Page 47 of The Stars in the Sky
Aftershocks
"SO MY LITTLE NOAH got her animals safely on the ark last night," a male voice murmured in my ear, full lips brushing against my skin, a finger trailing up my side, under my shirt, to where I was tattooed.
That was an electrifying way to wake up.
We had felt aftershocks last night, and while I’d slept lightly, I’d nevertheless rested. Now at dawn, my body creaked, stiff and sore from sleeping on the ground. The tarps and blankets felt damp from morning dew. Even though the sun had started to come up, Will was still holding me.
Still holding me.
I didn't understand why Will was being so affectionate, but I didn't want him to stop. Sleepily, I turned over and snuggled into him even more, burrowing into the silky skin of his hard chest.
"We gotta get up and check the damage," he said quietly.
"Okay," I whispered back, and darted my eyes around to see if anyone was looking, but no, they seemed asleep. So I gave him a good morning kiss, in which he fully participated, and at length. It was hot. Then he hugged me, extricated himself, and stood up and stretched.
My eyes popped out at the sight of his tan torso flexing in the morning, and his flat waist leading to his waistband where his track pants hung low, showing a bulge.
Right. We need to check the damage. No distractions.
I headed to the bunkhouse.
A disheveled interior greeted me and I went to my room to dress.
The triangle rang.
Seriously, Cookie? After last night? A triangle?
Once clothed, I went back out to the makeshift camp. Will, now dressed, walked around inspecting all of the buildings.
We roused the bleary-eyed kids and went to breakfast. I noticed a sense of camaraderie that was missing yesterday—kids helped each other out, talked with each other more, and were friendlier and more outgoing. They’d just shared a scary experience and it had brought them closer.
And they helped clean up. Before they got started, Will gave them a lecture that consisted of one sentence: "Part of livin' on a ranch is workin'." And then he strolled back over to his house to set it to rights while I supervised the bunkhouse cleanup.
Will didn't show up at lunch so I had Cookie make him a sandwich and I took it over to the ranch house. I knocked and walked in and found him sweeping up glass in his kitchen, listening to some God-awful country music.
"Sorry about the breakage," I said, leaning against the doorway.
"Not your fault. Just old stuff anyway," he said matter-of-factly, tipping the dustpan into the trash.
I wandered through his house while he took a break to eat his lunch, and I noticed how sparsely furnished it was. All of the furniture was antique, except for a back room that had a big television and a comfortable couch that screamed straight man. It gave the appearance that he’d inherited it with all of its contents and hadn't changed a thing.
Going back into the kitchen, I heard the song change to yet another sappy country song. I had no idea how he could listen to this shit.
"Who sings this?" I demanded.
"George Strait."
I snorted. "Do you only listen to George Strait?"
"Internet radio," he answered. "George Strait channel."
That explained it.
"Listen to it," he ordered.
I leaned up against the kitchen counter and listened to the song. It was horribly schmaltzy, but it swayed me once I paid attention to the lyrics. George sang about a boy and his father and how the best day of the boy's life was when the father spent time with him camping as a kid, and then when he brought a classic car home that they could work on when he was a teenager, and how he wanted to be like his dad when he grew up.
It was super cheesy.
