Page 9 of Rough Hands on the Prairie

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He grabs a blanket from under the bed and lays it on the floor. I perch on the edge of the mattress, not bothering to undress.

He’s already seen more than enough of me.

I lay back, staring at the ceiling, the dress still buttoned tight around me.

“You sure you’re comfortable like that?” he asks, incredulous.

I glance over—he’s shirtless. Muscles cut like stone, flexing as he settles down.

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

He doesn’t press. Thank God.

I turn my back and try to sleep. My brain is fried. I’m exhausted.

The wind rattles outside. The fire pops low.

And slowly, I drift off.

Sometime in the night, I stir.

Something…

Someone…

He’s touching me.

I freeze.

The blanket has slipped off me, my bare leg exposed. His fingers graze my skin—rough, but gentle.

Does he even know he’s doing it?

I don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Just lay there, warm under his touch, caught in this strange, impossible world…

And not quite ready to escape it.

CHAPTER 4

June

Ibite down hard on my lip.

Why is he reaching for me?

I didn’t even realize he could reach from the floor. He’s been a perfect gentleman—quiet, restrained, respectful. But now…

Now I feel the unmistakable weight of his hand on my shoulder.

Then comes a long, low sigh. The kind laced with frustration. Or hunger. Or both.

I roll to face him—and there he is.

Awake. Staring at me. Eyes glowing in the dark like embers waiting for wind.

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