Last First Kiss (13 page)

The trouble was, Sawyer’s strong arms felt a heck of a lot like home.

Chapter Sixteen

S
AWYER
SHUDDER
ED
AS
the icy shower spray pelted his bare chest. Staying the night at Five Diamonds wasn’t an option, even though every cell in his body fought the idea of leaving. Annie needed to know he sought more than sex or a rebound from his disastrous engagement, and that meant shifting to the slow lane. After he carried her upstairs and got her tucked into bed, that drowsy smile nailed his boots to the floorboards.

There it was, at last, the old Annie smile.

“Aren’t you going to stay?” she’d murmured.

He’d shoved his hands into his pockets with a prayer for self-control. The idea of undressing, crawling into those clean yellow sheets, spooning his body against Annie, and falling asleep with his face burrowed into the side of her neck was as close as he’d get to heaven on Earth.

He scrubbed his face, fingers growing numb even as his heart burned. No. One night wouldn’t be enough. He wanted forever, but if he spoke all the words rattling around his brain, she’d spook.

He slid his hand down over his rigid abdomen with a resigned sigh, flinching as he gripped the base of his cock. The sensation sucked his breath away. He had it so fucking bad.

The water warmed, relaxing his tense muscles as his groan echoed through the bathroom. His shaft slanted in his hand and he slowed the strokes, took his time, savoring the night’s details. How she cried out. The hunger in her kiss. The way her thighs quivered as she came in his mouth. He leaned into his fist, squeezing hard enough it hurt, but so did his whole body for not being buried inside her. This woman wasn’t a kooky Carson, or Annabelle, or even his Annie. He cradled his cock, surrendering to the powerful, primitive urgency, releasing in a thick spurt while pounding the tile with his free fist.

That woman, she was home.

Even now, as his hard-on ebbed in his hand, his body didn’t feel anything approaching relief. His needs transcended simple physical desire. He flicked off the tap, toweled dry, and crawled into his king-sized four-poster bed. But sleep proved elusive. Instead, he tossed and turned until dawn pinkened the sky. He threw on a well-worn pair of jeans and padded into the kitchen, brewed a pot of black coffee, and carried the mug out to the porch. Venus hung in the sky, and not long after another light appeared, on the second story of Five Diamonds. With a half-smile, he walked to the front door, popped it open and inched his hand inside. Hitting the light switch, he flicked it on and off a few times. Then he turned and his smile broadened as her light flashed back.

He went to his room, changed into grey sweats and a hoodie, and went for a five-mile run with Maverick. Kicked it in hard on the hills, pounding the trail until every muscle in his legs screamed for relief. Good, he needed to beat his body into submission. Later today, he’d spend time with Annie, and he wanted to make sure he worked out some of his restlessness. Afterward, he cleaned out Grandma’s barn, changed the oil in his truck, and gave everything a quick tune up.

Finally, chores done and body suitably tired, he left the house, giving his chin a musing rub.
Shit. Forgot to shave.
Hopefully Annie didn’t mind five o’clock shadows. Wildflowers bloomed in vivid patches around the yard. He impulsively picked a bouquet and set it beside him in his truck.

His phone buzzed as he started the engine. Ruby. Probably looking for a booty call. Christ, hopefully she’d get over the idea of buying a Brightwater vacation home soon. If she missed the mountains, the Himalayas were supposed to be nice. If she didn’t leave him alone, he’d block this number. Her bed might be a lonely one, but she’d made it. Not his problem. There was a world of difference between being a hero and being a chump.

As a kid, he often played cops and robbers with his brothers around Hidden Rock. They’d get annoyed at his absolute refusal to ever play the villain. All he ever wanted to do was run around behind the wheel of an imaginary squad car, making sirens sounds with his mouth and defending the ranch from harm, being the good guy.

He imagined his parents, wherever they were, watched over on him, and he was determined to make them proud.

In high school, his desire refocused on baseball, and as the starting pitcher, he played his guts out to help his team. Now, as sheriff, the town counted on him and responsibility rested easily on his shoulders. He kept peace, maintained safety, and if need be, protected the innocent from the bad guys.

