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“Of course you do,” I manage.
His fingers clench, rubbing the candy to peel back the wax paper. It falls aside, and he bites it in half.
“Huh,” he says. “I thought it would taste different.”
I take the other half, so stunned that I’m not sure what to say. Sweet lemon spreads over my tongue. His eyes are fixed to my mouth, like he can’t look away.
He scares me when he’s intense like this.
“Are you gonna fucking say it back?” he asks softly.
I bend, kissing his mouth then his chin where his short beard prickles. Then, I kiss down his chest, the salt of his sweat on my lips. His body ripples with tension as my lips brush his upper abdominals, and my nails pierce his sides.
“I love you, Westin,” I whisper into his warm body, into the heart of him. “I choose you.”
All the suffering I didn’t know was in his body drains away. His muscles relax, and he lets out a soft sigh. Then, he pulls my face back up to his and kisses me, sweat and Westin and lemon candy mingling on our tongues.
We fuck again, this time not caring if it’s loud.
And, God, it’s some of the best sex we’ve ever had.
When I wake the next morning, I hear men’s voices downstairs, and it jerks me out of my euphoria. My heart patters as I pull on my dressing gown and move barefoot down the stairs, pausing at the landing to survey the room.
Westin leans on the counter, talking quietly to a man with dark hair sitting at the table. I freeze. I don’t like having men who aren’t Westin in my kitchen. It reminds me too much of David and the Garrisons.
I consider going back to the bedroom, but Westin looks up. The other man turns, and I shrink back. He’s got a mean face, a crooked nose, and a hard mouth. His skin is covered in tattoos, some recognizable, some not. Somehow, all those parts that shouldn’t be pretty make up a handsome man.
“Come here, darling,” Westin says.
Holding my dressing gown tight, I creep down to him. Westin slides his arm around my waist.
“This is Deacon Ryder. He’s helping me with some work,” he says.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Deacon says. He’s got a hard, rough voice. “You must be Diane.”
He holds out his hand. I hesitate then shake it. I’m surprised that he does it lightly, letting my fingers just rest on his, like somewhere along the way, someone taught him to be a gentleman.
“You’re a knockout,” he says, leaning back. “What are you doing with this ugly motherfucker?”
I gasp, and Westin starts laughing.
“You stay for breakfast, Ryder,” he says. “Then get the fuck out.”
Westin is already making breakfast, but I feel awkward standing there, so I shoo him out of the way and start cooking. He sits with Deacon, and they talk at the table for a while, about the ranch, about business. Then, they go outside, and I see them through the window over the sink, standing at the edge of the snow, smoking with serious expressions.
They didn’t go outside for cigarettes. They went out so they could talk about things they don’t want me to hear.
I set three plates of food out.
They’re planning to do something bad. I can just tell.
I knock on the window and wave them in. We sit at the table and talk about nothing important. Westin and Deacon communicatemostly with lighthearted insults. When the meal is done, I pour Deacon some coffee in a thermos and hand it to him.
“You watch that one,” he says, jerking his head at Westin.
Westin flips him off and puts his hat on to walk him out. I stay inside, still in my dressing gown, and clear the table. When he returns, everything is tidied, and the floor is swept. I head upstairs to shower, but Westin takes my elbow on the landing.
“Thank you,” he says.
