Page 107 of The Lilac River

“Yeah, Bertie told me.”

Nash reared back to look at me, surprise flickering across his face. “She did?”

“During Family Tree Day.” I traced his eyebrows with my fingertip, memorizing the shape of him. The man he'd become. The boy I’d loved. “You’ve done such a good job with her, Nash.”

“Like they say, it takes a village. Well, Bertie got me, Wilder, and Gunner.” There was pride in his voice. But something else, too. A quiet longing for what he’d never had.

My chest tightened with sadness. I hadn’t been there. And that would always be a scar.

“Did your dad help out?” I asked softly, though I already knew the answer.

“Not interested. Throws cash at her for Christmas and birthdays. That’s about it.” No bitterness. Just truth and that made it worse.

I yawned and burrowed closer, craving his warmth. “We should go to sleep.”

“Yeah,” he said, stifling a yawn of his own. “It’s almost two. I’ve gotta be back at the ranch by five-thirty. Ride out to check the high ground.”

“You should’ve gone home hours ago.”

He tucked me beneath his chin and pressed a kiss into my hair. “I’ll be fine. Let’s sleep.” Then, quietly: “Tomorrow night, I want you to come to the ranch for dinner. We’ll talk to my brothers.”

“What about Bertie?” I asked, already half-asleep. “What do we tell her?”

“I don’t know. We’ll think of something.” He smoothed my hair, his hand lingering at the nape of my neck. “I want more of this.” His voice was low. Rough. “Not just the good nights and soft kisses. I want the real stuff. Mornings with burnt toast. School forms. You, me, Bertie. The house full of noise and laughter.”

He traced my shoulder with the pad of his finger, each pass like a vow.

“If you’re mine again,” he whispered, “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I was always yours. Every sunrise, every sunset—they’ve all been counting down to this.”

He laid back, pulling me with him until I was sprawled across his chest. His hand slipped under the hem of his T-shirt I was wearing, then down to my hip. His fingers found the waistband of my panties, slipping beneath them, not with urgency, but with quiet claim. Like he belonged there.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep...and something deeper.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “It’s more than okay.”

He didn’t move at first, just breathed me in like he was memorizing my scent. Then he shifted slightly, our legs tangling, his arousal pressing against my thigh.

His breath hitched when I arched into him.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned softly, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“Maybe I want to get burned.”

His chuckle was low and dark and reverent.

“You sure? Because once I start, Lily...” His eyes burned into mine. “I’m not stopping this time. Ten years is too damn long.”

I kissed him once. Just once. And that was all it took.

“Then don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

And when he touched me, slow and reverent and utterly mine, it wasn’t just passion. It was homecoming.

Chapter 40

Dreams – Fleetwood Mac

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