We still haven’t gotten anything more from Laurel since she started her new job up in Hollow Peak a couple of weeks ago. She sent one text—the guy who hired me is exhausting, send tequila—and then radio silence. I’m sure she's in it, head down, stubborn as a mule, and trying to figure out whether or not she made a mistake. Laurel always comes around; she just likes to do it on her own timeline.
I turn Chief around and point him home.
Home.I try that word out a lot these days, just to see if it still fits.
It does.
I unpacked my duffel bag a while ago. Everything I own lives in a cabin with a cast iron stove and a braided rug and a king sized loft bed.
Our cabin.
As Chief and I head in, the forge comes into view, tin roof catching the last of the sun. I swing down at the hitching post and tie his reins to it.
I walk through the open double doors.
The big scowly blacksmith has pretty much retired, and in his place is this man who smiles at me like I hung the sun above.
"Hey, cowboy."
"Darlin'."
He sets the hammer down as I walk over.
"How was the fence?"
"Boring.Bestkind of boring." I fuss with a smudge of soot on his arm. "Carl wants me on the bigger trail string next week. The Willow Creek overnight."
He pulls back so he can look at me properly. "Yeah? Proud of you, darlin'."
"Oh, stop."
"I mean it."
"Iknowyou mean it. You've gone soft on me." I give him a cheeky wink.
He doesn't deny it. He doesn't even pretend. One corner of his mouth moves.
"Gonna do somethin' about it, big boy?”
His free hand comes up and flicks my hat off as he pushes me back two steps until my shoulder blades hit the brick of the forge wall.
"Garrett—"
He dips his head and kisses me. A big Texas-sized kiss, with one of his huge hands flat on the wall by my head and the other sliding down the line of my side to my ass, and then squeezing hard. His leg wedges between mine as his tongue slides into my mouth, unhurried and absolutely filthy. He finds the top button of my shirt, pops it open, and drags his mouth down my throat. When his beard scrapes over the skin at my collar, I know where this is going. His hand slips inside, rough palm cupping my breast, thumb rolling my nipple until I'm up on my toes and moaning.
"Garrett—" I try again, breathless. "The doors are open."
"Mhm."
"Anybody could walk in."
"Mhm."
But he does ease off, with a pouty groan. He adjust my shirt, pressing a final kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“We’ll finish this at home," he rasps.
"Yes, sir."