Page 31 of Texas
Her eyes snap to mine. “You’re not coming?”
“Not yet,” I say with a shake of my head. “I don’t want to lead any more eyes to your door.”
She hesitates. “Where will you be?”
“Riding,” I say. “But I’ll keep the phone close.”
She nods. Then, softer, “Be careful.”
I touch her hand. Only for a second. Only enough for her to feel I mean it and then I walk back to the Harley, fire her up, and roll out slowly, making sure anyone still watching sees me leave. With my eyes on the rearview mirror, I take the long way out of town, back roads and side streets, until the clinic is behind me and the fields stretch wide in every direction.
When I’m sure I’m not being followed, I pull over, kill the engine and just sit. I replay every second of that scene. Tyler’s red face. The protestors. The way Will’s hand curled around Kristin’s shoulder like it belonged there. The way she flinched but didn’t step away. I want to go back and punch him. I want to find Tyler and drag him into the dirt and make him say it all again to my face. I want to scream.
But I don’t. I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone and stare at the screen. Then I write a quick message to Matt. “Will showed up at the clinic today. Publicly. Put his hands on her.”
Only a beat and then Matt answers. “You want me to come down?”
I hesitate before typing back. “Not yet. But keep your boots ready.”
Tucking the phone away, I ride another twenty miles before I turn back. The sun’s starting to dip when I pull into Kristin’s drive. I don’t go inside. Instead I sit on the porch steps and watch the sky shift into reds and oranges. Kristin shows up a little after seven. She parks in her usual spot and gets out. Her hair’s down now, and she’s changed into jeans and a soft cotton tee. Seeing me, she walks over without a word and simply lowers herself onto my lap. We sit like that for a while not talking. Finally, she says it. “They’ll be back.”
“I know.”
“And he’ll try again.”
“I know that too.”
She turns to me. Her eyes are tired, questioning. “Are you still staying?”
I don’t hesitate as I meet her eyes. “As long as you need me.”
Kristin stays curled in my lap, her cheek pressed to my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. I hold her like that until the sun dips below the trees and the sky goes purple at the edges. When she finally moves, it’s sluggish, like the weight of everything is still pressing down on her. Standing, she takes my hand and tugs me gently toward the house. “Come on,” she says. “We should eat.”
Inside, the lights are low. She lets go of my hand and walks to the sink, fills a glass with water, drinks half, then sets it down. I trail after her, silent, watching the way her shoulders rise and fall. She turns and meets my eyes. “What do you want?” she asks, voice soft.
I smile slowly. “What are you offering?”
That gets a smile. It’s small but real. She steps into me, presses her lips to mine, and just like that, the air shifts. The heaviness from earlier is still there, but it’s wrapped in something else now. Hunger. Need. I back her into the counter before she can even take a breath. Her laugh is low andstartled, her mouth already opening for mine like we’ve done this a thousand times. Like we’re starving in ways no food can satisfy. Her hands slide under my shirt, nails dragging across my stomach, and I groan into her mouth.
“Seriously,” she pants between kisses. “We should eat.”
I kiss her harder, teeth grazing her bottom lip. “We are.”
She hums, that soft, dangerous sound I’m starting to crave. “I meant food, Reggie.”
“I know.” I nip her jaw, then trail my mouth down to her throat. “But unless you’ve got a craving for something other than me right now, I’m not hungry.”
Her head tilts, breath hitching as my tongue flicks below her ear. “Actually,” she says, glancing toward the cupboards. “I might have an idea.”
I raise an eyebrow, already intrigued. “Yeah?”
She wriggles out of my hold and walks to the pantry, where she reaches up, stretches, and pulls down a glass jar of raw honey. “This,” she says, holding it up like a prize. “This is what I want.”
My grin is slow and wide. “You want me sticky, baby?”
Leaning against the counter, she unscrews the lid and dips a finger into the amber syrup. Then she steps forward, presses that finger to my mouth. “I want you sweet.” Slowly, I suck her finger, my tongue curling around the honey.
Her breath catches and I don’t break eye contact. “You sure you’re ready for this kind of dessert?”
