Page 27 of Montana's Bravest

I let him have a moment to cool down after his apparent frustration that I used the past tense to describe his brother.

“So he is,” I say, placing my hand on the side of his sturdy neck. His jugular vein pulses underneath my palm.

“I guess you heard my father—it’s been twenty years. You think I’m delusional.”

I’m not going to convince him that everything will be fine. I simply want to stop him from doing something that he’ll regret, and most of all, I want to comfort him. It’s my turn, after what he’d done to me this afternoon along the causeway.

I trail my finger along his jawline. “I know nothing about your brother, so it’s not my place to say whether you have a chance of finding him or not. But with your father—I bet my life on it, Sam, he loves you more than you think.”

We’ve barely spent time together, but in life, once in a while you experience an encounter that leaves you wondering—if it’s fate, if in fact you know the other person from your past life. It’s like that for me with Sam.

Releasing the tension on his shoulders, Sam sighs and slams his lids shut. “Love has got nothing to do with it, Cass. He was weak. He wasn’t a man.” His lips flatten, stopping himself from saying anything further.

My hand drops into his. I can barely squeeze his large fingers, but he feels me.

“There is a seed of forgiveness in all of us. You have it too. You just need to help it grow or it will be buried forever.”

He swipes the fringe off my forehead, then tidies my hair with his fingers. The contact is gentle, as if I was a little child whom he cherishes. “I guess my dad isn’t like yours. For a strong girl like you to adore him, he must’ve been one hell of a father.”

Any talk about Father will always bring tears to my eyes. But this moment isn’t about me, so I compose myself. “He was. And perhaps you haven’t seen it in yours yet.”

He bows his head. “Maybe after I find Jack. Maybe not.”

“Just think about it, Sam. You only have one father.”

He nods, perhaps not wanting to argue with me, or maybe he starts seeing my point. He places his hands on my cheeks, gently appraising me.

“What happened to him—your father?” he whispers.

Sam has proven that he is my safety. Despite the stupid thing I did when I arrived, he understood—and he put me first. But for what he’s asking now, I’m not ready to open up yet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Another crack of thunder jolting us both. He glances out the window. “I’ll drive you. I won’t let you go home by yourself in the storm.”

Despite the imminent weather, none of us seem to be in a hurry to move. We remain close, letting the moment stretch. I’m not sure about his reason, but I want to be in his tight presence for a while longer. Defying my ambivalence about men, I feel a closeness that I’ve never felt before.

“I owe Charlie for sending you here,” Sam murmurs, tilting his face toward me, gaze fixed on my lips.

The look in his eyes draws me in. Desperately wanting to escape getting completely hypnotized, I shift my stare down, only to find his soulfully luscious lips. The urge to kiss him is overtaking me.

“Sam…” I sigh futilely, letting his advancing mouth have its way.

The rim of my lips makes contact with his. Tingles and throbs crawl all over me as if I’d never been kissed. Then he parts his mouth in a hovering move, gently warning me of his intention.

Pausing, his gray diamond eyes query me, checking if I want to proceed. I’m about to give him the answer, but Mark walks in, sticking a pin into our balloon.

“Jesus! Sorry… sorry,” he says, almost over-apologizing.

I withdraw myself from Sam, but not before he gives my waist a firm hug, as if telling me that he is where I belong—he’s my home.

“What is it, Mark?” Sam pants, irritation colors his face.

Mark responds, “Ah… um… I was going to summon you to escort Cass home. But it looks like you’ve got it under control.”

Sam glares at his partner, silently telling him he should’ve known better. His annoyance sends Mark to grin.

“Good night, Cass. See you, pal.” Mark duly leaves.

Sam clears his throat. “Where were we?” he rasps, pulling me back into him.

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