Page 133 of 11 Cowboys
She’s turning toward the porch when I pull her into a hug, fierce and fast like my ribs might cave if I don’t get her in my arms. For a second, she freezes. Then she meltsagainst me, her fingers gripping the back of my shirt.
“I didn’t think I’d get this chance,” I whisper. My voice breaks in the middle, but I don’t care. “I was praying like a goddamn fool you’d come back because I needed to tell you how sorry I am.”
She pulls back enough to look up at me, her eyes wide, guarded.
“I hurt you, and I know I did. That first night, I walked away because I was scared. Scared of what I felt, of what you might notice in me if you looked too long. But I hate what I did. I hate that I made you feel small or disposable or anything less than what you are.”
She reaches up and cups my face, her thumb brushing across my cheek like a balm. I close my eyes at the touch, wanting to hold onto this feeling forever. “Levi. I already forgave you.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah?”
She nods, her soft smile breaking through. “You and me, we’ve both been good at doubting ourselves. You run, and I hide. But I’m tired of hiding.”
My chest caves in the best kind of way.
“Yeah?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah.”
I dip down and kiss her slow and certain, laced with the promise I should’ve made from the start. Her hand tightens in my shirt, and when I pull back, she’s breathless and smiling a little. My world narrows to her lips, her breath, her forgiveness, and the quiet pounding of my heart in my throat.
“Then let me show you what coming home means.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and tuck her against me like she belongs there because she does. “Come on,” I say, voice thick. “Let’s go inside.”
The door creaks as I push it open. The warm air of the house wraps around us like a quilt. She hesitates in the doorway, then steps in slowly like she's worried the walls might reject her.
I take her hand. “We’re waking the others.”
She looks surprised. “Now?”
“Damn right,” I say, grinning. “They’ve waited long enough.”
The other men file in behind us, setting her bags down by the door. Dylan brushes her arm with a look that says more than words. Brody ruffles her hair, earning a swat and a watery laugh. Conway passes by and presses a soft kiss to her temple, saying quietly, “Welcome home.”
One by one, I nudge the rest awake, and they rise from sleep, stiff from their positions on chairs and sofas and the damn den rug, rubbing eyes, blinking at the light. Then they notice Grace and the room breathes differently. Relief floods every face.
Jaxon says, “You came home.”
And she says, “Yeah. I did.”
Corbin hugs her like he never wants to let go. McCartney wipes his eyes and kisses her cheek. Even stoic-ass Harrison gives her a one-armed squeeze and mutters, “Good to see you, darlin’.” One by one, they wrap her in a welcome filled with love. The rest step forward, one by one, to claim their place with our woman and show her how much we missed her.
This time, she knows what she means to us and where she belongs.
This is a second chance at building the life and love that we’ve been craving, and I know for certain that we’ll do our best to hold on tight to the woman who came here to write a story and, instead, wrote her name across our hearts.
50
JAXON
The sun has barely cleared the ridge when I finish up my chores. The others are still working hard, but I'm buzzing with energy. Grace is home. She's real and here and breathing under our roof again, and hell, if that isn't enough to put a charge in my blood.
I jog up the back steps two at a time, wiping sweat from my neck with the hem of my shirt. The hallway is quiet, and I glance around, half expecting to find kids underfoot, but they must be sleeping. The house still carries that sacred hush you only get this early in the morning. I head for the bathroom, meaning to wash the dust off my hands and maybe my face if I can be bothered.
Then I see her.
Grace has a toothbrush in her mouth, pink lace panties dipping into her peachy ass, matching pink cowboy boots, and her hat cocked sideways on her head like sin itself. That's it. Nothing else. Her bare back is, to me, smooth and sun-kissed and utterly tempting.
