Page 44 of In the Dust

13

It’s been a few weeks since Colton and I had our fight and one glorious, electrifying night in the barn. Since then, he’s been staying here at the house with me. I’m not sure how we both manage to fit on my full-size bed; he’s so tall I’d swear he takes up most of it. His long, lean body is emitting enough heat to warm the whole room. I catch myself staring at his full lips that are slightly pouted from sleep.

I can’t seem to stop myself from reaching up and outlining his bottom lip with my fingertip.

He lets out a soft snore, so I stop.

I tilt my head down to admire the rest of his body, my eyes landing on the flat sheet, noticing how it swoops dangerously low on his hips. I bite my lip. Maybe just one touch won’t hurt.

I run my finger down the center of his defined chest, my destination is under the sheet.

He starts to stir, so I quickly pull my hand back again.

Damnit.

I let out a sigh, leaning back against the wall. It’s still pretty early, and there’s no chance of me falling back to sleep, which isn’t surprising. Ever since that first night here I haven’t been sleeping well. Even though my situation with Colton seems to be on the mend, I still have so many other issues to deal with.

New York, for one. I need to decide whether or not I’m going back.

But first, there’s something I need to do before Colton wakes up.

I slip out of bed as quickly and quietly as I can. I throw on the first thing I find, which happens to be his shirt. As I’m sliding it over my head, I take a deep breath, savoring his smell of worn leather and hay with a hint of mint. I grab a pair of pajama pants and slip on my boots.

After sneaking down the stairs, I make it to the back door. Before I can open it, I hear Grandpa stirring in the other room.

Stealthily, I turn the knob and slip through the crack.

I need to do this alone.

* * *

It’s unnaturallyquiet as I stroll through the pasture. Well, aside from the occasional ‘moo’ coming from the distance. I’ve always loved the stillness of the farm in the early mornings.

The sunrises are heavenly; the deep reds and oranges are outlined with different hues of pinks. A patch of swaying wildflowers catch my gaze, and I pluck a few from the dewy earth. These are perfect.

I still have at least a ten-minute walk until I reach the small pond on the east side of the property. It’s a beautiful little area, so peaceful. It’s somewhere the cows aren’t allowed to roam. I wonder how often Dad comes out here. I’m sure Grandpa makes it at least once a week.

The last time I stepped foot here was much too long ago.

Three years.

I need to do this. It’s time I finally do this.

The small pond comes into view, and I try not to overthink what I’m going to do next.

“Hey, Momma.” I kneel on the tall grass, placing the hand-picked bouquet of wild daisies on her headstone. “I miss you so much.”

A tear escapes the corner of my eye.

“I wish you could come back, if only for a day.” I let out a defeated sigh. “I wasn’t ready for you to leave. None of us were.”

I look off into the distance, trying not to let the sadness overtake me.

“The pain of you being gone will never fade. I see you everywhere.” A small humph leaves my throat. “Even in New York, I could picture you there. You would have loved the exhibits they have up there.” Absent-mindedly, I start to twirl the green blades between my fingers.

I would’ve never ended up in New York if Mom was still alive. I would’ve stayed in Willow Creek, with her, with my family … with Colton.

“He said I was always running. Is he right?” I question, my eyes roaming her headstone like I’m searching her face. A lot of people say that defining features disappear from your memory, but I don’t see that ever happening for me.

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