Page 63 of A Photo Finish
Her little mouth flattens as her already big eyes widen at me. She sits up slowly, shielding her mouth with one hand, muttering, “Cole Harding, you are such a prick.”
Once she’s brushed herself off, she looks down at me. “Okay. Tell me where the leg is, and I’ll go get it. I’m starving.”
“Bottom left drawer of the dresser in my room.”
She nods before turning away, and my hand shoots down quickly to adjust my cock. The thought of her in my room is not helping with my morning wood. And neither is the view of her ass in those goddamn shorts crawling out of the shelter.
“Make sure you sing or something on your way down. Make noise. Keep your eyes peeled for wildlife. There are bears out here.”
“Good god, Cole. What do you think I am? A city girl?”
She brushes her ass off, wiggling it just a little as she does, and within a few minutes, I can hear her singing some god awful country song about riding a cowboy—completely off tune.
* * *
I’ve mademy way back out to the log I sat on yesterday. It’s a good log, in the perfect position to see the path. The brush behind me is so thick it would be impossible for anyone to sneak up. I feel as relaxed as I ever would, sitting in the middle of nowhere, missing my leg from just below the knee.
I’m trying not to worry about Violet, but it’s not working. I know she’s perfectly capable of walking down the mountain, but I can’t keep my mind from straying to her. The same way it has for two years.
Zoned out as I might be, Violet clearly has no military training. I can hear her coming from a mile away. How someone so small can be so heavy on her feet is beyond me.
“Got it!” Violet waves the prosthetic overhead like it’s a flag, but her movements are jerky. Her face is pinched. Sure, I pestered her about the snoring thing and kissed her senseless last night, but she didn’t leave with body language like this.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as she approaches me.
She almost flinches as her eyes dart to mine before lowering again. “Nothing.” She drops to one knee, swings the backpack off from over her shoulder, and zips it open.
“How is the brown horse? Did you feed her extra? She was probably starving.”
“For crying out loud, Cole. She has a name. You can stop pretending you don’t like her around me.” She shoves a black fleece jacket at me, agitation lining her every movement. “And of course, I fed her. Hard to forget with that loud-ass whinny every time one of us pulls up.”
I can’t help but smile. It really is kind of annoying, and yet I look forward to her greeting every day. The soft brush of her lips against my palm when I offer her a carrot. The way she nuzzles her dusty little face against my dress shirt, like she’s bunting on me. I’m not used to someone being so happy to see me all the time.
“Okay, good. Thanks for the coat.”
“I figured you were probably cold.” Violet is bundled in a lightly quilted Gold Rush Ranch jacket now and looking . . . uncomfortable. Nothing like the way she looked this morning, or last night, when she straddled my lap and ground herself down on me. What the hell is going on?
“Thanks.” I eye her speculatively. “You sure everything is okay?”
“Yup!” she says a little too brightly, popping thep.
I’m not buying, but I also hate when people pry—so I won’t.
Instead, I focus on fastening my spare prosthetic. It’s not as comfortable as my regular one. It’s not customized in the same way, and I know it’s probably going to rub my stump. It’s definitely not made for hiking.
I look down into it, and my leg aches. My leg that isn’t even there. Phantom pains. They’re not as bad as they once were, but sometimes the reality that my leg isreallygone just lands differently. It’s like I can feel it there. The pain of the day it was blown off. The pain of my recovery. The pain of my loss.
It rarely bugs me, but shoving my leg into a prosthetic I know is going to be uncomfortable gives me pause.
I shake my head and push it in anyway. No point in crying about it. Gotta get down this hill somehow. With my socks pulled up comfortably, I tie my shoe before looking up at Violet, who is staring at my foot with her brow furrowed.
“Do you have another question?” I ask, half joking.
She sighs, her shoulders squeezing up high and then falling as she does. “No. It’s just amazing. I had no idea. I couldn’t tell at all—the way you walk, the way you work out, the way you . . .” she waves her hand over my body, “look.”
I bite back a smile. I’m not sure of much where Violet is concerned, but I know she likes my body. I catch her checking me out all the time when she thinks she’s being discreet, and relief hits me like a blast of AC on a hot day because she’s still giving methatlook now that she knows what I’m hiding in my pants. Or, well, one of the things I’m hiding in my pants. I almost feel bad I assumed she’d look at me differently, but that’s been my experience, hasn’t it? I have little else to go on because I’ve been so busy hiding it from everyone.
“Okay, let’s get the fuck off this mountain.” I stand and press a little weight onto the prosthetic, feeling it out. It sucks. But it’ll have to do for now.
