Page 24 of Wicked Cowboy
She does, and I immediately follow. For several seconds, we both lay there, shocked by what we just experienced.
Worried that I’m putting too much of my weight on her, I roll to the side and pull her against my chest.
“Wow,” she says.
“Yeah.”
I’m not sure what she’s going to want me to do now. Should I ask her if she wants me to go? I don’t want to, but I also don’t want to do anything she’s not on board with.
Before I make a fool of myself and ask, Frankie says, “I want you to stay…if you want to.”
I kiss her forehead and look into her eyes. “Of course, sweet girl.”
I pull the blankets up over us and settle next to her. Quickly, her breathing evens, and she’s asleep. I stare at the ceiling for a long time, asking myself questions. Does this mean she’ll stay? Do I want her to stay?
I drift off with those thoughts repeating in my head and not knowing the answers.
Chapter nine
Frankie
I wake up alone. Sunlight sneaks past the curtains and lays a pale stripe across the quilt. Somewhere outside, a rooster crows. It should all feel foreign, but it doesn’t.
Where is Rhett?
I lie there and let the memory of last night lace through me: warm porch light, pumpkin faces flickering, Martha’s sleepy smile, Luke’s never-ending stories, and Rhett knocking at my door.
When I swing my legs out of bed, the floor is cool under my feet. Another one of Rhett’s flannels lies across the bed. Along with a note that says he had to get up and work, it also mentions that he can’t wait to see me this morning. I pull on the flannel, roll the sleeves, and catch myself smiling at the mirror.
Downstairs, Martha hums a tune as she sits at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a romance novel. She turns when I step in, eyes kind and too clever.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” she says, and slides a mug toward me. “You’re glowing. Must be the altitude.”
“Must be.” I wrap my hands around the cup.
Outside the window, the yard glitters with dew. Rhett crosses the far edge of the lawn toward the smaller barn, sleeves already shoved up, hat low against the low, bright sun.
Martha sees where I’m looking and makes a sound of approval. “There are biscuits and jam. You should take Rhett one. He was out extra early this morning working on chores. I’m sure he’s hungry.”
I pop a biscuit into a napkin and step out into the morning air. Rhett hears me before he sees me. He turns with that careful, steady way he has that makes my knees weak.
“Delivery,” I say, lifting the napkin.
He takes a bite. “Thanks.”.
“Do you need help?” I ask. “I’m great at manual labor of the holding-things-while-you-do-the-real-work variety.”
He breaks the biscuit in half and hands me the bigger piece, like that’s normal. We eat in a companionable silence.
“What’s on the docket today?” I ask. “Fence whispering? Tractor therapy?”
“Feed the horses, check the south lock, call the propane man before the afternoon chill. Luke’s hauling Haunt décor back to the loft.”
“How long have you two been doing this?” I make a vague circle at the barn, the yard, the morning that seems to wear his name. “All of it.”
He looks over the pasture, eyes narrowing. “Feels like always. Come on,” he says, nodding toward the barn. “You can help me with the horses.”
“Yay,” I say and follow him like a puppy dog.