Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Still do.” And here was Colt trying to feed me again, twenty years gone in a blink. I twirled the skewer. “I do try to watch my weight for TV.”
“You look fit to me.” Colt gave me a once-over that, while not particularly suggestive, made my skin heat nevertheless. I both couldn’t wait for and dreaded bedtime when we’d retire to a tent together.
I escaped to roast my marshmallows, making two s’mores so I’d have an excuse to sit near Colt for the campfire singalong. And the ghost stories, which I hadn’t been kidding about. Lovelorns had been haunting this place for generations. Faith was right. For a successful family, we sure had the worst luck. The town founder and first mayor had fallen to his doom in one of the many canyons in Disappointment Valley. Various plagues, fires, and general bad luck had killed off others before their time. The older ranch hand sharing the stories managed to be both spooky and upbeat, like all worked out in the end.
At least scary stories like these usually had a moral to share and a clear endpoint. The things haunting me had no such purpose, nor did I have a way of slaying the past. No matter how much I redecorated at the ranch, memories lurked like so many spirits waiting to be appeased.
That depressing thought had me staring at the fire long after people started to turn in. Hannah and Willow summoned Colt to check their tent for snakes, and when he returned, I stood and stretched.
“Should we turn in too?” I tried not to sound as reluctant as I felt.
“In a minute.” Colt sat closer to the fire, a determined glint in his eyes. “Gotta let the fire die down.”
We were on the fire team, so his dedication was justified. However, I couldn’t resist prodding a little. “You nervous?”
“About sleeping with—next to you? Nah.” Colt’s dusky cheeks said otherwise.
“Liar.” I grinned as I sat next to him. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna zip the bags together.”
“Maverick.”
And Goddamn, if the way he said my name, all exasperated and fond, didn’t make me want to do exactly that.
Chapter 18
Colt
“Have tents always been this small?” Maverick asked as we finally entered the small pup tent with its low ceiling and sloped sides. Easy to put up, but space was certainly at a premium. We’d pulled off our boots as we entered, but neither of us seemed inclined to remove our clothing, which was likely smart. I could use a few layers of armor.
“We’ve grown a mite since our last camping trip.” I chuckled, thinking back to tent camping in the early high school years before Maverick got his truck.
However, Maverick inhaled sharply and sank down on his sleeping bag. “I hate how the last camping trip ended.”
Fuck. I hadn’t meant to lead us back to that night, memories that were better left untouched.
“Yeah,” I said weakly. Earlier, we’d heard ghost stories from the pioneer days, but none were as terrifying as confronting the more recent past, examining who and what Maverick and I had been to each other those final months. “Forget I brought it up.”
“I…I could have probably handled leaving better.” Maverick ignored my request, fiddling with the zipper on his sleeping bag as he lay on top of it.
“We were eighteen. Neither of us was at our best.” I carefully stowed my firearm before I could get too comfortable. Flipping off my flashlight, I flopped down on my own sleeping bag, which was unavoidably close to his. “And you leaving was always inevitable, just like me staying.”
“I could have visited.” His voice was an urgent whisper. “You wanted that.”
“Eh. It would have only prolonged the hurt. Don’t wallow in regrets.” Reaching out, I patted his arm. “From all accounts, you’ve had a good life since leaving.”
“It wasn’t all bad.” Maverick leaned into my touch, lowering his voice until it was little more than air. “I missed you.”
A pained noise escaped my throat. “Mav…”
“I’m not saying that to start something.” He scooted toward me, returning my gesture of a pat on the arm. The warmth of his palm seeped through my plaid shirt and sent a shiver up my spine. “I missed my best friend. That’s all.”
“I missed you too,” I whispered back. That admission freed something in my throat, made words tumble out one after another. “So damn much until the hurt became numb, but then you showed back up, and I’ve missed you all over again.”
“I’m sorry.” Maverick’s touch became more of a biceps and shoulder massage, and I resisted the urge to purr like a cat.
“Don’t be.” The need to touch him again was a growing drumbeat taking over my brain. I reached out, hand fumbling, palm landing on his chest. We lay there for several long moments, Maverick rubbing me while I stroked his chest over his shirt. Pressure gathered low in my torso, a different sort of want, one I hadn’t felt in years. Body not waiting for permission, I rolled closer to him.