Page 11 of And Forever
WILDER
EVERS RIDGE, MONTANA — LATE MAY
“This is Meehaw. She’s my favorite.”
Winona holds up a well-loved stuffy that’s part cat, part blanket. I’ve never seen anything like it, but my daughter clearly adores it as she snuggles it under her chin.
My daughter.
The reality strikes me momentarily dumb again, so all I do is nod along to what she’s saying. We’re sitting on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by toys and stuffed animals, all of whom I am being given a thorough introduction to. But I fear I am only absorbing half of the information. I can’t stop cataloging every single thing about this vivacious, beautiful creature in front of me.
Her ebony hair is in twin buns on the top of her head, sparkly ruby bows adding to the whimsy, and reminding me so much of the night I met Charlotte. But it’s more than the physical similarities between mother and daughter that have me fascinated. Winona is just as confident and independent. She’s shown me around the cottage the pair live in, and told me more than a dozen stories about the “horsies” so I know which of them tries to sneak treats or likesextra hugs.
It’s a Saturday, and I’ve been at the cottage since lunchtime, Winona taking my presence in her stride. It’s been two weeks since I learned of her existence, and Charlotte’s made an effort to bring Winona around places on the ranch I’ve been working at. It’s presented us with an opportunity to get used to each other without any pressure or expectation. While I have instantly fallen in love with Winona’s infectious energy, she’s taken a little longer to warm up to me being different than just another employee around the property. It stings a little that she’s asked my name three times, and calls me “Wild,” but I can’t expect her to do more. I haven’t earned that connection with her yet, but as she stands up with a tiara in her hand and deposits it lopsided on my head, I’m determined to do whatever it takes to make it real.
“Princess!” Winona declares before racing down the hall, calling for her mama. It’s not more than thirty seconds later that I’m hauling myself off the floor, holding onto the crown with one hand, when Winona arrives back at her bedroom door, holding Charlotte’s hand. Immediately, she bites her lip to keep from laughing. “See, Mama? So pretty!”
“Some of your best work, Squish.” Charlotte smiles warmly down at her. The next second sees Winona running back out of the room, across the hall to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I quirk an eyebrow in question. “Potty training. She’s getting pretty good at doing it on her own. The instances of Mama coming to the rescue are reducing.”
Winona’s adorable singing voice comes from behind the closed door, a nonsensical string of lyrics and melody creating a soundtrack for her task. I start picking up toys to put them back where they came from. Charlotte lends a hand, setting Meehaw on Winona’s pillow, a clear place of honor.
We work in companionable silence, the two of us still adjusting to being in the same state, much less the same room. There’s an awkwardness to our interactions, which I expected—we don’t know each other anymore, not really. The pauses in theconversations we manage to have last longer; the topics superficial and stilted. I struggle to find a way to bring back the sniping and bantering we built a love from. The absence of our playful and pointed flirting creates an ache almost as strong as the lack of physical contact.
Charlotte keeps her distance, and I have exercised muscles I didn’t know I had to keep myself from touching her. But my desire for her hasn’t waned. If anything, it’s grown now that I can see her daily. Her jeans and button-down shirts cling and accentuate curves cultivated through motherhood, giving me tantalizing new areas of her to daydream about.
Of course, it’s more than just the outside that has me locked into everything she does. Charlotte still carries herself with the same self-assuredness she had in our rodeo days, but with newfound skills created through raising our daughter. Her confidence is almost overwhelming. On more than one occasion, I’ve spent a workday combating a semi when I’ve caught sight of her, or just spent time in her presence. Especially when I catch her looking back at me, my barely veiled thoughts echoed in her eyes.
It feels like a small price to pay. One I will gladly keep offering tithes to until Charlotte decides what she wants. Because, for me, that choice was made the night I kissed her nearly four years ago.
I’ve just finished tucking a blue axolotl on a shelf when Charlotte is suddenly in my space. The shock of it is like landing on my back off a bronc. The air is sucked out of my lungs against my will, and my brain scrambles. There’s a hint of her peach scent when I take a breath. She’s not looking directly at me, and I’m secretly happy she can’t read the panic her proximity is giving me. I forgot what it was like to have her close.
But my body hasn’t. A familiar heat spreads, and the first stirrings of arousal tingle up and down my spine. My fingers itch to reach out and touch her. Slide my hand into the back pocket of those jeans, which look painted on, and hold on tight to theswell of her ass. Charlotte Stryker is still the most sexy woman in the world. Her hand lifts, and I freeze. She pulls the plastic tiara free from my hair, a soft chuckle tumbling from her. On her tiptoes, she stretches past me to put it on a shelf. Her pink tongue pokes out between her lips as she balances, completely focused on her task.
And I’m completely focusedon her.
As she drops back to her feet, her breasts brush against me, and an electric current shoots up my arm. I sense the moment she realizes it, too. It pulls and weaves between us until Charlotte shuffles half a step closer. Her beautiful emerald eyes fly over my face, lingering where I know my lips are parted with anticipation. Her pupils dilate. I slowly bend toward her, the possibility of rekindling this burning fire between us is too strong.
“I went pee!”
The tiny proclamation that comes from behind Charlotte has us jumping apart like a firecracker exploding. Winona stands in the doorway, pants slightly askew and the hem of her dress tucked into them on one side, a proud smile on her face. As much as I want to laugh, pride surges through me for Winona’s accomplishment. It pairs oddly with the disappointment at the interruption it caused.
Without missing a beat, Charlotte scoops Winona into her arms, untucks the dress, and gives her a congratulatory hug. “Way to go, my girl! Did you remember to wash your hands?”
Winona’s eyes dart back and forth, as if she’s replaying her bathroom business. Uncertainly, she looks at Charlotte and ventures, “Yes?”
“Hmm,” Charlotte considers, then looks back at me over her shoulder. “What do you think?”
Any disappointment evaporates at the offering, and I cling to it for what it is: an opportunity to step in and parent. My heart swells with affection, and I swallow against the way my throat wants to tighten. It’s a delicate gift, and I can see the unavoidableconcern in Charlotte’s face. We might have let our bruises heal, but Winona is her entire world. I won’t waste the opportunity to show her how badly I want her to be mine, too.
“I think I was getting ready to wash up myself, and I need someone to show me where to go.” I smile and flash a wink at my daughter. “Think you can help me?”
Winona thinks it over, her little face pinching before she nods. I extend my arms to her and wait. Charlotte sucks in a sharp breath but presses a kiss to her temple in encouragement. Slowly, Winona reaches out for me, climbing over into my arms and for the first time, I’m holding my daughter.
“How long will she sleep?” I ask as Charlotte comes back into the living room.
“Normally, it’s a couple of hours,” she answers, sinking into the opposite end of the plush couch and setting a white speaker on the coffee table. It’s mid-afternoon, and she’s just put Winona down for a nap. “But she’s had a lot of stimulation today, so she could go a little longer.”
She swipes a hand down her face, but it doesn’t hide the yawn. She shakes her head to clear the fatigue before looking over at me.
