Page 29 of Higher Ground
Clayton cheered in response, and Emory could only take that as a yes.
“One … two … three,” she counted before they called out together.
The cow didn’t seem to notice them. Probably their voices weren’t loud enough to reach as far away as she was. Or she just didn’t care.
All Emory could do was watch as she frolicked about in the muddy water and wait for Byron to return with whatever plan had sprung to mind.
It wasn’t long, thankfully, before he returned. He skidded to a halt beside her and dropped a long rope at his bare feet. Without a word, he ripped his tight T-shirt over his head. It fell to the ground beside the rope. Emory forgot why they were standing on the edge of the floodwater all together, completely distracted by a now shirtless Byron. A fine layer of hair covered his chest, and there were those edible ab muscles again. She was so fixated on them that she didn’t realise he was stepping out of his pants until he kicked them to the side. His briefs clung tight to, well, everything, and Emory let out a faint whimper. She bit her lip and willed her body to chillthe fuckout.
But Byron paid her no mind. He was anythingbutdistracted as he grabbed the rope from the ground and hung it over his neck and shoulder.
“What … what are you doing?” Emory managed to ask.
“What does it look like I’m doing, Emory?” Byron was already knee deep in the water. “I’m getting her.”
“Is that safe?”
He turned back and shrugged. “Only one way to find out!”
And then he was gone. Waist deep in the water, he dove and began swimming. Every now and then, Emory heard him call out to the cow. Her name, gentle coos, and maybe the odd click of his tongue—although that might have been bugs. Emory shuddered at the thought. Byron seemed unfazed; he swam through the water like it was a beachside pool. Emory marvelled at the sight, transfixed by his strong arms and the muscles on his back. With each stroke, his shoulders tensed, delicious lines forming and moulding across his upper body. Again, she wondered what it might be like to feel his muscles from underneath him. To move in sync with his body. She would have lost herself to the thought if Clayton hadn’t pulled her hair.
“Papa got Betty!” he cheered.
And sure enough, there Byron was, chest deep in floodwater on the other side of the nearest valley. He was wrestling with the stray cow. Or hugging her. Emory couldn’t quite tell from such a distance. Soon enough, he had the rope looped around Betty’s neck. Emory expected him to turn back, but instead, he seemed to frolic in the water. He swam around with the cow, and across the otherwise still water, Emory heard his bellowed laughter and the soft mooing from the cow. Eventually, Byron began to coax Betty along. They moved slowly towards the house. Holding tight to the rope around Betty’s neck, Byron paddled through the water.
Emory watched them for a while, marvelling at Byron’s dedication to his herd. Everything she’d read about floodwater said never to get in. Even when it looks still, it could have a fierce undercurrent. But Byron had leapt right on in to save Betty from swimming away. His commitment and care were second to none, just like his commitment to supporting her after Jaxon left.
He was more than halfway back before she realised she was of more use elsewhere right now. He’d swum through the gross-looking water to save Betty, and all she’d done was watch. Correcting her grip on Clayton, she headed inside to fetch a towel.
Only, she was halfway up the hallway when she realised she had no idea where the linen closet was. Byron had left a stack of clean towels in the bathroom, and she’d hung them up to dry after her past couple of showers—and the ones she’d used for Clayton—so she hadn’t needed a new one yet. But Byron would be back on their dry patch of land soon.
With Clayton still on her back, she grabbed a towel off the bathroom rack and raced back outside. At the door, she kicked Clayton’s shoes over a few times before placing him down and helping him slip them on. He ran off as soon as she let him go, right down to where Byron was now strolling from the water.
Because there was no other word for it. He guided Betty up the slope like he wasn’t knee deep in a flood. The cow stopped to shake, much like a dog, spraying water all over Byron.
“Wait there, Clayton,” he called out.
And to his credit, the little boy did what he was told. Maybe spending all that time with Byron at the farm had taught him a little discipline. Sure, he was only three and Emory could forgive him for not listening to most of what she asked him, but it was good to see him following instructions here. It was important on a farm, she knew that much.
“You gonna pass me the towel or …?” Byron said before he reached the edge of the water.
His shoulders shook a little as he took the towel. Emory did her best to keep her eyes on his face, really, but it was impossible not to see everything else. His bare chest, his thick thighs, and, fuck, the way his briefs now clung tight and revealed literally everything. She pulled her lip into her mouth and bit hard.Focusing on the pain, she willed herself not to get flustered. Byron held the towel at arm’s length and raised an eyebrow at her. He let his eyes drop down over his body, then slowly brought them up to Emory. She was still drinking in the whole thing when Clayton stepped between them and started cheering.
“Papa save Betty!”
Byron gave a little chuckle, tucking the towel under one arm and ruffling Clayton’s hair. Betty nuzzled her large head against Byron’s shoulder, then moved back to shake again.
Fat droplets of dirty water splattered over the trio, shocking Emory out of her trance. The water hit her face, dripping down over her eyes.
“We might need more towels,” Byron laughed as he wrapped his around his waist and headed up the hill.
Chapter 14
Byron
Byron was growing used to the sound of laughter echoing through the house. It made him smile at the man he saw in the mirror when he stepped out of the shower. Maybe he was seeing things, but he could have sworn the wrinkles on his face were changing. He’d never really cared about the frown lines forming on his forehead. After all, it was just a part of growing older. But they seemed less so now. Instead, small lines darted out around the corners of his eyes.
He was smiling more—and frowning less—and his face was beginning to show it.
