Page 6 of Claiming Ours
Locking the deadbolt, I leaned against the solid wood and grinned like a crazy person up at the ceiling. If I were honest with myself, I wasn’t opposed to being tied to his bed, but I would want him there too.
Just as I thought that, like so many times before, guilt at fantasizing about another man who wasn’t my fiancé, of balancing that edge, of moving on or staying stuck in my sorrow, swelled in my gut, making it twist painfully.
Unshed, frustrated tears burned down my throat as I fought the urge to cry. It was a shock that I wasn’t constantly dehydrated from how much I’d cried over the last two years. I slowly realized my grief had become a crutch, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d get so used to falling back into using it that I’d never heal properly and move on.
This toxic swell of guilt and anguish had to end. It was time for me to move on with a life worth living, not just surviving.
“Please, Dean,” I choked out into the quiet cabin, begging him or anyone to hear my plea. “Send a sign. Anything to make this”—I pressed the heel of my hand to my sternum to ease the mounting ache in my chest—“fade. I can’t move on from you, from missing you every damn day, until I know. Show me something, anything. Please.”
Shaking my head, I shoved off the door and started for the single bathroom to shower and get ready for work. No matter the emotional devastation I was working through, there were patients who depended on me, and I wouldn’t let them down.
One day at a time. That was the best I could do.
For now.
2
LIAM
Coarse bristles rasped over the horse’s shiny coat as I dragged the brush along his spine. I repeated the motion, quieting my mind with the cathartic movement as I worked my way down to his belly and legs. I hadn’t always found peace in the day-to-day tasks of caring for the massive animals, but after a year of equine therapy for my anger management issues, I learned the therapeutic benefits of the mundane, repetitive tasks. Now I could immediately slide into the quiet mind space the moment the familiar scents of the barn enveloped me.
Most of those in the community didn’t like coming in here, complained that the barn reeked of piss-soaked sawdust and animal shit with a hint of mold, but it didn’t faze me. In fact, I’d rather be here with the animals than out there with annoying clients and nosy townies. I had nothing against being around people—I just preferred the animals.
Well, I preferred them over everyone except for Baylee.
Just her name flicking through my thoughts had my gaze sliding over the horse’s back to where she stood several feet away outside the goat pen, talking to them like they understood her.
Miles, Langston, and I helped build the massive metal barn a couple of years back. Originally it only housed several wide stalls for the horses I used for the guided horseback trail rides booked through Uplift, plus a large area for the few cows we owned for when it was too cold or bad weather, but after Baylee joined our community, we added a chicken coop with a bit of room for them to wander around, a sheep pen, and now an area for her goats.
Why goats, who I believed were spawned by the devil?
Fuck if I knew, but they made Baylee happy, so I fenced off some available space in the barn for when it was too cold out and sectioned off a new segment of the pasture every month since the little shits ate everything, even stripping bark and leaves off the trees. It was extra work for me, but watching her smile and chat with the living garbage disposals every morning made it worth it.
Some people were said to be born with a green thumb, but Baylee was blessed with unending compassion and patience for all animals, which made her a fan-fucking-tastic veterinarian.
And I would gladly break multiple bones of anyone who said differently.
As if sensing my unapologetic stare, crystal blue eyes flicked my way, followed by a wide, genuine smile. Baylee scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue before turning back to the newest addition of our goat family. My heart clenched at the happiness radiating off her. I wanted to believe that joy was because we’d made progress in pushing past the friend zone in our relationship, helping her slowly move on from Dean’s death, but deep down I knew it was because of the goats.
What a fucking blow to a guy’s ego.
After she first moved into our community, it took me months to work up the balls to ask her out on a date. Her hesitant yes had made my damn year. I knew the hesitation and slow pace of the physical side of our new relationship wasn’t from her lack ofattraction to me, and that wasn’t me being cocky. The way that woman eye-fucked me any time we were together spoke to her attraction, and believe me, the feeling was absolutely mutual. Baylee’s hesitation then, and still, stemmed from a recent tragedy. That kind of trauma, of having your planned future suddenly ripped away, wasn’t easy to move past.
I would know.
I had mostly healed. Several years had passed since my late wife’s accident, plus the kick-to-the-balls details I’d uncovered helped me move from grief-stricken widower to constantly pissed off at the world. Baylee’s pain and loss were fresh. Her fiancé’s death while deployed happened only two years ago, so of course she still struggled. I had no intention of pressuring her into a romantic relationship, to make her move faster than she was ready physically, but I was ready when she was.
Each time I was with her, my chest would tighten uncomfortably, and my heart hammered against my ribs. It felt like a fucking heart attack. She was so damn gorgeous, even when her grief and sadness were clear as day. Her white-blonde hair was as soft as it looked and framed her heart-shaped face. Fair, smooth skin made her almost clear blue eyes stand out, and fuck if they didn’t sparkle when she laughed. Full lips that begged to be kissed and a tiny button nose, plus the scattering of faint freckles along her cheeks made her look younger than she actually was. It made our age difference seem that much more drastic, considering I wore my hard life like a badge of honor on my face and body.
But it wasn’t just her physical appearance that drew me in like a moth to a flame. Baylee was my opposite. She was full of passion for animals and people alike, whereas I radiated anger and violence, a “fight first and ask questions second” type of person. The woman’s heart was too big for her own good. I swore she wouldn’t think twice about picking up a hitchhiker carryinga battle-ax in an orange jumpsuit if she thought she could help. Not that she was naïve or lacked a sense of self-preservation—though her solo runs in the morning made me question that recently. She was just kindness personified and saw the good in everyone.
I was the perfect example of her seeing past the bad to the core of who a person was, finding the good in them. There was no reason she should’ve given me a chance. At twice her size plus my anger management issues, she should’ve run for the mountains when we first met. But not Baylee Smith. Instead, she stared deep into my dark and damaged soul, stuck out her hand to introduce herself, and explained how we would be great friends.
I didn’t know how to respond to her, too confused to refute her claim, not that I wanted to. Other than my Army Ranger brothers, I never had genuine friends—none like her anyway. It was no wonder that initial bewilderment shifted into something deeper than I had ever felt for a woman in my whole damn life.
And I was fucking married once before.
Obsessionwas a close word to describe how my feelings shifted toward Baylee as I got to know her. I craved all of her, wanted to make her mine. Her kind heart, brilliant mind, awkward jokes, her perfect tiny body. I sank my teeth into my lower lip to silence the guttural groan that wanted to escape when she bent over to pet the kid, her perky ass conveniently pointed in my direction. Damn, all the dirty things I wanted to do to her. But that would have to wait.
