Page 55 of The County Line
“That’s what Regan said. Are you sure he won’t mind?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Not at all. He never sleeps here anymore. These days, he’s mostly out at the farmstead with Cash or working at the distillery. Ever since he got that RV, he’s been staying out there—working the land, keeping to himself. I think he likes the solitude. After everything, I suppose peace and quiet mean more to him than it does to us.”
I nod. “How’s he doing?” I ask, hesitantly because since he brought me to orgasm, I’ve been avoiding him and have no ideahow to navigate our relationship going forward. One that has become more complicated than I hoped as his parole officer and friend.
“He seems to be doing well. Back in the swing of things at the distillery. I’ve gone down to help him with his home. Finally finished the frame though I hope this storm doesn’t set him back. When he gets his mind stuck on something, he’s all in. I think it’s been a good release for him to work through some of the tough emotions he’s brought home with him.”
I nod because he’s said as much in fewer words during our chats together. “Okay, well I’m going to head up and take a shower now.”
He waves his hand easily, his attention turning back to his phone. “You need anything, just holler. Stay as long as you’d like. Hell, move in if you’d like. Colt’s room isn’t being used anyways and I could use the company.”
I laugh softly and shake my head as I head upstairs, my steps light on the worn floorboards, the hallway so familiar it’s like muscle memory guiding me. I slip into what I remember as Colt’s room, pushing the door open and stepping into a space that feels frozen in time. It looks almost exactly like it did the last time I was here, untouched by the years or by whatever life has tried to throw at him.
I pause, wondering if he’s even slept in this room since coming home. Maybe not. Maybe at twenty-four, when prison ripped him away from everything he knew, he decided he wouldn’t come back to this space. Maybe he went straight to the RV by the creek and never looked back.
Still, the room smells like him. And even though I tell myself not to, I find my body moving on instinct, bending toward the bed and taking a slow, deep inhale of the sheets. I exhale a quiet sigh.
Regan told me the bedding hadn’t been washed and that I should grab fresh ones from the linen closet, but I already know I won’t. I’ll sleep on these, clean or not, because they smell like Colt.
Instead of borrowing one of Regan’s oversized tees, I open his dresser and find a soft one that smells just like the sheets—like him. Comforting. Familiar. Like safety and history and everything I don’t have words for.
I move to the window, my eyes drifting out to the old oak tree, its wide limbs still stretching toward the sky like they did when we were kids. It was a link to our sanctuary—Maverick’s and mine. A place to hide when the house wasn’t safe. When the kind of people our father brought around made it better to vanish into the leaves than stay in our rooms.
A smile tugs at my lips, touched with both ache and warmth. That tree. Those nights. Colt. Some bonds don’t break. Not with time. Not with silence. Not even with distance. And the one I have with Colt? It’s always been unshakable.
Have I missed it all along? Has Colt always been my protector, the one I’ve been drawn towards like a magnetic force I can’t ignore? The one guy who hasn’t let me down.
I’m not sure, but something tells me we’ll be having the conversation that I’ve been avoiding soon.
Shaking my head, I step away from the window and head down the hallway toward the upstairs bathroom. After scrubbing every inch of my body and washing my hair, I finally wrap myself in a towel and retreat to his bedroom again, slipping just the large T-shirt over my bare skin.
His scent envelopes me like a warm blanket. I know I’ll fall asleep quickly cocooned in what feels like his embrace. I wonder how it’d feel to have his arms around me, holding me tightlytonight, something we never dared to do even on those nights where Mav and I slept in his room as kids.
The storm rages on outside, louder now but it feels soothing in the comfort of the Marshall’s home. My mind stills as I slip under the covers, my heartbeat races as I take a deep breath and slowly, I drift into a deep sleep…
Chapter 25 – Molly
Somewhere between the haze of dreams and deep sleep, I hear a sound—and then feel warm arms wrapping around me.
“Move over a little,” Colt’s voice breaks through the fog in my brain, low, close and real.
For a second, I don’t know if I’m still dreaming about him—because I was—or if this is something more. But then his arms shift me gently, tucking me beneath the blankets of his bed like I’m something precious.
My eyes flutter open, blinking against the dim light until I see him leaning over me, concern etched into every line of his face.
“You were about to fall off the bed,” he says, his voice rough and quiet. “Didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Oh,” I rasp, barely able to breathe the word because this view—him, in this light—feels cinematic. His brow’s pinched in worry, and his hazel eyes are all golden swirls and stormy shadows. “You’re here?” I ask.
“Storm got rough. RV was rocking like crazy, figured it was safer to crash at the house.” He runs a hand over his head, then glances toward the bed. “Didn’t realize you were in here until I was about to lie down. Don’t worry—I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Oh,” I repeat, my voice thick with sleep and my thoughts nowhere near caught up. The low light from the moon outside of the window spills across his frame, outlining the shape of him—and I meanallof him.
He’s standing there in nothing but a pair of light gray sweats. Not exactly storm-weather gear, but that’s not what grabs my attention. No, it’s the way the soft fabric clings to him. The obvious bulge pressing forward, impossible to ignore. My breath stutters, heat curling low and sharp in my belly, and I force myself to blink, to look anywhere else.
He shifts his weight and lowers into a crouch beside the bed. The floor creaks as he stretches out—no pillow, no blanket, just Colt. Long limbs, broad chest, and bare vulnerability wrapped in storm light, like sleeping on the floor beside me is the most normal thing in the world.
“Here, take a blanket.” I try to push one off me to share, but he just shakes his head.
