Page 56 of The County Line
“I’ve slept on worse.”
“But you shouldn’t have to. This is your room.” I scoot over as far as I can until my body’s pressed against the wall that the bed bumps up against. “Come up here. There’s no reason we can’t share the bed.”We’ve done it before.
A memory surfaces, one I haven’t thought about in years. I must have been seventeen years old, and Colt the same, when Maverick disappeared one particularly dangerous night. He was a year older than us, had graduated the May prior, and had been pulled into my father’s world of lies and illegal dealings.
That night was terrifying. Men I didn’t recognize came to the house, drugs were passed around, and my father’s obnoxious, drunken voice boomed through the thin walls of our trailer, louder and angrier than usual. Maverick—normally my protector, my safe place when things got out of control—was nowhere to be found.
It had been a while since I’d last had to sneak out to Colt’s. Back then, Maverick shielded me once we became teenagers, stepping in when things got bad, finding a way to get us dinner. But that night, I knew I couldn’t rely on anyone else to be there for me but myself. The lock on my bedroom door was loose and rattling, and I wasn’t about to wait and see what might happen if someone tried to force it open.
I slipped out my bedroom window and ran the miles-long stretch from the trailer park to Whitewood Creek Farmstead barefoot. The gravel and dirt tore at my feet, leaving them raw and bleeding by the time I reached the massive oak tree outside Colt’s window. I climbed up and knocked softly praying that he was home.
When he opened it, his eyes burned with anger. For a moment, I thought he might jump out of the window and storm straight over to the trailer. He looked ready to fight the whole world for me. But we were just kids back then—seventeen, scared, and powerless in a lot of ways. Even with his broad shoulders and budding strength, he wasn’t fully grown yet, and we both knew it would be a mistake for him to act.
One that Maverick and I would end up paying for later.
Still, that night reminded me of one thing: Colt was my refuge when everything else was chaos as he’s always been. That night he’d taken me into his bed, tucked me in along with propping upseveral pillows between our bodies to show me that he was a safe place.
And that night, I got the best sleep of my young teenage life.
Now, his large frame moves up from the floor as he pulls back the sheet and slips into the bed beside me. It’s a much tighter fit than it was when we were seventeen. If he tried to build a barrier of pillows between us, it wouldn’t be possible—there’s just too much of him for this space.
He’s quiet, lying flat on his back, probably trying to give me as much room as possible. But I’m wide awake now, my heart racing out of control. If his scent had surrounded me before, now it’s overwhelming—a warm, intoxicating presence that feels like his hand reaching out to grip me, possessively, protectively, wrapping around my neck and commanding my attention.
“Will your new home be okay?” I whisper, my voice barely audible even though there’s no chance anyone else in the house could hear us over the cacophony of wind and rain that’s raging outside.
“I think so. Got the frame set up and cemented before the storm hit. I’m more worried about the RV,” he replies, his voice low and steady, brushing against the silence like a comfort.
I nod, even though he’s not looking at me. My mind scrambles for something else to say, some way to fill the charged quiet. “Sorry for taking over your room. Regan and your dad said you don’t sleep in here anymore.”
That gets his attention. His whole body shifts as he turns onto his side, propping himself up slightly to face me. His hazel eyes catch the dim light filtering in from outside, scanning every inch of my face, studying me.
I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. When I look at him, I see the young boy who grew into the incredible man who’s lying next to me now—the one who has always been my safe place. The one who’s protected me, looked out for me, and stayed constant through everything. And maybe... the one that I’ve always loved.
The thought hits me like a storm surge, terrifying in its power. Giving my heart to another handsome man feels like playing with fire, and I’m not sure I’ll survive being burned again but I want to believe - so desperately - that Colt wouldn’t do that to me. That he’s different.
His hand reaches up, brushing a lock of my dark, damp hair away from my cheek and tucking it behind my ear carefully. It’s still a little wet from my shower, but the heat of his touch sends a searing shiver through my body that I know he must feel too.
“You ain’t ever have to apologize for coming into my bed, Molly. You know you’re always welcome here.”
My mouth drops open on a quiet gasp as we gaze at each other. For someone else, the amount of eye contact that we’re making right now might seem unnerving, but with Colt, it feels like we’re saying all the things we’ve always wanted to say to each other. As if we’re both realizing that what’s between us has grown into something more.
Does he even know why I’m here tonight?
He hasn’t asked and yet... he doesn’t mind. That’s just who Colt is. Finds a woman seeking shelter in his bed, and welcomes her without question like it makes sense.
Heat pools between my thighs as I shift to face him. The space between us disappears in an instant as his hand finds my hip, body presses closer until we’re chest to chest, his rock-hard length pressing insistently against my thigh.
A gasp slips from my lips as his arm wraps around my waist, strong and sure, pulling me flush against him and locking me in place. Instinct takes over—my hips roll into his, hungry for more—and then his mouth crashes into mine, urgent and unrelenting, drowning me in the heat of it.
He tastes like the soda he was sipping earlier—sweet and a little spicy—but it’s him underneath that flavor, familiar and addictive. The memory of him lingers on my tongue, tangled with the now, and when his hands frame my jaw, coaxing me to open for him, I do without hesitation.
Lips parted, his tongue claims my mouth—deep, consuming, full of promise. Then he pulls back, just slightly, tongue dragging along the seam of my lips before sweeping inside again with slow, deliberate hunger. It’s enough to make me tremble, a soft moan escaping as I melt into the kiss, lost in the fire he builds with nothing more than his touch.
My fingers move to his soft, buzzed head, rubbing against the tiny strands there, then trailing down to his jawline. His beard is just starting to grow in, its roughness scratches against my fingertips sending sparks through me. I shiver at the thought of that delicious scrape dragging over every inch of my skin.
His hand slides downward from my hips, his fingertips grazing my bare skin as he lifts the hem of my T-shirt, exposing the naked curve of my stomach to the cool air. A shiver courses through me, but it has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way he touches me. The rough pads of his fingers trail along my side, igniting a path of heat that makes my pulse race.
He leans back just enough to look me in the eyes, and the intensity in his gaze is like a physical weight pressing against me. It’s all-consuming—raw, unfiltered desire mixed with somethingthat’s always been deeper between us. My breath catches, but I can’t look away. I don’t want to.
