Page 38 of Coming Home Country
A rumble sounded from my chest when he stepped forward, placing his hands on her waist as he gave her a boost. Like with Colt, I knew Mac had no feelings toward Bex, but watching him touch her unlocked something possessive inside me.
I wasn’t the jealous type. I’d never had cause to be.
Bex had been mine, and everyone in Rust Canyon knew it.
She was still mine. Time, distance, new lovers. . . None of that changed the truth.
She still owned my heart, even if I didn’t own hers anymore.
Mac stepped back once he was sure Bex was properly seated atop Chocolate Chip. Nudging my shoulder with his, he teased, “Time to saddle up and play cowboy for the day.”
Tipping his hat with a cheeky grin, he strode toward his own horse, mounting it with a practiced ease you wouldn’t expect from a guy who’d only learned to ride a couple of years ago.
Tripp called my name, and I turned to find he held the reins to his horse, along with those of a second one for me. I thanked him, climbing into the saddle and shifting my weight until I was seated comfortably for the ride.
But any hope of comfort went right out the window when I realized I would be riding behind Bex all afternoon. Her long brown hair hung in loose waves down her back, stopping right above where the denim of her jeans was stretched tight over her rounded ass, her hips rolling in time with the steady cadence of Chocolate Chip’s steps. Cock swelling to life behind my fly, every bump in the trail had me wincing.
The pain I experienced didn’t hold a candle to all I’d caused her over the years, so I decided to harness it, letting it fuel my fire as determination set in.
I was going to fight for her.
It was the golden hour when the bare bones of Mac and Aspen’s new home could be spotted on the horizon. The frame was set, but there were not yet walls or a roof to enclose the structure.
Colt and Harper beat us to the site—having traveled ahead on the UTV—and had already started a fire. They wouldn’t be spending the night with an infant in tow, but they still came to enjoy the evening amongst friends.
When we dismounted, the men began setting up the tents while the women unloaded the food and began preparing for dinner.
There were only two tents—one for Tripp and me to share, the other for Bex and Penny—as Mac explained that he and Aspen would be sleeping out in the open air. Mac had grown up in the city, where light pollution obscured the true beauty of the night sky, and during his first trip to the country, he’d become obsessed with stargazing.
Couldn’t say I blamed him. My time in Baltimore made me realize how many things about my home I’d taken for granted, the brilliant nightly display above our heads being one of them.
My mind wandered as I slid flexible poles through canvas loops, working to construct the tent the girls would sleep in.
My acceptance into pre-med at one of the top medical schools in the country was the first domino to fall in the collapse of my relationship with Bex. She’d been a sophomore when I was in my senior year, and I hadn’t wanted to leave her. I knew then that she was my forever, and I worried that the distance might tear us apart, and I couldn’t stand the thought of it.
I’d made my mind up to decline the offer, electing not to even share the news with my parents for fear they’d talk me into accepting. But it didn’t matter. When I told Bex, she decided I was going. End of story.
We’d argued about it for a week. I had half a dozen local admissions that would have put me only an hour or two away, so I could come home and visit easily on the weekends, but Bex wouldn’t hear of it. She made a case that if I wanted to be the best in my chosen field, I needed to learn from the best. She convinced me that our love was too strong to be weakened by a few years of intermittent separation.
The miles between us hadn’t been the final nail in the coffin, but our relationship had died in Baltimore, nonetheless.
My stomach rumbled when the smell of melting cheese infiltrated my nostrils.
Brushing my hands off on my jeans, I turned around to find a few pie irons set into the flames, their long handles resting on the rocks around the makeshift firepit.
I stepped toward a folding table, where the ingredients were set up, with Bex standing guard.
“What’ll it be?” she asked, gesturing to the neatly organized spread, a pie iron lying open, lined with two pieces of bread.
Saliva filled my mouth as I surveyed the options for various types of mountain pies, but there was only one clear choice. “Pizza with pepperoni, please.”
A corner of her lips tipped up. “My favorite.”
“I remember,” I said softly.
Dropping her gaze, she sucked in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “Tuck . . .”
Reaching across the table, I tipped her chin up. “Focus on the good memories.”
