Page 63 of Harvest Moon

Claudia wasn’t going to die.

Claudiacouldn’tdie. It just wasn’t acceptable. She was too important to too many people, and I needed her to not die.

That was how it worked, right?

Gah, how was I in my twenties, and still such a child?

Ridge didn’t ask anything of the kind. He just held me, let me be miserable in his arms for as long as I needed. And maybe it was just the shine of having him care about me, but it felt better.

Not that I expected Ridge could or would fix all my problems, but having him there made them seem less awful. Made it seem like we could overcome anything. We were overcoming our mutual ridiculous inability to communicate, after all.

We could also overcome his parents’ mistake, selling the farm, and my jumping to conclusions all the time, and Claudia’s damned Condition.

Together.

It seemed like Ridge was willing to let me hang on him forever, just standing there in silence, holding me, holding him. Honestly, it didn’t seem like the worst idea, but we both had too much to do.

So I took him up on the offer to drive me home, and we headed for his old pickup.

My phone buzzed as I opened the door, so I paused to pull it out. Maybe Birch wanted something from the store. Would it still be open this late?

But no. It wasn’t Birch, or anyone texting at all.

It was my trusty, irritating HeaTracker app.

Heat due next week! Time to stock up on bottled water!

I rolled my eyes at the notion of buying bottled water when the stuff just came out of the darn tap, but the Sterling Corporation would sell anything. Someday they’d be selling cans of air like in that old movie.

Still, the heat tracking app was free, so the ads for Sterling products could be ignored. It was just too darn convenient to know when it was coming.

“Everything okay?”

Ridge was sitting in the driver’s seat, buckled in and waiting for me. Apparently deciding that my hesitation was an invitation, Banjo jumped into the cab of the truck and shoved his head under Ridge’s hand, forcing Ridge to pet him.

Right on, brother.

Part of me wanted to throw myself across the cab, under Ridge’s hand, and force him to pet me.

Yes, okay, he’d basically petted me earlier, but still. More would be good. I wanted his arms around me, his hands on me, his breath against my skin, forever. I could almost feel it as I slid into the cab of the truck, closing the door and buckling my own seat belt—his breath ghosting over the back of my neck as he slept behind me. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me in tight, keeping me—

Yeah, clearly my heat was, in fact, coming next week.

Who had two thumbs and spent their heat craving not just Ridge’s dick, but his strong, steady presence? Yup, this guy. Plus maybe anyone who’d ever met Ridge. The notion of someone not wanting him felt stranger than the idea that everyone did want him.

The man was like a security blanket in big, furry werewolf form.

As Ridge started the truck, Banjo hopped into my lap, looking up at me expectantly. I caved instantly and petted him, just as Ridge had.

“He’s so affectionate for a barn cat,” I cooed as I scratched behind his ears.

Ridge snorted. “That’s ’cause somebody spoils him. Wonder who.”

“I mean, clearly whoever they are, they have discerning taste, because he’s the very best barn cat.” I leaned down and kissed his head, and he blinked up at me dubiously with his one bright eye.

“Do you and Banjo want to come in and see my room?” I asked as we passed through the center of town. It was probably silly to ask. Why would Ridge want to see my bedroom? Just because I was going into heat next week, and I wanted to feel his presence in my space, to be able to smell him there.

Ridge was quiet for a moment, just long enough for me to start worrying that I’d overstepped some invisible line, and he’d retreat again, like he had at the apple grove. Then he snaked his hand across the seat between us, and snatched up my hand. “We’d like that.”

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