Page 110 of For Cowgirls and Kings
Like coming home after a long vacation. Or getting in the saddle after being off all winter. Or,or I don’t know what.
The kind of peace I’ve never known. But now that I’ve seen it, I’m nearly desperate for it.I want what they have.
“You look beautiful, little filly,” I hear Gus whisper, and Stetson shakes her head. “Don’t shake your head at me. You are beautiful. The most beautiful person here,anywhere.And I’ll spend every moment for the rest of forever showing you, proving to you, just how beautiful you are. Inside and out. You. Are. Everything.”
Tears fall unchecked down my face at his words not meant for my ears, but reaching each of us all the same. Because he doesn’t care about what people will think or feel—hell, I don’t think he even knows anyone else is present.
And fuck, I want that too.
FORTY
ADALENE
April 5th, 2025
“Really, everything looks wonderful,”Mateo says to Stetson as I walk to the dining table, the last bowl of food steaming in my hand. She swats his compliment away, her eyes already zeroed in on Gus’s face, longing deep as a well, etched into every line of her skin. She’s still wearing her wedding dress, and I know it has more to do with wanting Gus to rip it off of her than anything else.
Everyone here, and the food, is simply keeping them from doing so.I smirk at that.
“Yes, you’re quite the cook if I remember.” All eyes snap to McCrae whose expression is still carefully neutral. I still don’t know if Gus has said a word to him.
He looks funny in his black leather jacket, shaggy beard, and blonde strands doing very little to deter the eye from seeing the calculated and all-seeing monster lurking just beneath his skin, sitting at the table surrounded by smiling faces, and decadent dishes.
McCrae doesn’t belong here. That much is obvious.
But no one has asked him to leave yet either.
“Yes, well, if your table manners haven’t improved since lasttime, I’ll make sure this is the last meal I serve you,” Stetson quips, her eyes never wavering from Gus’s. Gus’s eyes darken, a small smile flashing across his face before disappearing beneath his mask once more. I look at McCrae, who’s trying and failing, to hide a ghost of a smile, the look almost more frightening than his normal deathly stare. He looks amused,impressed maybe,and it makes my skin crawl. Based on Mateo’s wide eyes, I’d say he feels similarly.
“Yes, ma’am,” McCrae says, before turning away from the newlyweds. My eyes clash with his for a moment, and I send every ounce of warning I can create, into my gaze. I want him to know I’ll hurt him if he even thinks of hurting my family.
He dips his chin in acknowledgment, just a fraction, and then breaks our gaze to take a drink of his beer.
On some level, I feel like I owe him. When Mateo first told me McCrae had killed two of the brothers in the hospital, I couldn’t stop fearing that it was Marco who’d escaped—he seemed the most cunning, and part of me hated McCrae more. Rafael wasn’t good, but he wasn’t as bad either, and even though he did little to help me, I was angry at the idea of him dying such a cold and senseless death. But then Mateo told me the descriptions McCrae had given him, and some part of me instantly healed. I don’t take it lightly that McCrae took out the two horrors in my daily nightmare. He’ll forever carry their blood on his hands—not that I think it’s his only by any means—but it’s no small thing to me. I want to find a way to say thank you, even if he does make my skin crawl, because I think on some level he deserves it. He might not belong here, and clearly sets everyone's teeth on edge, but he also has given me a level of peace no one else has.
But where do I even start?
I slump into the chair next to Mateo, sighing as I settle into the wood. The bowl I’m carrying clunks against the heavywood, acting like some kind of dinner bell, because everyone else goes into action, serving and passing each of the items. Within seconds, the room is full of comfortable chatter, and the clinking of silverware against plates. It’s a beautiful sound, and an even better feeling, and I know I’m not the only one appreciating the gathering for what it is.
No one here has a perfect family, or a good family life.
And therefore, somewhere along the way, we became each other’s family. McCrae not necessarily included.
Although, Faith keeps pegging him with questions, and he takes each one in stride—like an older brother offering answers to the curious little sister. His responses are quiet, and short, but honest. The fact that he’s talking at all, and to Faith of all people, proves there has to be something good buried deeply beneath his decaying, hateful exterior.
Like, super deeply.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” I start, standing up with a glass of whiskey extended in my hand. The table becomes silent in seconds, all eyes turning to look at me. “To Stetson and Gus—although you don’t have a traditional love, and I would be absolutely terrified to see what happens behind your bedroom door after hours?—”
Gus snorts, whispering beneath his breath, “don’t drop anything onto the table then Dale. It’s not only our bedroom that’s messy,” earning a slap on the arm from Stetson.
I laugh, raising my glass higher. “I’m so glad you found each other. We would all be lucky to find a love half as meant-to-be as yours. Cheers!”
I raise my glass to my lips taking a sip. Everyone follows suit, and as I sit down, Mateo’s hand intertwines with my own. Stetson’s eyebrow raises as she notices, but I just shrug, wrapping my own fingers tighter around his.
I like hishand in mine.
I watch Mateo walk out the house entryway after Gus, containing the urge to follow after him.When did I get so fucking dependent on my“friend”that I no longer want to be in a room he’s not?
