Page 165 of Double Bucked

“No. We can’t.” Ransom’s jaw tightens. “Get me out of here. If I have to spend another day in this town, it’s gonna kill me.”

I can’t tell him this, but the relief I feel at his words surges through me like a warm elixir, all the way down to my toes.

I take his big hand in mine. I run my thumb over those strong knuckles and press a kiss to them. “Come on, hero. Let’s get you to bed.”

58

RANSOM

The shower is something like heaven.

It takes a long time for me to leave it. I rest my palm on the wall, drop my head, and let the hot, steamy water pound down on my neck and shoulders.

I wash away the hospital. The grit and grime. The sour memories of that night.

The doctors called me lucky. Said it was a clean shot, whatever that means. I’m grateful for it, I suppose. It’ll be a cool scar, once it stops burning like hellfire every time I take a step.

I towel myself off, manage to get on a clean pair of briefs, and climb into bed. Everett and Claire are already settled in, but they part ways, making a spot for me in the middle.

I flop onto my back. I close my eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Alright. This is nice.”

Claire’s sweet body cuddles up against mine. The tassel around her robe tickles my hip, and she threads her leg around mine, her ankle hooking.

She kisses my shoulder. My throat. The tiny press of her lips sends a warm tingle all through me.

“God, it’s good to have you back,” she says.

I open my eyes to glance at the man to my right. “What about you, Everett? You miss me?”

He’s propped up on an elbow. He frowns. “Not at all. It was gloriously peaceful without you around.”

I snort on a laugh. “Jackass.”

Everett lifts the covers. He touches my hip, his thumb carefully sliding on the edge of the scar. “Are you in pain?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

His small, tender touches and Claire’s sweet little kisses are wreaking havoc on me. I’ve been poked and prodded for the past couple of weeks by clinical, distant hands. I’m affection-starved, and my heartbeat kicks in my chest.

I tilt my head to catch Claire’s lips in my mouth, but she starts suddenly. It’s tiny, just a little jump, like a spooked horse.

I stop in my tracks immediately.

Okay. Let’s slow this down.

Way down.

I nuzzle against her, our noses touching. “Y’want me to braid your hair?” I ask.

Her eyes light up at that. “Yes, please.”

She gets up, patters into the bathroom, and comes back with a hair tie around her wrist and a brush in her hand. I sit up, and she climbs half in my lap, giving me her back.

I run the brush through her soft, blonde hair. It glides through nearly effortlessly. When it catches, I take my time on the knots, carefully working them out. When she’s smooth as satin, I put the brush down and part her hair into three sections. I start winding them together, crisscrossing them in a tight braid.

This feels soul-healing. Claire falls into a near trance in my lap, quiet as a kitten. I love the way her hair slips between my fingers.

“Get ready, Everett,” I say as I take the hair band, tying off Claire’s braid. “You’re up next.”

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