Page 71 of Buckled in Barbwire

Pride swells in my chest until it’s difficult to breathe. “Same for me.”

“Just sayin’ that,” she mumbles.

My fingers pause their assault on a tough spot.“Wouldn’t lie about that.”

Her eyes fling open to pin me with a threat of bodily harm. “Don’t stop!”

“Never, wife.” I grab her other foot to provide the same treatment. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

“Until tomorrow.” Suspicion gleams in her gaze, and it’s my fault.

I built that barrier between us. Hell, it’s been there from the start. We never had a chance. Not when I forced her into this situation. She hates me for it, or should. I deserve her spite.

A weary exhale does little to ease the strain on my guilty conscience. Maybe she can learn to trust me again. We can build a solid foundation after I reveal the truth about Bianca. Or I can keep dreaming.

“It’s your turn.” The stony edge in my voice alerts her to the mounting tension.

Paisley fights a courageous battle between staring at me and surrendering to relaxation. “Would you ratherown Benson Farmstead without any strings attached or be forced to marry me as a contractual obligation?”

I almost laugh at her strategy. “That would’ve been another easy one if you asked me two days ago.”

Her baby blue depths beckon me to take a deep dive and never resurface. “But now?”

“You’re my wife and the best decision I never would’ve made for myself. No regrets about buckling you in barbwire, Twinkles.” I glance at her ring while my palms run along the top of her feet, drifting across her legs. “Now that you’re mine, I never want to let you go.”

“Would you rather turn around or get whatever this is”—I wave my hand straight ahead—“over with?”

Brody’s hand tightens on the wheel. “Don’t give me the option.”

My sigh matches the clench in my husband’s jaw. Frustration has been brewing since we packed the truck this morning. I’ve been trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably.

His agitation appears directly related to where we’re headed. That’s spiked a hefty dose of suspicion in me, rattling my nerves until I can barely sit still. Two hours is a long time to sit on the edge of my seat.

Each mile that brings us closer to town adds another brick to his recognizable defense. He’s quiet, stoically guarding the vulnerable pieces of himself. Long sleeves hide his rebellious phase while a steely glare paves our way home. His shaggy hair isn’t tucked under a hat but I’m sure that’scoming soon. I thought we were past this phase. It hurts my heart, as if we’re shifting into reverse.

A glance in the side mirror twists my stomach into knots. Just yesterday we were on that boat, speaking freely. Now the tension is so thick I can barely breathe. Whatever he’s afraid to tell me must be significant.

By the time we pull into Benson Farmstead, my legs are a pair of coiled springs. I’m ready to jump out of my skin while Brody types in his access code. We don’t exchange a word as the quiet hum swings the gate open.

Nothing appears to be out of sorts, which should offer a sliver of relief. Brody’s stormy expression grows darker as if the sprawling green acres are a black hole. Tires thump on concrete when he eases off the brake to face the inevitable. The truck crawls forward at a pace that elevates my pulse. If I stay inside this pressure cooker for another second, I’ll burst beyond measure. I’m unbuckled and reaching for the escape latch before he comes to a complete stop.

“Twinkles?”

I startle at his low tone, popping the stress bearing down on me. “Yeah, boss?”

The harsh lines in his features soften. “Thanks for last night. I needed it.”

My body instinctively shifts toward his. “I’m glad I stayed.”

“Remember that, okay?”

A furrow dents my forehead. “What are you afraid of?”

“Losing you.”

My heart pangs and I quirk a brow to mask the turmoil. “You don’t really have me. Last name only, husband.”

“Planning to change that.”

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