Page 29 of Light on Love

She sits beside Laurel and takes in the piles of paperwork.“Floyd says you haven’t been down to the stables since the attack,” Gracie comments after a beat, an edge ofworry in her voice. Laurel’s shoulders slump, she feels like she’s disappointing them all.

“I just really need to figure this out. I’ll try and get down there tomorrow.”

“I’m so sorry the attack happened, it had to have been terrifying. And I want to support you in any way you need. But I don’t know how. Floyd says Brett is worried because you haven’t looked up from these reports since it happened. Are you trying to leave us? Brett will keep you safe, he proved that.”

Her question is like a knife to the gut. “No, no I love being here. Which is why I don’t want to be the reason anything or anyone is harmed.”

Gracie is quiet until Laurel looks up, seeing understanding now in Gracie’s eyes. She notices the cowgirl’s face is wind whipped and dirty from her morning work making her look older than her years.

“You know,” she says finally, “the word grit has been used to describe folks ‘round here since the west was settled. I don’t see how a couple of intruders can do much harm with a foundation like ours. Brettisthis land; heiscowboy grit.”

She finishes with a smile, amused by the surprise on Laurel’s face, and stands to head back to her team.

“See you at those stables tomorrow, my friend,” Gracie says, giving Laurel’s shoulder a squeeze on her way by. Laurel returns to her work. If she’s going to take a break tomorrow, she needs to make more headway today.

—

“Have you eaten today?”

Laurel startles at the harshness in Brett’s tone, unaware he was even standing there. She looks up to see the sun on theother side of the ranch from before, indicating evening setting in.“Where did you come from? And how are you so quiet in those boots sometimes?”

He doesn’t answer, instead he moves around and pulls her chair out from the table. “Come on,” Brett commands, motioning for her to rise. Laurel frowns, but stands and follows him inside, scooping her folders up and carrying them with her. He takes the files from her arms and deposits them on the kitchen island, pointing at the living room.

“Go sit down.”

Laurel hovers in the aisle-like space between kitchen and living room. Rocking heel to toe and back again. She contemplates how upset he’d be if she snatched a few files to take with her to the couch. As if understanding her hesitation, Brett places his hands over the reports and shakes his head. Laurel sighs, knowing she’s not likely to win this one and makes her way to the living room as directed.

Propped up on her elbow over the back of her seat, Laurel watches Brett removes his hat and place it upside down beside the files, then removes his jacket and throw it over a dining chair before turning his attention to the range. He gets to work cooking and she relaxes into the leather cushions, enjoying the moment. She lets herself take in his rippling shoulders and back muscles through his light grey sweatshirt. It’s not long before he turns to bring her a grilled brisket and cheese. Laurel’s mouth waters at the sight, steam dancing from the melted cheddar oozing out.

He hands the plate over and takes a seat beside her. Brett watches as she eats, and she doesn’t bother to hide how starved she was, scarfing down the piping hot food. When she’s done, Brett says tensely, “talk to me. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“This is my job. There’s a threat and I have to locate it.”

“You work until midnight and don’t eat for days in a row on a normal basis back in Virginia? Because I didn’t see you doing that here before.”

Laurel flinches at the frustration in his tone. And how did he know she was up until midnight? Did he stay up too? She takes a deep breath, unable to look him in the eyes when she says, “things changed.”

Brett drags his hand through his hair, and for a moment she thinks he won’t respond, he’ll let the conversation end as before. She feels a knot in her stomach, wishing to reach out to touch him and help him understand that it’s because she cares. But it’s as if an invisible tether is keeping her in place and she stays on her side of the couch. Silent.

“What changed then, Laurel?” he asks. The hurt in his question isn’t hidden, and she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing that Gracie is, if he’s thinking she wants to leave. He doesn’t reach for her or soothe her anxious fidgeting, he only waits.

Whether from exhaustion or just not being able to hold it in anymore, Laurel lets out a muffled cry, tears filling her eyes as she drops her face into her hands. Brett reacts quickly, closing the space between them and pulling her into his arms. She lifts her head from her hands and instead buries her face under his chin.

Through her tears, Laurel finally answers, “there were eight men sent to kill you. Eight! They wanted to kill you just to get to me. There isn’t much I can do about it. And I understand the job you had for years in the service put you in harm's way. But I can’t be the reason something happens to you. I don’t ever want anything to happen to you, but I really can’t let you get hurt because you want to protect me. You do so much for me, and this is the one thing I can do. So, I’m doing it.”

Brett lifts her face and wipes his thumbs across her cheeks, catching the tears that have spilled from her eyes. “You’re right, my job for years was kill or be killed. I’m extremely good at what I do and feel guilty about the results at times. But it means all those past actions made me good enough to have you here. To be the one responsible for keeping you safe. This,” he motions between them, “is the best thing that could come from it all, for me. And I can promise you, without hesitation, that protecting you has been, and will continue to be the worthiest reason to put myself at risk.”

She takes a shaky breath and glances up at him. Brett’s eyes are the warm color of his favorite whiskey, and he’s watching her intently, like he needs her to believe him.

Laurel feels as if her chest is going to burst at his admission, the strong and soft ways he has cared for her have become her undoing. She sits up, swinging her leg over him so that she is straddling his lap and smiles, remembering the last time they were in this exact spot, exact position. She wraps her fingers around the nape of his neck and pulls him towards her lips.

Brett stops mere inches from her face, “does this mean I have my girl back?” he asks hopefully.

“This means you have all of me,” she responds as she closes the space between their mouths.

17

Brett grips her waist with both hands, holding her against him as he kisses her. She sucks on his lip, nibbling it before releasing and he growls in response. She can feel him respond to her between her legs and she bucks against him, once, then again, rocking on him as he hardens.

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