Page 80 of Where They Belong

Colt’s throat tightened, but he nodded. What could he say to that? He and Mason had their own lives. Mason’s life was here, and his was with his brothers. Mason would never leave Haverstall Mountain, and Colt would never ask it of him. Perhaps if things had been different. If their lives hadn’t been pulled apart, if they hadn’t believed the other had wronged them in one way or another . . . maybe.

They’d managed to reconnect and heal their wounds from the past, but that didn’t mean they had a future together. Colt had done what he’d set out to do when he’d come back to the ranch. He’d protected Mason until the threat was over, and he’d cleared the air so he could move on with his life.

But did he want to move on from Mason? A voice in the back of his mind supplied a resoundingno. Did he want to stay on the ranch? He searched inside himself and didn’t have to dig too far for the answer.Yes. He would, in a heartbeat, if Mason asked. But it wouldn’t be his choice alone. He had his brothers to consider too. He couldn’t leave them high and dry.

Finally, after everyone had seen for themselves that Mason was okay, they’d all departed for their own homes, including Katie, who’d left with Angela.

Mason stood in the middle of the living room like he didn’t know what to do now that they were alone. Colt felt the same. The silence grew deafening and awkward, and the elephant in the room grew larger. They both knew it was time for Colt and his brothers to leave. But not tonight.

“Do you need some ice,” Mason said over his shoulder, his tone flat, as he walked stiffly into the kitchen. “For your back.”

Colt shook his head, even though Mason couldn’t see him.

Mason gingerly opened the fridge and peered inside. “Chef Aiden sent a ton of prepared meals over for us. Want something to eat?”

“Mason—” Colt was about to shake his head again, but his stomach grumbled. Other than a little juice packet and a few crackers at the hospital, he hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before.

Mason nodded and said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Colt watched him for a few seconds, but it was clear the injuries on his wrists from the rope he’d been tied up with were hurting. Preparing a meal, even just heating up one that was already made, looked painful. Colt entered the kitchen and put a hand on Mason’s shoulder.

“Here, let me.” Colt took the container of homemade spaghetti from Mason and placed it on the counter and then tipped his chin toward the kitchen island. “Sit down and relax while I get this ready.”

Mason nodded and mutely did as he was told. Colt worried at his lower lip. What was Mason thinking? Did he want Colt to leave now that the threats were over? Or did he want Colt to stay, to see where things went between them?

Colt dished out two servings of spaghetti and put the plates into the microwave, one at a time. While the food heated, he placed silverware and a tub of fresh-grated parmesan cheese on the island. The extra few feet to the kitchen table felt too far away, and Mason didn’t look like he could move just then. Even if the house was on fire.

He was tempted to crack open a couple of beers, which would be justified after a day like today, but probably not the wisest with all the painkillers rolling through his system. Instead, he poured two glasses of Katie’s fresh-made peach juice, from peaches grown on the ranch. The stuff was like a little taste of heaven.

Colt sat beside Mason at the island, close enough that he could let his knee rest against Mason’s. He needed the touch, to feel the heat radiate off Mason’s body and absorb into his. He needed the reassurance that Mason was there and safe and whole.

They ate in comfortable silence, until their plates were spotless, and sat back at the same time, stomachs sated. That was when fight mode collapsed, and overwhelming fatigue dragged Colt down. His body felt like it weighed three tons. His back throbbed painfully where he’d been shot, his eyes felt gritty, and his throat was raw from shouting.

Beside him, Mason yawned so wide his jaw cracked.

“I think I might pass out right here,” Mason slurred.

“Let me put these away, and then we’ll go to bed.” Colt stood and reached for Mason’s plate but stopped when Mason put a hand on his forearm.

“Dishes can wait.” Mason slid his hand down Colt’s arm and laced their fingers. Then he stood and led Colt to his bedroom.

Colt helped Mason undress with care, to make sure he didn’t hurt his wrists any further than they already were by struggling with buttons and zippers. Colt unbuttoned his own shirt, but Mason eased it off his shoulders so the movement wouldn’t aggravate Colt’s gunshot bruise.

When they both stood facing each other, naked and bruised and scraped and bandaged, Mason raised a hand and traced a finger along Colt’s jaw. His nail scratched on the stubble. Colt leaned forward and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, a caring kiss, that was somehow more intimate than the passion-fueled kisses they’d shared before this morning because this one didn’t demand more. It wasn’t a prelude to sex. This kiss simply saidI love you.

Colt placed a hand on Mason’s hip, and the gentle kiss ended.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Colt whispered. He turned and pulled back the bedsheets. Mason crawled into bed first, and then Colt followed. It took a few minutes to find a comfortable position, finally resting on his stomach, which he didn’t like at the best of times. What he wanted to do was lie on his back and tuck Mason under his arm, with Mason’s head on his chest. He needn’t have worried. Mason snuggled up against his side and draped a leg over the back of his thighs. He placed a hand on Colt’s hip and kissed his cheek.

“I’m glad it was you that Nick hired.” Mason’s voice was groggy and ragged.

“Me too,” Colt mumbled as sleep pulled him under.

Mason awoke in a cocoon of warmth, his back to Colt’s chest and Colt’s arm heavy over his torso. He pulled Colt’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“Mornin’.” Colt kissed his shoulder.

“Mmm.” Mason’s voice was rough and gravelly.

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