Page 32 of Cyclone

“Goodnight,” I murmured.

“Goodnight, sunshine,” he replied, the nickname slipping out so naturally it made her chest ache.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under.

The smell of coffee woke her.

Groggy, Jude stumbled into the kitchen to find Cyclone—shirtless, wearing old jeans, and covered in a fine layer of dust—trying to get the ancient coffee maker to work.

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Mornin', Hope you don’t mind—figured caffeine would soften the blow of today’s to-do list.”

I blinked, momentarily forgetting how to speak.

“You’re a saint,” I managed finally.

We ate a quick egg sandwich. Then we pulled on work gloves and headed outside.

The ranch was in rough shape, which kept us busy fixing things around the place—only the things we would need while we were here, like the well and the water lines, which were cracked. Cyclone showed me how to fix the water line, getting soaked by water spraying him.

I shook my head but couldn’t help the laugh bubbling up inside me. It’s been so long since I have laughed. I used to think I had no right to laugh, because I was alive and they were dead.

Somewhere between the sweat, the swearing, and the quiet teamwork, we stopped being two strangers thrown together by circumstance.

We started becoming something more.

Something we weren’t quite ready to name yet.

18

Cyclone

The night was warm, with a soft desert breeze stirring the dry earth and the faint hum of insects filling the air.

I sat on the porch, staring out at the endless black, a beer bottle resting against my knee. The stars overhead were sharp and clear, but I couldn’t see them.

All I could see was her.

Jude.

Every laugh, every touch, every time she looked at me like I was something worth believing in—it was driving me out of my mind.

I heard the creak of the screen door, the soft pad of her bare feet against the wood. She came and sat beside me without a word, close enough that our arms brushed.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air between us was heavy, pulsing with everything unsaid.

Finally, Jude broke the silence.

“I’m tired of pretending,” she whispered.

I turned my head slowly, afraid to move too fast and break whatever fragile thing had cracked open between us.

Her eyes shimmered in the moonlight, wide and vulnerable.

“I know what I said,” she continued, her voice trembling. “I know I told you no more. But...”

She leaned into me, her hands sliding up my chest, her touch hesitant but hungry.

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