The only person he’d ever failed was Annie. And he was determined to never let her down again.

A
NNIE
’
S
STOMA
CH
FLIP
-
FLOPPED
as Sawyer’s truck bounced up her driveway. What would a life be like with him? Bumping down backcountry roads, country music blaring on the radio, Atticus wedged comfortably between them, Maverick in the back, nose to the wind?

No. Stop it.
Zero point mooning over a vision of a future she wouldn’t have. This wasn’t home, the house was about to be listed, and it was time to look forward to a new life on the coast.

What had happened between them last night was unquestionably amazing. Sawyer made her feel beautiful, as if her imperfections were to be cherished, something that made her unique as opposed to a collection of flaws. That was a feeling she could get used to. Somehow being around him made her feel more like herself
.
Gregor’s cheating and lying had struck deep at her core fears of being unworthy and unlovable, but she was done with being bitter and angry. She wasn’t magically healed or anything, but something shifted inside her.

Dad believed that to make something happen, you should ask the universe and all would be provided. How comforting to imagine Fate as a cheerfully frazzled short-order cook saying, “Better paying salary? Improved body image? Multiple orgasms? No problemo, coming right up.”

In her case, maybe all she needed was to open herself up to possibilities again. Start to connect back to the real Annie, the one who hid behind
Mighty Mama
, scared, so scared, of people glimpsing all her messy truths.

Atticus tiptoed behind her, only home from his camping trip an hour. She’d so far averted any of Claire’s attempts to drag out what happened last night, no easy feat.

“Why’s the sheriff here?” her son whispered, loudly. “Does he want to take us to jail?”

“Don’t know—you been doing something bad?” Sawyer answered, hearing the question as he climbed from the truck.

Atticus ducked his chin and shook his head. Seeing Sawyer around town was one thing, but for him to turn up here at Five Diamonds must be confusing.

Sawyer pulled up short, looking a little stiff, uncomfortable, wildflowers gripped in his hand. “That was supposed to be a joke.”

Annie ruffled her son’s hair. “He’s just trying to figure out people dynamics, aren’t you, honey?”

No response. Sawyer didn’t offer the flowers and Atticus poked the dirt with his sneaker. The three of them stood for an uncomfortable moment before she gestured to the front door. “Want to come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” They walked inside as Claire skipped down the stairs.

“Aw, those for me?” she said, eyeing the bouquet with a cheeky smile.

“Oh, sorry, no. Uh, they’re for Annie.” He held them out, and as she took them, the realization that the stems were slightly damp quickened her heart. Was Sawyer as nervous as she was?

The trouble was deciding whether the fact was relieving or terrifying.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked shyly, trying to ignore the dagger eyes Claire sent him, an obvious warning not to mess up.

“Sounds great,” he said quickly.

And it was. She made a strong brew, and the four of them sat around the kitchen table. While Sawyer didn’t excel at small talk with people he didn’t know, Claire chatted incessantly, doing impressions of the regulars who frequented her food truck and the big fish Atticus caught camping last night at Juniper Lake.

“Fish?” Sawyer gave Atticus a grin. “What kind?”

“Rainbow trout,” Atticus replied offhandedly, even as his scrawny chest puffed with pride. “About this big.” He spread his arms wide.

“Impressive.” Sawyer stared solemnly.

“Maybe even bigger.”

“Well,” Sawyer said as he lifted his mug. “Here’s a toast to you, champ. You’ve already figured out that the most important part of fishing is the story afterward.”

Annie found herself giggling as their eyes locked. Good Lord, the look he gave her, it caused a stirring that shouldn’t happen before noon on a Sunday.

After the cups were emptied and loaded into the sink, Claire slid back her chair. “Come on, kiddo,” she said to Atticus. “Let’s see if I can whoop your cute butt in checkers.”

“I always win,” Atticus retorted.

“Confidence breeds complacency,” Claire said with a wave of the hand.

“What does that mean, Auntie?” Atticus asked, puzzled.

“Come along, squirt, and I’ll teach you.” Claire took his hand and led him from the room without a backward glance.

“Walk with me?” Sawyer said after a moment. “The morning was beautiful and the afternoon is shaping up to be even better.”

