Chapter 19

Nate petted Bones from a living room chair, wasting time until Olivia and Amy proved to him they'd call it a night. Every evening for a week, they'd taken a walk after dinner, and he'd learned to stick around or they'd go without him. Maybe he was paranoid, but he didn't give a damn. Until his heart stopped pounding when he didn't have a direct visual on Olivia, he'd keep being paranoid.

The girls came in from the kitchen and took a seat on the sofa. Amy's bruises were fading to an ugly shade of yellow and green, and every day she moved a little better. The sight of her no longer sent him into a homicidal fit, so there was that. And Chris was probably going to end up serving fifteen to twenty at a prison in Casper. Nate would take it.

Mae passed Olivia a mug of tea and glanced at Nate. "Want anything?"

"I'm good. Thanks." She always asked like it was her job to wait on him. He didn't care for it, but it seemed habit for her. "Are you guys staying in?"

"Yeah. I'm too tired to move. It started raining, anyhow." Amy glanced around and frowned at the box by the fireplace. "What's that?"

"Oh." Mae rose. "I almost forgot. That came for you today."

She went to lift it, but Nate stood and shooed her aside, doing it himself. After all, he knew what was in the package, and it wasn't light. He set it by Amy's feet and reclaimed his seat, figuring it would seem suspicious if he left now.

"For me? From who?" She examined the label, but Nate had made sure there was no return address. "That's weird. It doesn't say."

Olivia helped her open it, and the gasp Amy let out, followed by happy tears, made the past week's bullshit somehow worth it. She took the laptop out, followed by the camera, and stared at both.

"I don't understand." She glanced inside the package. "Oh my God. And a new printer, too." Olivia removed it from the box when it proved too heavy for Amy. "There's no note or anything." Amy wiped tears from her cheeks and looked at Olivia, then Mae.

"Your parents, perhaps? Or Chris trying to apologize?" Mae shrugged.

Amy shook her head. "My folks can't afford this and they never supported my photography. Chris, either. Besides, he's been locked up." She blinked at Olivia.

"Don't look at me."

"Or me." Mae smiled. "Sure was nice of whoever it was, though."

"I can't accept this. There has to be thousands of dollars in equipment."

Five grand, to be precise. Well worth the money see to the dejected look erased from Amy's face. No asshole had the right to break her dreams or put bruises on her body.

Or come within ten feet of his Olivia.

Damn. There he went again. She wasn't his, yet his primal caveman kept trying to surface.

Nate stood. "I'm going to sit outside for a bit if you need me."

With Bones on his heels, he made his way to the rocking chair on the far end of the porch. Just beyond the wrap-around railing, rain beat down. A warm front had come through, keeping the temperature hovering in the mid-sixties and humidity clinging to everything. The scent of wet grass and mud mingled with budding flowers from the corner garden, and he breathed deep, listening to the patter of drops.

After awhile, he grabbed the tin bucket where he'd put his supplies while the dog curled up at his feet. He'd managed to find good use for the boards he and Nakos had stripped from the fence. Instead of being destined to become firewood, the pine kept Nate's hands and mind busy, whittling a little at night after Olivia went to bed. He'd crafted two tiny figurines of Bones, several horseshoes, and a tree that resembled the cottonwood in her front yard. They weren't pretty, but he found it relaxing.

He was just carving the shape of a horse's flank when the screen door snapped shut and Olivia stood there, hands on her hips and tears in her angry eyes.

Carefully, he set his items in the bucket and stood, his heart wrenching ribs. "What's"

"You," she growled and stalked closer. "You bought her those things."

Shit. How did

She launched herself at him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and cupped his cheeks.

He grunted, stumbled backward, and righted them, grabbing her ass so she wouldn't fall. And damn. This couldn't end well. "Olivia"

"Don't you ever tell me you're not a good guy." Before he could retort or argue or so much as blink, she pressed her lips to his.

Lights out. Sayonara sanity.

Unlike the night a week ago on her couch, there was no tenderness or coaxing. She ate at his mouth like she was starving. For him. With her hands everywherehis head, his face, his shouldersshe tilted her head and moaned. She nipped his lower lip and slid her tongue inside to tangle with his. Hot, wet, deep.

"Sweet Christ," he muttered and spun, reaching blindly for something to pin her against. His palm encountered the stone porch support and he eased her back against it, freeing his other hand to explore.

She ground her hips against his growing erection and he barked a sharp cry of surprise into her mouth. But she never let up. Opening wider, she turned a hot interlude into something downright pornographic, sizzling his nerves at the root and making him harder than iron. Swirling her tongue, caressing his, sucking on it.

