Page 21 of Burly and Rugged

I miss her.

I miss her laugh, her fire, the way she pushed herself to keep up with me even when she was exhausted. I miss the way she looked at me that night, her body wrapped around mine, warm and trusting, like she belonged there.

I miss all of her.

My heart pounds as I walk to my truck.

Hank watches me and calls out. “You going to get things sorted with Lindy?”

“Yeah,” I say, confidence rushing into me. I have a new mission in my life. Win Lindy back, or die trying.

Lindy opensher door and lets out a breath, surprise written all over her face. As she exhales, she crosses her arms over her chest, like she’s bracing for impact.

I’m not a man who talks about feelings. I’ve spent my whole damn life avoiding this kind of thing—keeping my emotions in check, keeping things easy.

But nothing about Lindy is easy. So I do the hardest thing I’ve ever done—I open my damn mouth and start talking.

“Look,” I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of every single word before I say it. “I don’t know how to talk about feelings. Hell, I don’t even know where to start with this.”

Her arms stay crossed, and she watches me closely. She hasn’t slammed the door in my face, which by rights, she’d be completely justified in doing, so I push forward before I chicken out.

“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let you leave, not without saying anything. When you left, it felt like I was losing a part of myself. And I don’t—” I shake my head, jaw tightening before I force myself to finish, “—I don’t lose things, Lindy. I don’t let things slip through my fingers. And I sure as hell don’t letsomething good walk away without a fight. But you scared the living daylights out of me.”

Her lips part slightly, and her eyes soften.

“I tried,” I continue, voice rougher now. “I tried to tell myself it was better this way. That you’d go back to your life, and I’d go back to mine, and it wouldn’t matter. That you deserved a better man than me. But it does matter, and not seeing you hurts.” I take a step closer, my pulse hammering. “It fucking hurts not to see you every day.”

She shifts her weight, dropping her arms. “You let me leave,” she says, her voice soft. “I waited, Cody. I waited for you to say something—anything. And you didn’t.”

The guilt hits hard and fast. She’s right. I could have stopped her, but I didn’t. I was too damn afraid of what was going on in my heart.

“I know,” I admit, and it kills me to say it. “And I hate that I did. But I thought—” I exhale, shaking my head. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Letting you go before you realized I wasn’t good enough for you. Before I lost my heart to you forever.”

She swallows. “Do you mean that?”

I hold her gaze. “About losing my heart to you? Absolutely.”

The silence between us stretches, and Lindy lets out a soft, shaky breath. “I felt it too, you know,” she says, her voice raw, honest. “Out there. With you. I just about died when you let me leave The Lodge without saying anything. I was so sure there was something real between us.”

“You weren’t wrong,” I admit. “It’s… I was so scared, Lindy. In ways that not even war scared me. You asked about why I leftthe Army. It was because of my knee. Obviously, it didn’t cripple me, but when I was forced to leave the Army, I lost my identity. I told you about how all the men in my family were military men. I didn’t know how to be a man if I wasn’t an Army man. I lost confidence in myself—I didn’t know who I was.”

“Oh, Cody,” Lindy says, her voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“And so,” I say, trying to regain control of my emotions, “it knocked me sideways—hard—when I fell for you. I didn’t think I’d ever find a woman that would make me want to open myself to love, but you did, Lindy. And it fucking terrified me. I realized that when I lost confidence in myself after coming home from the Army, receiving your love was a dream I was scared to believe in. Before I met you, I was merely existing. Now? I want everything with you, Lindy.”

My heart slams against my ribs. For the first time since I knocked on her door, the hesitation in her eyes is gone.

I step toward her and lift my hands slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she doesn’t, I cup her face, my thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, my fingers threading into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. Fuck. Touching her again feels like coming home. No fucking way am I walking away from her ever again.

Her breath catches, and she tilts her head up. That’s the only sign I need.

I crush my mouth to hers, and everything else disappears.

There’s nothing soft about this kiss—it’s raw, desperate, built from days of missing her, of wanting her, of regretting not stopping her before she left Silver Pine Ridge.

Lindy gasps into my mouth, her fingers tangling in my shirt, pulling me closer. I slide one hand down, gripping her waist, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine.

I groan when she presses up on her toes, molding herself against me, her lips parting, letting me take what I need.

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