“Okay.” Annie fluffed her hand through her hair and rose to her feet. Her laptop sat on the kitchen bench and she frowned slightly.

“Is something bothering you?”

How was he so tuned to her feelings, as if he dialed into her emotional frequency?

“No big deal.” Hopefully her shrug passed as nonchalant. “I got a strange email this morning.”

His eyes narrowed. “From who?”

“On my blog there’s a troll who’s been leaving mean comments for a while. That’s one of the downsides of social media. There’s nobody standing there to have a conversation with. Instead, they can say something nasty and run away. The strange thing is, this particular person has upped the ante and taken to sending emails.”

“What do they write?” He looked troubled.

That no matter what I’m doing, I’m doing it wrong.

Annie shook her head. “Today is too beautiful to worry about any of that. Mind if we go to a destination I have in mind?”

He opened the back door and held it. “Lead the way.”

They walked through the back fields in silence. When he reached for her hand, the fit felt natural, as if they’d been doing this for years. Their quiet was comfortable. In many ways it was enough, to be here, together in the moment.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you, for being so great with Atticus. He really likes you.”

“He’s a good kid.” A little shy, but he’d been too at that age.

“I can’t really do the ‘boy stuff’ with him, you know? He needs male role models.”

“You’re doing a fantastic job.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I try my best. Still, to grow to be a good man, doesn’t he need to be around good men?” She gave him an uncertain look. “Sorry, I’m not trying to freak you out—make you a baby daddy or anything.”

He stopped. This was important. “Annie, you and Atticus are a package deal. I get that. It doesn’t freak me out.” Maybe it had a little at first, but not now. In fact, the idea only got better the more he thought about it.

She blinked, almost as if she might cry. He waited, and instead she shook her head, walking again, arms folded against her. “So, this morning I walked the perimeter of the farm and found the apiaries. Maybe I should order some equipment and try to harvest the honey.”

He didn’t want to change the subject, but she wasn’t ready. He swallowed, and his throat felt full of ground glass, the next words coming out in a gruff choke. “Let’s head out and see how things stand.”

This summer wouldn’t last forever. How was he supposed to balance her need to go slow against a ticking clock?

They reached the hives five minutes later, the buzzing audible before the boxes came into view. Annie wanted to say something to clear the air. After she’d changed the subject from her and Atticus, he’d retreated and she wasn’t sure how to bring him back, or if she should.

What am I doing?

He released her hand to circle the apiaries with a concentrated look. “I want to try something,” he said. “You hungry?”

“A little,” Annie replied distractedly, and then snapped, “No! Stop!” when Sawyer threw open the box and reached inside as bees rose around him in a buzzing swarm.

Instead of hollering from a hundred stings, he stood magically unharmed. “Bees never bother me.” He withdrew a thick comb, sticky golden liquid running between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s been a while, but the honey is still sweet.”

She bit down the inside of her lip. How in the world did he manage that? “What are you? A bee whisperer?”

He chuckled, coming close and extending his hand. The world distilled to his honey-coated thumb.

“Go on.” His voice was just above a murmur. “Give it a try.”

Hold the phone—was he talking about the honey, or something more?

“It’ll be good, promise.”

She didn’t doubt it, the question was would it be too good? That was the trouble with delicious things—you developed cravings. This man could become her own personal addiction.

He stepped forward, clearly meaning business. No way could she refuse without making a scene. She took a hesitant bite, careful for it not to be too much, she didn’t want to look like a pig, but the minute the comb crumbled between her teeth her eyes closed involuntarily, the moan was out before she had a chance to rein it in.

“Oh,” she whispered, “that’s really—”

“Amazing.”

She opened her eyes and there he was, only the span of a breath separating them.

“Yes.”

“Told you.” He dropped the rest of the comb into the tall grass, his mouth slanting over hers. She parted her lips and his tongue slid forward, teasing out the lingering sweetness. She kissed back until she forgot the day of the week or how to breathe. When her body finally fought for an instinctive inhalation she drew it straight from his mouth.

Buzzing grew in her ears. Was it the bees or her own zinging nervous system?