Page 25 of Not Our First Rodeo
He holds my gaze for a long moment, and I think he’s not going to say anything else, but he does. His words are low and even. “I just think that everyone has been focused on protecting Elsie for a long time, and that’s fair. But someone needs to protect you too. And if it makes me the bad guy for doing that, then fine.”
I shove my hands into my pockets, unsure of how to respond. Part of me feels grateful. The other part wants to tell him that we’re all trying to take care of Elsie becauseshe’sthe one who needs it. More than any of us really know.
But maybe he’s right. Maybe I need it too.
Wehaven’ttalkedaboutthe kiss. I think we both know that it happened in the heat of the moment, when emotions were high. But that hasn’t stopped me from thinking about it.
I mostly managed to erase it from my mind at work today, but now that I’m back home andhe’shere, it keeps playing on repeat. A scene from a movie that I keep rewinding to watch over and over again.
I’ve come to the realization that I miss kissing Beau. I miss being with him. After the miscarriage, I could hardly let Beau touch me without feeling like I was going to fall apart. He was so gentle and caring, and it plucked at my frayed and broken heartstrings. At any given moment, I was one kind gesture from falling completely apart. Intimacy—sexual or otherwise—was basically nonexistent. It wasn’t until that night at the bar that I realized how starved I was for it. For him.
And I don’t know how to handle that desire anymore. It was always so simple before, but now I feel like I’m walking on a tightrope. If I let Beau back into my bed, it means letting him into the bubble I’ve created around myself, and I’m not sure I’mstrong enough for that yet. I need to be better. The parking lot panic attack last week proved that.
So for right now, kissing my husband is off-limits. No matter how badly I might want to.
I look up at Beau from where I’m curled up on the couch. He’s dressed for family dinner at the big house, and a small part of me wants to go with him. But a much larger part is worried I won’t be welcome, not after the separation. Not after the way I hurt him. The Jenningses have always accepted me as one of their own, but they wouldn’t choose me over him, and I wouldn’t want them to.
He’s wearing Wranglers that hug his ass in the most distracting of ways, a flannel button-down, and a shearling-lined jacket to ward off the cold. Outside, snow falls in fat flakes, coating the ground. If I had to guess, I would say this will be our last big snow of the season. As much as I love it, I’m ready for sunshine and wildflowers. I’m ready to put this winter behind me.
When he checks his reflection in the hallway mirror, he catches me staring and smiles. “See something you like, Elsie baby?”
I’ve always loved it when he calls me that. It’s only ever when we’re alone, and it makes my blood heat and goose bumps prickle out along my skin. This time is no different.
Damn the no kissing rule.
“The jacket,” I lie. “Can I have it?”
He turns and walks the short distance from the hallway to the living room, his cowboy boots thudding against the hardwoods. “I don’t think it’s quite your size.”
“Well, shit.”
“Plus, it’s pretty cold out.”
I let my eyes drift past him to the huge windows facing the mountains. They’re covered in a thick layer of snow, and morefalls, faster and faster, as the hours have passed. “Are you sure it’s safe to head out to Lucky Stars?”
It’s just fifteen minutes down the road, but fifteen minutes down snow-covered country roads is a lot different from driving down a cleared highway.
He walks over to the window, assessing. I appreciate that about him. Cooper would say it was fine without even looking, but Beau has always been more cautious, and he wouldn’t leave if he didn’t think he could get back safely.
“I think it’ll be fine,” he says, turning back to me. He holds my gaze for a moment, warm brown eyes searching mine. “You sure you don’t want to come?”
My nausea has been surprisingly under control today, probably because I’ve been sucking on ginger candies since I woke up, but it comes back now. The thought of seeing everyone, of having to watch them hide the disdain and disappointment they’re sure to feel for me, makes me sick to my stomach.
I shake my head. “No, I think it will be better if you tell them by yourself.” Maybe the news of the baby will soften their feelings toward me.
I expect Beau to leave then, but he surprises me by crossing his arms over his chest, and something flips over in my stomach at the sight of his shearling-lined denim jacket pulling taut over his biceps. “Why do you think that?”
The question pulls me out of my trance, and I meet his eyes. They’re harder than I would have expected, a look I don’t usually see on him. I can hardly think of a time in the last decade when he’s questioned my decisions or the reasoning behind them. He always just rolls with the punches.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Why do you think it’s going to be better if I tell them alone?”
A thousand thoughts flit through my brain—of his parents’ expressions morphing into disdain when they see me, of hissiblings accusing me of getting pregnant just to fix things with Beau, of Ruby no longer looking up to me, telling me she wants to be a ballerina just like me when she grows up—but I don’t know how to voice any of them without pulling my heart out and pinning it to my sleeve.
“I—” I start, unsure of how to finish my sentence. “They’ll take it better from you.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “How do you think they’re going to take it?”
