Page 22 of Chasing Liberty

Chapter Six

Wyler excused himself to go talk to Bruce who sat at the counter. Liberty watched the two shake hands, but her gaze naturally journeyed over her husband.

His well-worn, buttery-soft faded jeans fit him like a glove in all the right places—lean hips and muscled thighs. They were loose around his worn, dusty boots. The sleeves of his button-down were cuffed, exposing strong, barrel-like biceps dusted with crisp, dark hair. She remembered vividly how those arms held her, lifted her, and how his hands smoothed over her naked body like she was a fine piece of porcelain. She’d always had a thing for nice, powerful hands with thick veins and callouses. They made her weak and soft like a boiled noodle.

Feeling a familiar warmth wash through her, she needed some ice water to counter the effect.

Sliding out of the booth, she walked over to the counter. “Winona, I’m grabbing myself some water.”

"Certainly," replied the tall woman with jet-black hair and a cross tattoo on her neck, as she passed the glass from the stack to Liberty. "How’s Sam doing? I haven’t seen him in here lately."

"He's well. You know how he is, always working as if tomorrow doesn't exist."

"They say you can't keep a good man down."

"Yes, that's the saying."

Winona received an order from the cook and rolled her eyes. "Always nice to see you, Liberty. I need to get that order before Bernie blows a gasket. Catch you at the Harvest Picnic."

Liberty chuckled. The pair had been wed for three decades, appearing to despise each other, yet Liberty figured there must be some affection to last so long.

She poured ice water into the glass then took it to the booth and was about to sit when she spotted an envelope with her name scrawled messily on it. Looking around the diner, Wyler and Bruce were still in conversation, and the rest of the customers were interested in their meals.

Catching Winona on her way by, Liberty asked, "Winona, did you see who left this?"

The woman lowered her readers resting on top of her head and skimmed the envelope. “No, ma’am. I’m too busy deflecting the fact that my husband can’t fry a good sunny side if his life depended on it. Bernie! The customer asked for an egg not an emoji on a plate.”

Liberty slid back into the cracked vinyl seat and ripped open the sealed flap. Before she could check the contents, she heard, “No more tea?”

She looked up, wa-a-ay up as Wyler came strolling back to the table, wiping his hands down his shirt. She was distracted by his lean hips, the telltale bulging behind his zipper and long legs. She dragged her gaze back up, w-a-a-ay up to his prominent chin covered with salt and pepper whiskers and cherub’s bow lips. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him, in her bed, as soon as possible. If she would remain married to him then she should reap all the benefits.

“I’ve had enough.” She tucked the envelope under her purse.

He slumped into the seat and asked, "You okay?"

"I'm okay. Are you returning to the Manor?" She maintained eye contact, ready to get to the backbone of things.

"Is that a question or a command?" he grumbled.

"Wyler, isn't this your goal?" She took her glass and drank half of its content, with the moisture making her fingers wrinkle.

“I’m not desperate, Liberty. Is it that hard to let your guard down an inch or so?” he spoke in a low, husky tone that should have been saved for the bedroom.

"You don't have to agree, but I think it would be best for now, if we want this arrangement to work, that you come back to the Manor. If I moved into the camper, we might kill each other, but it's totally your decision," she said with a pointed look.

"It wasn't that difficult, was it?" he replied playfully. "Although, you could be a bit more gracious."

With clenched teeth, she leaned in closer, forcing what she hoped to be her sweetest smile yet. She gently touched his wrist, taking in the warmth as if he were a personal heater. His muscles shifted subtly beneath her fingers, sending a rush of feeling to her chest. He glanced at her hand and then at her face, his lips curving with a trace of knowing amusement. "Wyler, would you so kindly consider moving into the Manor?" she requested, lifting her chin for emphasis. “Pretty please with sugar on top.”

“How could I possible say no?”

She removed her fingers. “Don’t press your luck, cowboy. I’ll make sure the guest room has clean sheets. My invitation doesn’t include sex.”

What a liar I am.

His snort made her tingle with apprehension. "Remember you made that statement," he reminded before checking his watch. "I need to get back to the ranch. I'll see you this evening." He stood and grabbed his hat, planting it on his head. "Call if you need anything."

"I'll manage."

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