Page 31 of Alive and Wells

“The lilacs.”

“Oh, yeah?” His mouth twitches.

Wait, hedidcut them down, didn’t he? I’ve only mentioned anything about those bushes to him and Beryl. It seems too strange to be coincidental. “Well, yeah, I’m pretty sure it was you who did it. Everybody else seems to think we’ve been vandalized. But why did you do it?”

“On the off-chance you stay until next spring, you’ll never have to think abouthimagain.” The way he says the word “him” makes it sound like he has a personal vendetta against KJ. Which can’t be true, because nobody’s told Austin anything about him.

My vision becomes speckled and the muscles in my legs tremble. Even if I had the ability to form words around the heavy mass pressing on my chest, I’m speechless. Nobody’s ever done something like this for me.

“I might not know your whole story, but I figured out enough to decide he isn’t worth thinking about for a single second. And I didn’t want you to have to worry about the lilacs. Do you want to sit?” he asks, eyeing my body as I shake like a leaf.

I drop to the steps without hesitation, and he sits down next to me, hanging his sand-coloured hat off a bent knee. Up close, and in the bright daylight, his dark hair’s threaded with the occasional grey that glistens like tinsel. I can’t stomach the way his eyes soften when he looks at me this morning—so unlike the way they turn to molten lava when I’m pretty sure he’s checking me out, or the darkened slits they become when he’s annoyed with the people around him. This look is new and feels full of pity, which is the last thing I want.

Did Beryl tell him more details? How does he know anything? Why does he care?

“Are you—I can replant them if you want me to. Last night you reacted so strongly after I brought them up, and I got—I needed to do something. You probably aren’t even going to stay for long, but I want… well, in case you do. I figured it might be nice not to worry about them coming back. We’ll dig up the roots in the daylight.” He’s stumbling over his words like he has a lot more he wishes he could say, but either isn’t able or isn’t sure how to. “Can you say something? I’m used to you being the talker here.”

“Sorry, I’m a bit taken aback, is all. I didn’t think you were capable of stringing so many words together.” His eyes flash with something else I can’t pinpoint. This conversation has had more emotions come from him than I’ve ever seen before. Is this hurt or anger? I can’t tell. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I have a bad habit of blurting out stupid things when I’m uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay. I get it… You make me nervous, too.” His cheeks turn pastel pink, and he stares down at his dusty cowboy boots.

“Don’t plant them again. You have no idea how much you doing this means to me.” I could hug him. Or kiss him. Or both. “Those have probably been on your property for, like, a hundred years. What if your great-grandparents planted them on purpose or something?”

“They’re both dead.” He shrugs. “You’re here right now—alive and well on my ranch. I care a heck of a lot more about you being comfortable than their spirits potentially getting riled up over some silly flowers.”

“Austin.” His name comes out breathy and like a plea. My body intuitively leans into him so our upper arms are grazing. If I tilted my head just the right amount, it would be resting comfortably on his shoulder.

His face moves toward mine and my heart all but stops.Is he going to kiss me?I inhale his woodsy scent, tucking it away into my lungs like a keepsake. The lilacs are gone, KJ is gone, and I want this hot mountain man to make me forget he ever existed.

The searing heat from his thumb traces the ridge of my jawline, working its way to my bottom lip. Feeling the desperate need to be kissed for the first time in years, my lips part slightly and my eyelids flutter closed. For every cruelly conjured up KJ memory, I try to think of two images of Austin. As if enough thoughts about one will fully remove the other from my mind.

A deep rumble comes from his chest. “I’d really like to kiss you right now…”

The way his voice trails off tells me there’s more to that thought. I whisper, “But?”

“But I won’t want to stop there. I’ll want to run my hands over your body, and kiss every inch of your skin. And I can’t. Not when you constantly shy away from my touch.”

“I don’t—” I try to argue. Deny reacting with anything other than pure desire at the thought of his hands on me. Coming to grips with the idea that I might be ruined by KJ—never able to stand the touch of another man without flinching—is crippling.

“You do. When the time comes where I can do this,”—his rough hand gently cups my chin and his throat bobs with a hard swallow—“without feeling every muscle in your jaw tense, I’ll kiss you until you’re unable to breathe. And a whole lot more, if you’ll let me.”

Heat travels through me, forcing my thighs together and making my head float. If there was a way I could will my body to let it happen right now, I would. I’d love nothing more than to let Austin Wells permanently remove every memory of my shitty ex with his bearded kisses, work-worn hands, and whatever is under those fitted Wranglers.

My voice breaks as I admit my newfound biggest fear. “What if that never happens?”

“Oh, darlin’. I have no doubt it will.” His eyes remain fixated on my lips, even as his hand falls away. “Not that it’s exactly the same but, when I was a kid, I convinced my grandpa to buy me a horse from the auction. She was unbroken, abused, terrified. Couldn’t even get within ten feet without her spooking. We went on to win the high school rodeo championships in tie-down roping two years in a row. It just takes time. Trust.”

Trust.Can I trust somebody again?

14

Austin

Withsixteenranchhandsworking and nothing but fences to mend, I’m relegated to my office. I have work needing to be done and bills to be paid. Still, I’d rather stare out at the view. The hay door, once used for loading this loft with square bales, usually gives me an inspiring glimpse of the Timothy Mountains. I haven’t looked at those peaks all damn day because I can’t take my eyes off a much more stunning picture. Cecily’s working the garden next to the house in a black tank top and denim overalls, blonde hair French-braided down her back. When I’m admiring how hard she’s working, she does something like bend over, and I’m no better than an animal eyeing its next meal.

Who knew overalls could look so fucking hot?

Unable to stand another minute of watching from a distance, I chug the last of my coffee, pick myself up, and take a stroll over to the garden. Dangling my empty mug from my fingers, I swing open the white picket garden gate. The hinges squeal and Cecily turns toward the sound with a smile.

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