Page 34 of Cowboy's Last Stand
“What are you reading?”
“The Roadby Cormac McCarthy.”
“That’s a fun story.”
He chuckled at her sarcasm but didn’t defend his selection.He clearly enjoyed human suffering, in fiction and real life.
She went to retrieve her book.He fished his out of his backpack.They sat on the glider, side by side, sipping tea.She was hyperaware of his presence—his body heat, his lean physique, his even breathing.She could smell her soap on his skin, along with a woodsy, masculine scent that was all him.
As soon as the rain stopped, Jason went back to work on the railing, and Natalie got Marcus ready for a trip to the cemetery.It was about twenty minutes away, near Fort Cavazos.She’d ordered a bouquet, which she picked up on the way.Marcus placed the flowers on Mike’s grave while Natalie held his hand.She cried every time they came, so Marcus was used to it.He always hugged her until the tears dried up.Today, he ended the embrace early.He was eager to get back home to help Jason.
Natalie felt melancholy as she drove the short distance back to Last Chance.It was strange to have a guest in her house on this particular holiday.Last year, she’d spent half the day crying.This year, she’d been too distracted to dwell on her loss.
For the VFW dinner, she chose a soft jersey dress in navy blue.The spaghetti straps made it inappropriate for cool weather, so she rifled through her closet for a nice sweater.She had a plum-colored cardigan in the back, next to a men’s shirt.She hadn’t put the shirt away with Mike’s things because he’d never worn it.
She draped the cardigan over a chair and studied the shirt.The blue chambray button-down would probably fit Jason.Setting it on the bed, she arranged her hair into soft curls and applied careful makeup.She put on a pair of leather sandals before she went outside.
When he saw her, his jaw dropped.“You said casual.”
“This is casual.”
“You’re wearing a dress, and you look…”
“What?”
“Nice,” he said.“You look nice.”
“Thank you,” she said, wondering what word he’d intended to say before he censored himself.She glanced down at her dress, which hugged her curves.The thin straps left her shoulders and most of her back bare, but it didn’t reveal any cleavage.She didn’t reallyhavecleavage because she was barely a B-cup.
“Is it time to go?”
“Almost.”
He put away the tools before they went inside.He went into the bathroom to freshen up.When he came out, she noticed his shirt was torn at the elbow, and the bandage on his temple had loosened.He touched it, swearing under his breath.
“I’ll put a new bandage on,” she said.“Sit.”
He sat in the kitchen while she removed the butterfly bandage with an alcohol wipe.He winced in discomfort, but the wound underneath was already healing.She applied a small adhesive strip that didn’t quite match his skin.As she smoothed the edges, she realized how close they were.Her breasts were mere inches from his face.Apparently, they weren’t too small to capture his interest.
She stepped away, self-conscious.“There.”
His gaze jerked upward.
“I have a shirt you can borrow.”
“Whose shirt?”
“It’s never been worn.”
He seemed reluctant, so she gestured for him to follow her to the bedroom.The blue chambray shirt was on the hanger, tags still attached.She held it up for his inspection.His eyes became hooded as he stepped forward to check the size.With jerky motions, he unbuttoned his own shirt and stripped it off right there.She didn’t know why she hadn’t expected this.Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his chest, which erased all thoughts of Mike.All thoughts, period.The smooth, sculpted expanse was the stuff dreams were made of.He had taut pectoral muscles and hard biceps.His stomach looked as flat and tight as a drum.As her gaze drifted over his corded ribcage, she noticed the spectacular bruise on his left side.
“My God,” she said, reaching out to touch him.The discolored area was bigger than her hand.His flesh was warm beneath her fingertips, rippling with life.He tensed at the contact.“Does it hurt?”
“It’s fine.”
She palpated his ribs gently to check for tender spots.He’d claimed there were no fractures, but he wasn’t a doctor.His stone face revealed nothing.“You should have been resting to let this heal.”
“I don’t rest well.”
