Page 75 of Burned & Bound

“I don’t let people touch me… I’ve never let people touch me. Not since…”

Not since they broke me.

“I don’t know how,” I admitted. Silent tears burned down my temples and I let them. There was no point in fighting it as my chest seized horribly. I wasn’t in control all over again. I fucking hated it.

“Tell me how to help, baby,” Jackson whispered as he squeezed my hand for reassurance. The weight of his stare was heavy—fucking unbearable. I resisted the urge to wipe away the tears. That’d only make it worse.Would only draw attention to how ridiculous I was.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“It’s okay,” he replied. His voice was so fucking gentle that it hurt. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Together.What a foreign concept. I’d been doing this thing alone for so damn long that I didn’t know how to let anyone help me.

CHAPTER 52

west

Jackson’s inability to cookshould’ve been more legendary than his goddamn feats as a bull rider. This man burned everything he touched. It was no wonder he fucking survived on freezer meals alone. But not me. Those things were absolute crap. I’d rather eat takeout than a fucking freezer meal.

As it happened, I actually did know how to cook—not a lot but enough. Which was exactly how we ended up grocery shopping together.

I trailed after him while we walked down the meat aisle with him chatting casually about dinner plans. In the week since our talk, we’d fallen into an almost comfortable routine of work, dinner, relaxing, and then bed with him in his room and me in mine. He was consistent in a quick kiss good morning and one good night along with holding my hand when I could handle the contact, but that was it.

A little part of me looked forward to those moments.

“How much meat do you fucking eat?” I demanded when he put another package in the cart. He already had at least twenty different containers of meat in there.

“How much can you cook?” Jackson countered with a grin.Fuck, that grin did things to me.

“Where did your Mom go wrong with you?”

“I’m good at a lot of things. Cooking ain’t it,” he told me. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Just put it in the fucking cart,” I said.We both knew I’d cook him whatever he wanted.I might complain the whole way but I’d still do it. It was the least I could do, considering everything else he was doing for me. “And get a fucking vegetable or two. Jesus Christ. You can’t live on meat alone.”

“I fucking could if I wanted to,” he retorted. I groaned as he grabbed three more packages and dumped them in the cart.

“Do you have a second freezer?” I asked. “There ain’t no way in hell this shit will fit in the kitchen.”

“I have a deep freezer in the garage,” he replied. He made a face. “I think I have like twenty pounds of venison in there.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I ain’t got a clue how to cook that either.”

“Yeah, I fucking figured,” I muttered.This goddamn man.I didn’t get a chance to say anything else because I realized a woman was staring at us. I did my best not to glare. She wasn’t the first and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. But she kept staring at us in a way that had me thinking I should’ve known who the fuck she was.

“Well, look at you, West McNamara!” she exclaimed and started toward me.Ah, fuck.I hated this part. I hated the fucking nosy people in this goddamn town. A guy disappeared for seventeen years and they all suddenly thought they had a right to know all my business.

Before she could get too close, Jackson pushed the cart in front of me and damn near ran over my toes. He leaned over the handlebar, arms crossed and a cheeky fucking grin on his face.

“Hello, Mrs. Harris,” he greeted and tipped his hat in her direction.That stupid fucking cowboy hat seemed to do it for people.

MaryAnn Harris. That was about all I remembered. Her first name. I didn’t remember most people in this goddamn town.

“Jackson Myles, didn’t your mother teach you to eat more than just meat?” Mrs. Harris chastised.

“I like meat!” he protested. “And it ain’t like I know how to cook vegetables.”

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