Page 57 of Lost Then Found
That urge—I haven’t felt it in years. Not like this. Not clean. Not without all the static that usually comes with it.
That was stripped out of me a long time ago. That need for touch. For comfort. You go long enough being trained to keep your hands to yourself, to stay sharp, stay alert—ready for anything and everyone—you forget what it’s like to want to touch someone just because you can. Because you want to. Not out of instinct or reaction, not to check for a pulse or hold a wound closed, but just tofeelthem.
And now, here she is.
Five feet of stubbornness and sharp comebacks, standing in front of melike no time has passed. And I’m losing a battle I didn’t even know I was fighting—because all I can think about is how her skin used to feel under my hands. How she used to curl into me when I pulled her close. How every part of her used to settle right against me, like her body knew mine better than I did.
My fingers twitch at my side.
I shouldn’t touch her.
But hell, I want to.
Instead, I nod toward the table. “Hudson said he wants to come out to the ranch.”
She leans against the edge of the counter now, mirroring me. “I figured he might. Kid’s obsessed with horses lately.”
“Think he just wants to drive my truck.”
That earns me a laugh, soft and easy. “That too.”
“You should come with him.”
Her brow lifts. “For the truck or the horses?”
“Maybe the horses. Ellie misses you.”
Her lips part slightly before settling into a small smile. “I miss her too,” she admits. “She’s got to be ancient by now.”
I shrug. “Still kicking harder than most. You should come see her. For old times’ sake.”
She tilts her head, studying me for a second. Before she can say anything, I add, “Mom invited you guys to dinner.”
Lark hesitates, her fingers tracing the edge of the counter. And then, quietly, almost like she’s afraid of the answer, she asks, “Do they hate me? Your mom and all them?”
The question knocks the air out of my lungs more than it should, that she would still care what my family thinks of her.
I shake my head quickly. “No. No, they could never hate you.” I pause, holding her gaze. “You’ll always be family to them.”
She exhales, but I can see the way she’s bracing herself.
“Wren might need to take a beat,” I admit with a shrug. “But she’ll come around. You know how she is.”
Lark sighs, nodding like she saw that one coming from a mile away. Wren has always been loyal to a fault, and, unfortunately, stubborn as an ass. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
“Come. It’ll be good to show Hudson around.”
She’s quiet for a moment before finally nodding. “We’ll come.”
“If you don’t, Ellie might disown you.”
Lark lets out a soft laugh, narrowing her eyes playfully. “If you throw me in the lake again, I swear to God, Boone, Iwillsuperglue your truck doors shut. What was her name again? Lucy?”
“Good ol’ Lucille. And no promises, Westwood.” With a wink, I head for the door, feeling her eyes on me as I go.
I step off Lark’s porch and into the cold, inhaling deep, letting the crisp air burn through my lungs. The truck’s parked at the curb, but I take my time getting there, rolling my shoulders, flexing my hands, doing anything to keep myself from remembering how close I’d been to her just minutes ago.
I don’t think about how Lark’s lips looked when she smiled, the way they still tilt up just a little more on one side. I don’t think about how her legs still go on for miles, how they used to wrap around me in the dark, pressing, pulling, keeping me there like she never wanted me to leave. I don’t think about how soft her hair looked, how I know exactly what it feels like between my fingers—silky, thick, something a man could lose himself in if he wasn’t careful. I don’t think about how she used to drag her teeth over my bottom lip just to drive me crazy.
