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Britt leaned back into the couch cushions, wishing she were as boneless as she felt, because then they wouldn’t have had to stop. But the dull ache from her ankle and the remaining stiffness of her wrist—the latter almost more noticeable just now, no doubt because it was so hard to keep her hand still when she wanted nothing more than to touch him—were still there. Odd how she hadn’t noticed them at all until they stopped kissing.
He hadn’t left her; he was sprawled beside her on the couch, and she noticed blissfully that his breathing was taking as long to slow down as her own.
“You’re a heck of a painkiller,” she said when she could.
He turned his head, and she got the full blast of those incredible light green eyes. And the corners of his mouth—God, that mouth—were twitching when he said, “As opposed to just a pain?”
She couldn’t help it, she grinned. It seemed so silly now, all those years of antipathy. She was convinced she was right—it was all because of this. And she didn’t even care how crazy it might seem, this turnaround that had been as fast as Ghost rounding a barrel.
Ghost. The silly, spooky horse who’d landed her in this situation, wanting more than anything to pursue this beyond kisses but unable to. Then again, if not for Ghost shying violently at the noise of that rockslide, none of this would have happened. She tried to imagine that, being back in that place where Cody was the bane of her existence.
She couldn’t.
“I’m sure you can still be a pain,” she finally said, the grin still in place. “Just not to me anymore.”
“I’ll remind you of that when I tell you to stop trying to do too much.”
“Maybe I’ll just let you do it all.”
“Do that,” he said, and an undertone had come into his voice that made her body rev up all over again.
“I think I should be more worried than I am about being the focus of the brilliant Cody Rafferty.”
He let out a rueful chuckle. “Brilliant? Maybe. But also too often oblivious.”
She considered that, studied the face that she knew so well, even as she knew she was only beginning to plumb the depths of the mind behind it.
“Maybe it’s the focus that makes you brilliant that also makes you oblivious sometimes. It’s like me in the arena: the rest of the world sort of falls away. All that matters, or even exists, is that moment, that run.”
Those green eyes widened slightly. “It’s exactly like that.”
She was still thinking about that look of surprise in his eyes, wondering what else they might have in common at an elemental level—besides both being impossibly stubborn, which they had laughingly admitted early on—as they ate the dinner of her mom’s luscious beef stew, one of the big containers she’d brought over. Cody had been hesitant, saying the food was meant to make her life easier, not his, but she’d pointed out his presence was accomplishing that, and the food made his continued presence possible.
She meant that in more than one way, of course. Not just that it was helpful for her to have a big, strong man around to lift and fetch and carry for her. Which it was, but anyone could do that.
Only Cody could do it and have her admiring the way he moved, doing even the simplest things. Which he did without question or hesitation, and often anticipating what she wanted or needed before she ever had to say a word. More of that focus, she supposed.
The next two days were the most amazing of her life, even more than her big rodeo wins. She’d thought those would forever be the highlights of her life, but no more. They ate well, thanks to Mom, who had limited herself to checking in on the intercom—Cody’s intercom—every couple of hours. And not, Britt noticed, asking if Cody was staying overnight. Which he did, after tucking her into bed with exquisite care, and gruffly telling her to hurry up and heal. She took that as a wish to join her, which she fervently seconded. She would have loved it if he’d lain down with her here, but he’d insisted she didn’t need the jostling of another person in bed with her.
“Not to mention I don’t have much faith in my own willpower right now,” he’d added, making her heart take a little leap. Then he went back out to crash on the couch. Funny, she’d never asked him to stay, and he’d never asked if he could, it was just assumed he would.
By both of them.
When he wasn’t checking on Ghost for her—and tactfully not mentioning what a pain the fractious horse could be—he was here with her. They watched movies, one of his favorite old westerns, and her favorite about tornado chasers. She snoozed on the couch while he worked in the big chair close by, looking up from his laptop screen now and then to check on her. Which she only knew from when she would rouse a little and find him watching her.
And they talked. About any and everything. And sharing remembered pain, of which he had so much more. She coaxed it out of him, the pain of his father’s death, and the girl from the convention. It came out haltingly, but it came out, and she didn’t think she was imagining the lessening of pressure in him when it did. And after all he’d done for her, she finally felt as if she’d given a little back.
Although she knew down deep it wasn’t just that she owed him for all his help. It was more than that, much more. Impossible as it was, that fall up by the ridge was nothing compared to the other tumble she’d taken, the tumble that had feelings about Cody making a U-turn.
And she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else eating at him. It wasn’t just that several times he had started to speak as if he were going to tell her something, then stopped and insisted it was nothing. That worried her, but there was time, she told herself.
Time. What a funny thing it was. She’d never felt like this in her life. It was dizzying, the speed of the change, but she could no longer deny it. No matter how crazy it was that Cody the Coder would end up the one who stirred her, body, heart, and soul. She had no idea how this would work, only that it would.
It had to.
Especially after, when he’d come in to check on her late Saturday night, she’d managed to convince him to lie down with her, telling him she truly did feel better. He’d been reluctant and had told her with rueful but obvious honesty exactly why that would be difficult, but when she’d practically begged he’d done it anyway. And she’d slept better than she had since it had happened, with his arms wrapped around her. She’d known he was as aroused as she was, he was so close to her, but as she’d also known, he did nothing about it. Because he knew that right now, it was both unwise and impossible.
