Page 42 of Tin

“You think he knew what he was doing that day?” It seems ridiculous, really. “Think he was trying to save me too?”

But Riker’s completely serious. “I do.”

I do too. Sometimes I even think it worked.

“My mare’s name was Jazz.” I know I’ve changed the topic abruptly, but if I don’t just spit it out, I’ll never get myself to say it out loud. “She was stunning. Not the same way Nox is. Her beauty was different. Wild.”

Riker smiles. “Like you.”

A rush of heat floods my cheeks. “More beautiful than me. She was my partner from the time I was seven. My father bought her for me after I’d been barrel racing in junior rodeos for two years on my trainer’s horses. He said I’d made my point by then. I wasn’t going to be growing out of this horse phase anytime soon, so he figured it was easier to just cave and quit fighting the inevitable.” I untwine my fingers from his and crawl out of the bed and over to the corner where the box is now hidden in darkness. When I find the frame I’m looking for, I slip back into bed beside him and hand the picture of Jazz and I over.

“We competed for twelve years. We were really good. At eighteen I joined the WPRA and was competing at a professional level. I had every intention of making a career of it.”

Riker’s studying the photograph in his hands. “What happened?”

I shrug. “Life. Things came up, things I couldn’t avoid or change, and I had to quit.”

His eyes are level with mine. “What happened to Jazz?”

I swallow several times. Back-to-back, trying to force down the lump in my throat threatening to suffocate me. Then again, maybe I should let it. “She died. Two years ago. She had a degenerative disease in her joints. All the years of competing took their toll on her and hit with a vengeance a year into what were supposed to be her carefree years of retirement. Treatment only worked temporarily. Eventually, she was carrying all her weight on her front legs and dragging the hind ones. She wasn’t able to lie down anymore because she knew she couldn’t get back up. She was dropping weight. It was just a matter of time before she collapsed or injured herself.” The words are getting harder to find. “I wasn’t even there for Jazz at the end. Kirsten had to go for me. She was the one who held her head in her lap while the vet did what he had to do to set her free.” Pissed at myself, I wipe my eyes with one harsh swoop of the back of my hand. Riker catches it as it comes back down.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

“I shouldn’t be crying.” I sniff loudly and know I sound disgusting. It’s good. I should. Nothing about me should be remotely appealing or endearing right now.

Riker frowns. “Why shouldn’t you be crying? You lost someone close to you. What, because she wasn’t a person that makes it lame to grieve her? I know you don’t believe that.”

“Of course not.” It’s the exact opposite. “I shouldn’t be crying over her, because I have no right to. She gave her whole life to me. And I let her down when she needed me the most. I don’t deserve to grieve her, any more than I deserve to experience even an ounce of the joy a horse can bring you. I lost every right to that life the second I lost her.”

“You can’t seriously think that.” He sits up, and I know he’s going to try and set me straight the way he always does. Only it won’t work this time. Not withthis.

“I do. And nothing you’re about to say will change my mind. So don’t bother. That’s not why I told you.”

His expression softens. “Why did you tell me?”

“You asked.” I nestle against his chest. “And you deserve to get an answer every once in a while.”

His strong arms envelope me, and his leg slides between mine. Sometimes I lie here with him and think how being with him gives new meaning to being wrapped up in someone. Riker’s not the center of my universe. He’s not my whole world. Or even my guy. But things have changed. We’re not the same couple of lost souls desperate to escape our reality and willing to fuck our way out. We’re not even the same people we were two months ago when we were just enjoying a casual fun fling.

We’re not fucking anymore. Or even having sex. Riker makes love to me now. And every time he does, it feels like he takes a piece of my soul with him and leaves a piece of himself behind with me. I’m afraid if we keep going like this, one day in the near future we’ll stop and look at each other and no longer be able to tell one from the other. Too much of me will live inside Riker for me to survive without him after this all comes to a crashing end. And it will end. It has to. Every dream does. And most of mine end with me screaming in agony. Why would this one be any different?

When I wake up the next morning, I’m somewhat taken aback that I am lying here alone. There’s a certain amount of irony involved in waking up alone for the first time ever on the first morning that I officially live here.

I’m about to call his name when I hear the thud of a cupboard door closing. He’s in the kitchen.

Wrapped in one of the sheets toga style, I drag my feet over the hardwood floor and sleepily wander over to where he is.

“Looking for food you don’t keep here?”

He stops mid search of the cupboards above the sink. “Ha! That’s where you’re wrong. I went to the grocery store yesterday. Bought everything I needed to make you a proper welcome to your new home breakfast, only now I can’t find my frying pan.” Which he seems to give up on, temporarily at least, to give me a proper welcome to my new home good morning kiss.

“I can think of things I’d enjoy having right now that don’t require a pan of any kind,” I mumble against his soft lips.

“Hmm?” His hands are already roaming down from my shoulders along my waist until they reach the back of my thighs, gripping them tight and lifting me up onto the kitchen counter. “This along the lines of what you had in mind?” His husky voice breathes into my ear as he nips at my lobe.

But I’m too far gone already to utter even a single syllable. So I grab a handful of his dirty blond hair to hold him steady while I devour his lips with mine and let my tongue send a resounding yes in response to his question.

By the time we finish the appetizer romp before breakfast, I really am starving and hoping he wasn’t joking about having actually bought food for once. Of course, there’s still no frying pan, so I’m not any closer to eating any of it than I was before.

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