Page 45 of Long Time Coming

Carefree hair that refuses to be tamed.

Long T-shirt that covers everything to the very bottom of a pair of fitted shorts that kiss the middle of her thighs.I’ve never been more jealous . . .

Boots and those long athletic legs sprouting out of them.

And my hat on her head looking so beautiful that it’d be a crime to ever take it from her.

I start walking with the sole purpose of letting her know that she made me feel alive again. But she runs right into my arms, her body crashing into mine as she wraps her legs around my middle and arms encircling my neck. I’m kissed before I have the chance to kiss her first.

But I’m not passing this up. Standing in the middle of the road in the shine of our headlights, I hold her tightly to me, pushing her lips open and caressing her tongue with mine. I savor every second, so I remember everything and every moment I get to spend with her.

She pulls back with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. “Did you miss me, cowboy?”

“I missed you, Pris.” Setting her down on her boots, I push the front of the hat back, so I get the full exposure of that spectacular face. “But I also wanted to tell you something.”

Her smile is still as bright as sunshine, and the rays reach her eyes as she stares into mine. “What is it?”

“A few days was not enough with you.” I look up like I can blame the stars. “I just got here and now . . .”

“Leaving doesn’t have to mean never talking again.” I redirect my gaze to her. She says, “Or even seeing each other again.” I hear the hopeful lilt in her voice. “This is your home, Tagger, at minimum, in your heart even if you don’t live here.”

She’s right, but it’s not so minimal to me. Just four days here reminded me that Peachtree Pass is a bigger part of me than I acknowledged.

Taking her face between my hands, I kiss her again—slow and sweet—so if nothing ever comes of us, I know I gave her everything I had to give. Her hands wrap around my wrists as she lifts on her toes for more access. I’d give her anything she asked for, so this is easy. One more kiss and then she drops on her heels again, her gaze falling with her.

With the minutest of nods, she looks up once more, and a smile that seems forced at the corners appears. “Go on, cowboy, get going.”

I lick my lips, studying everything about her pretty face, but it’s this feeling I want to hold on to most—the feeling that I’m not failing anyone and the best is still yet to come. All I have to do is, well . . .take it.

She’s given me hope again.

I kiss her once more, then we both turn our backs to walk in opposite directions. I get in one little ass pat before she gets too far and peer back over my shoulder. She doesn’t turn back. Not once, because she’s so much stronger than I ever was.

Climbing into the truck, I look at her in the driver’s seat and can just make out her chest rising and then falling again before she drives forward.

Her window is down, and arm stretched out, so I do the same. One last look is exchanged along with our fingertips grazing as we roll past each other. I see her heading back to the ranch, keeping an eye on the taillights in the rearview mirror until the distance grows too much, and I’m left in the darkest part of the morning again, just before sunrise.

She planted a seed of hope in me that I’ll tend to back in the city.

I left The Pass before sunrise this morning. Now, almost nine hours later, I should be home, but I’m stuck in traffic from the airport into Manhattan with a kid who was over it all, like his dad, five hours ago.

“But when, Daddy?”

I look around to see familiar landmarks and bridges, and how slow we’re going. I think I could walk faster at this point. “Thirty minutes. Maybe forty-five, buddy.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I’ll have food waiting. What do you want? Burger, pizza? Chinese food?”

“Roast and lima beans like at Grammy and Grandpa’s,” he replies with his full chest, looking me dead in the eye.

Ruffling his hair, I lean over, and say, “A kid after my own heart.” Sitting back up, though, I have no clue where to get that in a city where I can have anything delivered at any hour. “Doubt it will be as good as Grammy and Grandpa’s, but let me do some research.”

No such luck on short notice, so pizza it is. Hot and waiting for us when we walk into the lobby with our suitcases. “How are you, Jeff?” I ask.

“Doing good, Mr. Grange.” Leaning down, he asks Beck, “How are you, fine sir?”

“Hungry.”