Page 20 of Full Mountie

I don’t want to step away from him. I don’t want to watch him shut down and send me away. So I stay right where I am until my heartbeat returns to normal. Then I stand up without looking at him.

“There’s probably a baseball game on,” I say, not giving him space to tell me no. “Let’s finish our pizza.”

8

Beth

Saturday morning bringsanother good morning text, but this time it’s not from Hugh.

Lachlan: I got your letter.

Okay, it’s not the warmest first-thing-in-the-morning text. It also is missing two critical words.

Beth: Good morning to you, too.

Lachlan: That’s what I meant to say.

Beth: I knew that.

Lachlan: Ha. I’m free later, by the way.

Beth: Okay. Good. Do you want to get coffee?

He takes a few minutes to reply. It wasn’t that challenging a question, really, although when he answers, I realize he was probably struggling over what he really wanted to say.

Lachlan: Maybe your place would be better.

I punch my fist into the air. Yes. Good. No, better than good. Exce-fucking-llent.

Beth: After dinner? Around seven?

Lachlan: See you then.

If I thoughthis coming over was a sign of wavering principle, though, I’d have been wrong.

He sets a clear tone for the evening as soon as he walks in the door. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I disagree.” Three days later, that kiss is still zinging through me. How could that be a mistake? Except he’d dropped me like a hot potato.

His gaze drops to my mouth. He wants to do it again, and I agree. He should. But he doesn’t want to, as well, and I don’t do complicated and reluctant.

If I did complicated and reluctant, I’ve have dragged Lachlan into a storage closet months ago.

“Okay, so you shouldn’t have kissed me. Fine.” I step back. “But that doesn’t feel like the end of the conversation to me.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not.”

“Then come on in.”

I give him the most cursory of tours that he missed on his first visit—“This is the living room, that’s the kitchen, have a seat on the couch.” He does as instructed as I cross to my bookshelf that doubles as a bar.

I don’t really have any stiff drinks, but I have some maple whiskey liqueur that will do a decent job of dousing any embarrassment. I pour two glasses, an ounce or so in each. If he doesn’t want one, I’ll have two.

He takes it and tosses half back immediately.

I don’t know if that should make me feel better, but it does.

But that relief quickly disappears when he levels a serious look at me and cuts right to the chase. “Hugh and I have a history.”

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