Page 11 of My Apocalypse Cowboy
We freeze, breathing hard, still pressed against each other.
"Power's out," I say unnecessarily.
"I noticed."
Another flash of lightning illuminates her face. She looks flushed, disheveled, beautiful.
And uncertain.
The moment's broken. We both feel it.
"I should..." She gestures vaguely toward the house.
"Yeah."
Neither of us moves.
"I'm not scared," she says. "Of this. Of you. I just—"
"I know."
And I do. She needs to be sure. Needs to know this is more than just apocalypse proximity and three days of tension. Needs to know she won't regret it when the haze clears.
I step back, giving her space. Find her shirt in the dark and hand it to her.
She pulls it on. I do the same. The spell is broken but not gone—just banked, waiting.
"Joseph?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not making this hard."
I bark a laugh. "Oh, it's hard."
She swats my arm, and we both crack up, the tension breaking into something easier.
We make a run for the house through the rain, and when we get inside, soaked again, she kisses me once more at the bottom of the stairs.
Soft this time. Sweet. A promise of more when she's ready.
Then she heads up to shower, and I stand there dripping on the floor, counting the hours until she decides enough time has passed.
five
Rebecca
I'mgettinggoodatthis ranch life thing.
Since I stumbled into Joseph's world, I can honestly say I've never felt more capable. I can herd Bertha without ending up in a water trough. The chickens and I have reached a détente where Gladys only tries to murder me on Tuesdays. I've helped deliver a calf, treated three cases of minor lameness, and yesterday I successfully repaired a section of fence that didn't immediately fall over.
Joseph's been... attentive. That's the polite way to put it. The less polite way is that he watches me constantly with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. We haven't kissed again since that afternoon in the barn, but the tension between us has been building like pressure in a kettle.
Every accidental touch sends sparks through me. Every time he explains something, standing close enough that I can feel his body heat, I have to fight not to lean into him. And the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention—like he'simagining all the things he promised to do to me in a proper bed—makes my knees weak.
