Page 73 of Before We Fell

She’d been going to a new therapist. An older woman, older than my own mom, based on the additional lines around her eyes, age-spotted skin, and stripes of gray hair. For two weeks, they’d met twice a week after school, and as far as I knew, they talked about Riley’s life now, school, horses, if she wants to play sports or do anything for fun like dance or gymnastics.

She was talking to Clara Moore, who I learned was Ryan’s mom when I told the guys about the appointment on the golf course one morning. That alone made me feel better about the whole thing. Ryan, I was learning, was a stand-up guy, which meant someone raised him to be that way.

“Yeah,” I said, getting back on track. “Anyway, so I called a few firms in town. Won’t be much, but I was trying to put some feelers out there, see if anyone was looking for extra help and come to find out Old Man Morty is thinking of retiring in the next year or two.”

“Who?” She laughed as she asked the question.

Of course she wouldn’t know him. She hadn’t lived in town all that long. “Ronnie Mortenson. He’s a mean old bastard. Works with most of the ranchers and farmers in the county. When I was growing up, he hated every kid in the world. Don’t even know how adults gave him their money, he was such a cantankerous ass even when he wasn’t old, but as far as I know, even when he was young, he was always Old Man Morty.”

“Small towns, man,” Lauren drawled.

I brought our clenched hands to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You grew up in one.”

“I know. They’re the best. Nicknames for old people and the biggest fear is pissing off some old guy. It’s why I stayed here after my student teaching. I couldn’t live in the city with all the noise.”

“Yeah? I loved the city. Loved the lights and the action…but I will admit, there’s something about sitting out back with a beer in front of the fire pit at my mom’s place that feels damn good, too.”

“Yeah. I agree. So back to Old Man Morty.”

“Right. Anyway, like I said, he does mostly estate planning for the ranchers. Works with them getting their wills together, all the legalities of selling a ranch or passing it down when someone inherits. But he also does wills for other people, family law, some land or property law especially with the new developments, that kind of shit.”

The kind of shit I’d swore I’d never practice. I never intended to go to law school to become a paper-pusher. Something that didn’t require fire, but a basic nine-to-three leaving time for the golf course kind of life.

It was why I didn’t immediately go to him when I first got to town. I wasn’t ready then, but a lot changed in the last several months.

My wants were no longer my priority. Riley’s needs were.

Damn. Maybe I was figuring out this parenting gig after all.

“Would you be happy doing that?” Lauren asked, and I didn’t have to think about it. But dang when was the last time anyone asked me when I was happy? What made me get up and go? No one.

It’d been too damn long since anyone gave a shit about what I found enjoyable in life. The last person being Amanda.

No way in hell would the job make me happy. On the other hand, I’d have a good, safe home and life for Riley, money to burn when we wanted to kick the dust off our boots and get out of town. I’d have family nearby, roots for Riley to grow and settle.

And hopefully, I’d have Lauren, too.

“I think it’d be a job, not going to lie. But I also think my days of courtroom brawls are over, and that, I don’t think I mind anymore. Hell, even when I had to go back a few weeks ago, I couldn’t wait to get everything done and get back. I loved that job, loved my career, but there’d been times I regretted what I did, too. So I don’t know. Honestly? The job here would be a job. But it’d only be one part of my life.” I gave her hand another squeeze, lifted it to my mouth, and this time, with my eyes on the road, her flesh against my lips, I lingered, peppering soft kisses meant to tease and entice against her knuckles. Her fingertips. The back of her hand. “And I’m hoping, I’m really hoping, Lauren you want to be a part of the rest of it.”

Her fingers squeezed mine and I glanced at her. She licked her lips, and the car was too dark to see her blush, but by the way she ducked her head, tucked her hair from behind her ear to hide her face, I figured she was.

“Yeah, of course I want that. I wouldn’t be letting you sneak me away for a scandalous weekend if I didn’t.”

“Good. Now how scandalous are you talking?

The doorbehind us closes with the quiet snap and click. My hand is at the small of Lauren’s back, where I placed it as soon as we checked in. She went silent again as we pulled up to The Fontaine and I helped her out of the car before handing my keys to the valet.

This time, her silence didn’t concern me. I’d long since kicked the dreaded conversation with her mother out of her head in the car after we drifted from me working for Ronnie to that quiet kind of contemplative conversation ranging from politics to what we were like as children.

And it turned me on to learn we were more alike, carrying similar values deeply rooted in us than I could have imagined.

She drifted toward the wall of windows overlooking the Plaza in the distance and placed a hand on the glass. She glanced at me over her shoulder, her brown eyes wide with wonder, hair draped down her back. The black dress she had on hit her at barely mid-thigh, revealing her long, sexy as hell toned legs. Calf muscles on display from the height of her strappy red heels.

I scribbled down a mental note to take her against this window, having her stand exactly like that at some point over the weekend.

“I still can’t believe you brought me here, of all the hotels.”

I tossed the keycard onto the entry table. I’d rented us a suite. Not the best one, but our first weekend alone together, truly alone, deserved a hell of a lot more than a Best Western or a cramped room with only one bed. No, I liked the idea of eating breakfast with her at the mahogany table for six, perhaps bending her over halfway through a bowl of fruit serving for something I knew would be equally sweet, but so much more gratifying on my tongue. Or taking her in the standalone tub I knew was in the bathroom, encased in glass, a separate room in itself.

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