Page 27 of Higher Ground
If the gate had blown open in the wind, it didn’t matter anymore. The cows were officially flooded in, and all he could do was hope none of them tried their hand at going for a swim. Cows did well enough in water, but a flood that spread as far as this one was a hell of a lot different to the dam by the far paddock.
Byron pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and threw the first shirt he could find over his head. It was a deep navy that, in hindsight, was probably an inch too small, but it was stretchy and comfortable. The silence of his room was broken as he opened his door. The high-pitched squeal of cartoons echoed down the hall, and although the TV was turned down low, the repetitive tune burrowed into his eardrums. He’d be humming this song all day.
Just like the past two mornings, Emory lay curled up on the couch, with Clayton between her legs. Byron wondered how long they’d been there. And how often this was the morning routine. He could get used to it, seeing the two of them all cosy in his living room every morning.
He thought the same thing as he ducked out to the henhouse for eggs. And again as he pulled bacon out of the fridge.
It was a worrisome thought because he knew heshouldn’tget used to them being there. He knew that no matter how much it might please him, things between him and Emory were never destined to be anything more than whatever the next week brought. Temptation was rising faster than the floodwater, but even if they did give in, it would be temporary. She hadn’t said as much, but Byron couldn’t see Emory wanting to stick around in Gardner Creek forever, and he wasn’t going to be the one to try to convince her she should. His son had tried, and look where that ended up.
With his head down as he whisked up the eggs, Byron didn’t notice her enter the kitchen. Not until she yawned. He looked up to find her balancing Clayton on one hip while covering her mouth with her free hand. But he could still see that cute as anything dimple on her cheek. She plopped Clayton into a chair.
“Can I help?”
He shook his head and turned to pull the breakfast muffins out of the toaster. “Nearly done.”
“I feel bad. You’ve cooked breakfast every morning, and all I’ve done is sleep on the couch.”
Byron cleared his throat. “You’re looking after Clayton,” he said plainly. “That’s enough.”
Leaning over the kitchen bench, Emory grabbed Clayton’s small plate of food. Her breasts pressed against the counter, pushing up until her cleavage was spilling out of her dressing gown. Byron caught a glimpse of the lace trim on her pink tank. A lump quickly formed in his throat, and desire pulled at his balls. He swallowed back the sensation and shifted on his feet.
She didn’t do it intentionally, don’t be a creep, he told himself. But he didn’t miss the twinkle in her eye as she stood back up and turned away. And there was an added sway to her hips as she took a step towards the table.
“Thank you,” she said with that same sultry smile once they were all seated with their food. “For moving us to my bed.”
“It was nothing,” Byron mumbled. He was having a hard time focusing on the meal and not staring at her chest. She hadn’t pulled the cord around her waist tight, so her gown hung open, revealing the front of her tank. The pink lace dropped to a deep V between her breasts. Byron found he had to constantly remind himself that Clayton wasright there,so he didn’t do anything … crazy. Uninhibited.
“Well, my neck and back appreciate it all the same.” Emory arched her back against the chair and rolled her neck.
Did she know what she was doing to him? She had to know.
Byron felt blood rush. South. He shifted in his seat, dropping a hand below the table to adjust his rapidly growing length. He hissed at the contact. The friction of the fabric sent a shockwave through him. She’d bought condoms, he reminded himself. She wanted this just as much as he did.
They just needed to decide what, if anything, they were going to do about it.
Chapter 13
Emory
Something glistened behind Emory’s eyes. Maybe not literally, but she could feel it. The spark, the heat, the excitement. It flared out of her as she watched Byron from across the table, struggling to focus on his food. He kept stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. And she loved it.
She might not have needed to stretch her back out in a way that pushed her breasts forward and made her dressing gown fall open, but she did it anyway. Just to see him squirm. She snickered to herself when his hand fell underneath the table, and she justknewhe was adjusting himself. The thought was wild and daring. Emory had to press her thighs together when her core grew hot.
Clayton—bless the little three-year-old and his completely innocent brain—didn’t seem to notice the way the air grew thick. Emory shivered, trying to shake off her thoughts. She’d been doing a lot of that lately, shaking off the temptation. Reminding herself all the reasons why it was not a good idea.
“Cow!” Clayton jumped to stand in his seat and pointed out the back window.
Byron didn’t even turn around to check before responding. “Nah, buddy, all the cows are in the high paddock, we can’t see them today.” He shook his head with a short laugh. “We always go for a drive to see the cows. Might take him a little while before he realises we can’t just up and go right now.”
Emory would have agreed, but Clayton wasn’t pointing to the shed where Byron kept the quad bikes. And he kept jumping with excitement. His little arms flapping around but always returning to the same point out in the flood-covered fields. Emory grabbed one of his hands, not quite stilling him, but offering a little extra support so he wouldn’t bounce right off the chair and onto the hard floor.
“No, Papa, cow!” he said, jamming his little arm out as far as he could.
“Not today, Clayton,” Byron said with a sigh.
Emory might have been annoyed he wasn’t listening to her son, but there was so much sympathy in Byron’s voice. It cracked a little as he looked down at the table. She wondered if this was one of the few times he had to turn his grandson down. Surely not—she knew how often Clayton begged for snacks, after all—but maybe this was one of those moments where he really wished he could say yes instead.
“Show me,” she said, with the little lilt she often added when talking to her son. Wrapping one arm around the still bouncing child, she leant her head close to follow his line of sight.