And her hands. Uhn, her hands. The way she stroked the top of his head was the oddest turn-on. Or the firm grip on his neck as if claiming him for her own and daring him to pull away.

He grabbed her slim waist and dipped under her shirt, finding soft, warm skin. While she assaulted his mouth, he kept going until he encountered satin. He'd kill to know what color bra covered her perfect breasts and wanted a look at them more than any sustenance for preservation. He settled for brushing his thumbs over her peaks and groaning when they hardened more.

Mercy, she killed him. Her warm skin. Her hot mouth. Her slender body in comparison to his own. He was a dead man walking and, suddenly, didn't give a rat's ass.

Needing oxygen, he tore his mouth away and latched onto her neck. She heaved air and arched, making his erection painful behind his jeans. He never craved the ache more. Her flesh smelled like a sweeter version of the downpour behind them. Sucking, licking, he worked his way across her throat to the other side.

"I can't believe you did that," she breathed, grabbing his shoulders. "You made her so happy."

He really didn't want to discuss another woman just now, but he lifted his head and stared into her cornflower eyes. The raw emotion there closed his airway. "How did you figure it out, anyway?"

Her thumbs brushed his lower lip, and even that was a mind fuck. "The camera and printer were the exact same brand as the ones broken. It couldn't have been anyone else."

"Don't tell her. Let it be a mystery, okay?" He'd accumulated quite the savings over the years not paying rent or other expenses. He didn't want his gift to be a big deal and she was making it one.

"I don't understand you." Brows furrowed, she searched his gaze.

The fact that she was even trying to understand him was new territory for him. She very well might be the first to attempt the hopeless feat. "It's not worth the frustration of figuring it out."

Eyes wounded, she parted her lips as if to speak, but shook her head instead. She placed her hand on top of his head, her gaze following the movement. Slowly, she trailed her fingers to his forehead, his nose, cheek, mouth, and stopped on his chin. She did the same with the other hand as if memorizing his face, and his heart turned over in his chest.

She was back to the tenderness again and he couldn't take it.

It took him two attempts to speak and, when he did, his voice was gravel. "What are you doing?"

"Touching you." She traced his eyebrows, his lips.

He couldn't breathe. Because he was a man who'd not had an ounce of affection, he didn't know what the hell to do with hers. His chest pinched and blood roared in his veins. He didn't deserve this, deserve her, but he couldn't make himself move. She was both a balm and dick CPR, wrapped into a tidy bundle. The conflict was jarring.

Panting, he fought the push/pull war in his head. "Why, baby?"

She started the pattern all over again as if they had all night and she intended to do only this. "Because no one ever has and I enjoy it." While he grappled with that answer, she kept going like she hadn't just leveled him flat. "I don't care what you say. You are worth it."

Christ. "Olivia"

"No talking." She nudged his chest and dropped her feet to the porch. "Come with me." She headed for the steps and he called her name. "I said no talking."

"It's pouring." By the buckets.

She crooked her finger and descended the stairs, then waited for him. Immediately, her auburn hair got drenched and the yellow shirt molded to her lithe body. Her skinny jeans, already painted on her long legs, became second skin.

Fuck him. Desire was a living, heaving, clawing thing. More than that, apassion that went deeper than a physical blow unfurled inside him.

It didn't matter what he did or didn't do. She just kept coming at him. Nothing but fire and brimstone awaited him, and he wanted, with everything inside him, to experience something good first. Just once.

"Trust me, Nate." Her lilting, soft voice carried across the raindrops to him.

And the strangest thing happened. He realized he did trust her.

He stepped into the downpour and followed her to the other side of the house by a copse of trees. The rain lessened to a drizzle as she wove through several oaks until stopping under one with a rope ladder. He glanced up as she climbed and found a treehouse among the branches.

Shaking his head, he climbed up after her. It wasn't any wider than he was tall and had no roof, but the leaves and branches above and around created a type of haven. It smelled faintly of mildew and aged pine, yet the structure seemed sturdy.

"This was my secret spot as a kid. Not because no one knew about it, but because I'd come here and tell my secrets out loud. I always felt better afterward."

He studied her through the darkness, soaked to the bone and getting wetter, and dread settled in his gut. "Some secrets are just too ugly." And she was so beautiful it hurt.

"There's nothing ugly about you." She stepped flush against him and grabbed the hem of his shirt. "Take it off." She nudged the sopping material up until he had no choice but to pull it over his head or get strangled. It landed with a splat on the floor. "Sit down."