Page 22 of When the Smoke Clears

My cheeks rise as a wide smile overtakes my face. I’ve always joked about him being a cowboy, but I’ve never seen him ride before. The sight does things to my insides.

He grins and hops down effortlessly.

“I was beginning to wonder if that hat was all for show.” Leah smirks at Sutton from next to me.

He smiles. It’s not the smile he gives me. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve seen this one before, and I wonder if it’s for show, given everything that’s going on. “Thanks for coming out with breakfast. Looks like you found her ok.”

“Yeah. She was where you told us,” Izzy says. She looks between us. “We’ll talk later. Call if you need anything. Either of you.”

“What she said.” Leah hugs me. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I release her after a quick squeeze and wave as they walk to Leah’s car.

Before they’ve disappeared at the fork in the drive, I have a text.

Izzy:

Don’t forget to talk to the cowboy.

Me:

Hands free. Eyes on the road.

Izzy:

I’m not driving.

Me:

And don’t tell me what to do.

Izzy:

Someone needs to.

Sutton slides an arm around my waist and kisses my temple. His voice is low, and his breath tickles my hair. “You look beautiful. How are you feeling?”

Heat fills my cheeks at the compliment. “Good.”

His lips press together, no doubt analyzing my every word.

I breathe a laugh. “I’m fine. You don’t have to keep checking on me.”

He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Yes, the fuck I do. And the sooner you figure that out, the better. I don’t check on you out of responsibility. I check on you because I want to know how you are. And I want to help you when you need it.”

My throat thickens as I stare into his stormy eyes. With both hands, I reach around his neck and pull his head down to kiss me. It’s tender at first but quickly turns hungry, giving into a need we share fueled by fear.

Breaking the kiss, he rubs his nose against mine. “Stop fighting me all the time, Firecracker.”

“But it’s what I do best.” I give him another peck.

“That’s true. But you don’t have to work so hard at it.”

Rumbling fills the air, speeding closer. The front door of the house slams open. Sutton and I look up to the porch, where his dad, Michael stomps out. He cocks a rifle, and my eyes widen.

“Dad, what the hell!”

Behind us, the noise draws nearer. Several motorcycles travel up the drive together, pulling into the circular space in front of the house.

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