Page 33 of Braving the Storm
She downs the pills, but I see the tightness in her face at the mention of her phone. “No need to worry about that.”
My mind is still chewing over what she said outside. Turning over how secretive this girl has been about the entire reason she’s landed here in Crimson Ridge in the very first place.
Everyone hates me.
“I’ll be right here while I get some paperwork done. Just let me know if your head starts to feel worse, or like you’re gonna hurl.” I rub a hand over the back of my neck, hovering as she settles herself with feet tucked under her. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?” Realizing I left pretty abruptly earlier, I don’t actually know if she ate after I took off to town to sort out the shit I’m going to need for Beau’s ranch job.
After I ran out that door, because last night was… well… too close.
Not to mention, I actually slept for the first time since she arrived, and getting such a good stretch of uninterrupted sleep reminded me of all the issues around our complicated goddamn set of current living arrangements.
Briar hits me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine. Thanks all the same… and I promise to say if I need anything.”
“You don’t haveto treat me like I’m made of porcelain.” The girl with the potentially bruised brain follows me into the kitchenette, huffing at my back as if doing the basics like feeding her dinner and then collecting her dishes is some sort ofabove and beyondfeat I’m performing.
Christ. I hate anyone and everyone who has been in her life before she came here.
“Sit your ass back down, you nearly cracked your skull open today,” I grumble.
“But I didn’t. So, at least let me do the washing up.” This space is too cramped for both of us to be in front of the sink at the same time, but she tries to squeeze past me all the same.
It puts us in very, very close quarters.
Her soft little body is pressed up against my hip and my thigh, making it all too easy, when I look down and see the tangle of dark hair bundled on top of her head, for my mind to begin wandering into territory I should steer well clear of. Picturing exactly how we would fit together inotherways.
“Fine. Have at it.” At this point, I’m surviving on sheer willpower alone to not start getting hard every time she’s within breathing distance. So I flick the soap bubbles and hot water off my hands and grab the dishcloth. Propping my ass against the kitchen bench, I stand there and wait for the clean dishes to emerge from the suds.
We work in tandem to clean up, and it’s a comfortable sort of silence. That’s one of the things I’ve noticed about having her in this cabin. Briar seems happy with the long stretches of quiet. It’s not something intentional on my part, but after living on my own for so long, the prospect of having someone chatty in my space would have been a living nightmare. No matter how hot they are.
I crave my peace. I enjoy the quiet. I don’t exactly feel like talking much before about ten in the morning, and after a longfucking day of shoeing horses, my brain and my body are exhausted.
Somehow, Briar molds neatly around all of that, and I don’t entirely know what to do with that golden nugget of information incessantly, triumphantly presenting itself inside my mind.
When we chat, it’s easy. She’s got this dry sense of humor hidden away, and I love seeing it rise to the surface every now and then when she doesn’t notice she’s let her guard down. Like it did last night when she played nurse and helped my stiff muscles and wrecked back more than she knows.
Thanks to her impromptu massage, I’ve been able to move around freely today, coupled with sleeping properly, so I’m back to almost feeling brand new again.
Which is possibly why I’m drying each item coming out of that sink with extremely thorough precision. There’s a conversation I need to have with Briar, and I’m not entirely sure how it’ll go.
It’s been kicking around my brain all afternoon, while I should have been focusing on accounts and invoices and paying bills and shit. Instead, I was yet again distracted as fuck by the gorgeous girl curled up on my couch, directly in my line of sight from where I sat over at the table.
The final piece of cutlery emerges, sparklingly clean and covered in a sheen of water, and I damn near bend the thing in half as I wrap it in the towel and dry a spoon with far more force than is necessary.
Briar lets the plug out of the sink, and the only sounds filling the space are the draining of used water and crackling of logs burning low in the fire.
“I’ll need to take a proper look at your head.” My throat is thick, voice gritty. “You know, see if your brain has leaked out.”
What the hell is wrong with me? Evidently, I’m trying to make jokes, while the situation we’re gonna have to discuss is anything but a laughing matter.
In fact, this entire prospect might go up in flames.
Dark eyes bounce to mine, her hand flying up to the back of herskull. “I’m pretty sure it’s fine.” She says the words slowly, her features tightening as her fingers make contact, which immediately makes me narrow my focus on that spot she just touched.
“Up there. Let me look.” I drop the towel like a hot coal and advance. I don’t even pause, or ask for permission, just hoist Briar by the waist and deposit her ass on the benchtop.
She makes a squeak of protest, tiny fists pressing into the front of my shirt.
Reminding me all over again, with that small act of connection, just how fucking good it felt to have her hands on me.
