice around apple blossoms, smoke around vanilla.

She cups my face, feathers it in soft adoration, lips tracing the scar running along my jaw and down my neck.

Delicate fingers soft as petals trail behind, and I’ve never felt so loved or whole.

I let the silence speak, memorize everything about this bittersweet moment, knowing it has to break. “God, I want to stay with you today,” I confess, breath still easing back towards normal. “But there are things I have to do. Can’t put off.”

“Maybe I could come with you?” she asks, brows knitting, eyes searching my face. A tremble of foreboding beneath the silk of her voice.

“For some of it,” I say, not wanting to worry her more than I have to. I need to consult with Ash, Patrick, and the crew away from her. Have to shelter her from the ugliness and fear as much as possible.

I raise my hand, thumb over her radiant cheek, still hot from lovemaking. Slow drawl, bedroom eyes, reluctant to let go. “Come with me to the stables, then. Meet the horses?”

A wide grin captures her face, artless and unguarded. A hint of the little girl in this woman. “I would love to.”

I chuckle. “Good,” I say, inching back to take in her face, pass my big hand tenderly over her golden locks. “You can wear my flannel and one of my hats. I’ll make a proper cowgirl out of you, yet.”

“One of your hats?” she says, laughing, but there’s a flicker in her eyes I can’t name. Maybe it’s the wind howling around the eaves, maybe something else. Gone before I can pin it. “But doesn’t that mean…?”

“That you’re mine,” I say, jaw tensing. “If that’s what you want it to mean.”

“More than anything,” she whispers breathlessly, a slight hesitation threading the words. Like she can’t quite believe this is happening.

My heart explodes, filled with the need of her, even as I take steps to inch toward the day. Can’t rest, can’t let my guard down until Cary Brantley’s six feet under. He’s proven through his actions, the faint scar on her neck, her quivering words last night that there’s no other way.

I grab her ass, hoisting her through the kitchen and the living room, down the hallway, still buried deep like my promises to her.

The tiny movements are excruciating. By the time we reach my bedroom, she’s riding me again, hips driving me closer to the edge, arms holding me tight.

More love, too much love for one man, but I’ll take every drop.

Coming hard, gripping her flesh, making her mine.

We follow with a shared shower, until I smell like vanilla and she smells like spice, lovemaking beneath curtains of hot water until I feel a new kind of wholeness. The kind I’ll carry with me for always.

Outside, storm clouds gray and burgeon in the distance, wind whipping her blond hair like a golden halo. I pause at the door, that soldier’s instinct tapping at the back of my skull—something about the air feels off, electric. I tell myself it’s the storm rolling in and push the thought aside.

We take my truck to ward off the wind. Inside the stables, the familiar odors of straw, hay, and leather greet us. The flicker of a tail, a snicker as we pass the stalls, greeting each horse and talking in low tones.

“Juniper,” she says at Ash’s mount, catching me off guard. Though I know there’s nothing to it, jealousy flickers, small and unformed. She steps forward, smiling, naming Marshmallow and Pearl, too. Now, my heart expands, feeling how she fits here. Knowing she needs a horse of her own.

“I saw them out riding the other morning on my way to see Chief Patrick.”

I nod, tipping her hat playfully, fighting the silly possessiveness, knowing she’s mine.

She stands on tiptoes, returns the favor, a smile on her lips I have to taste.

I lift her off the ground. Sunshine and hope, just as I thought.

Miss Daisy, Elijah’s horse, neighs, shifts her weight like we’re silly creatures.

Faramir, my favorite, a sleek black Arabian gelding with a white star on his nose, paws at the ground, eyeing Lacey. I introduce them in low tones. Give them a moment to come to an understanding before she extends her hand, and he lets her pat his nose. Proud, hot-blooded, gentling at her touch.

A scar runs the length of his back from his neck to his hindquarters. Her fingers dance over it, eyes questioning. “Attacked by a mountain lion. Almost put down. Owner didn’t have the patience or money for rehabilitation.”

The steed snorts, ears flicking toward the open doorway. Wind shoves another gust of grit inside. Horses always feel a change before men do. I rub his neck, pretending it’s just the weather.

Her eyes ache with the story of discarded things, people. The story of this rescue, the story of us. “Best horse a cowboy ever rode. Would follow me to hell and back. Over cliffs, across raging rivers, trampling rattlesnakes underhoof. A good, solid protector.”

“Like you,” she says, warm fingers finding mine.

“Won’t let anything hurt you ever again,” I vow against life, against fate, against the storm threatening on the horizon.

“I know,” she says, smooth, soft. Believing in the two syllables.

“Gonna teach you everything I know about horses, just like you taught me apple pies yesterday,” I promise. Her expressive eyes hold mine, amber and moss, settling into our new shared reality.

Silence hangs, steady, comfortable between us until the scrape of boots, the grumble of grumpy hands fill the stables, cowboys sliding in.

Ash stands in the doorway, form looming, hands on his hips, a faint smile on his face.

Like he wants to see me happy. Felt the same way when Willow and Ro first showed up, and he couldn’t hide the spark behind his eyes.

“Hate to break the moment, Anson. Need to see you alone.”

I glance toward the stable doors, a hitch in my gut telling me not to part with Lacy just yet. But Ash’s tone leaves no room for argument. Whatever this is, it matters. She’s safer at the cabin anyway—or that’s what I tell myself as the thunder rolls somewhere far off.

I nod, turn to Lacey, press my keys in her hand, tell her to take the truck back, stay close to the cabin today.

Call me with any storm warnings. She nods, hand coming up to stroke my cheek.

Cowboys in the back notice—sideways glances, murmured words, curiosity like wildfire, spreading through the brotherhood.

“Will I see you for lunch?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Lots to do, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” Leaning closer, against her ear, I add, “Tonight, you’re all mine.”

“Today, too,” she says, flattening her hand against my Carhartt, straightening the collar.

“Wise woman. Later, I’ll prove it.”

Hands chuckle, horses whinny. I’ll pay for this tenderness today in jokes and jeers, and I couldn’t care less. I’ll wear every word with pride like an emblem of her love. After she’s gone, Ash takes me aside, fills me in on last night’s happenings in low tones.

Our regular booth at the farmer’s market vandalized.

Trouble in town. Fistfight at the local bar, Rowdy’s, between a couple of out-of-towners and a gray man.

Moved like military, used an alias, fake ID.

Otherwise, kept his mouth shut as he drank at the bar until his face turned red and his fists came out.

“Could be the guy,” he mutters. “Patrick’s on his way. We need a game plan.”

I nod, rubbing the spot over my heart, instantly regretting my choice to let Lacey drive back to the cabin alone.

I text, asking her to let me know when she’s back safe.

Walking a tightrope between protective and obsessive.

Don’t want to trigger or scare her, but need reassurance to my bones that she’s safe.

“Helluva night. Gonna be a helluva day, too.” Ash’s voice sounds distant.

My hands ball at my sides. “I’m ready for it. This ends now, and it ends here.” No more fear, no more pain for my woman.