Chapter Seven
After the doctor left and assuring herself Amy was okay in the guestroom, Olivia took a shower and made her way downstairs. Comfy in a pair of loose sweats and a tank top, she figured she’d heat a cup of tea and crash. Her limbs were as useless as Jell-O and, any second, she was going to collapse.
The house was quiet and dark, but a light shone from the direction of the kitchen, along with the murmur of muted voices. Heading that way, she found Aunt Mae, Nakos, and Nate at the table drinking coffee. They all looked up at her and started talking at once.
Olivia waved her hand. “I helped Amy get washed up. She’s trying to relax. Her brother Kyle’s with her now.” She leaned against the doorjamb and rested her head. “Hank says she doesn’t think any ribs are broken, just bruised. Same with her face. She gave Amy a shot for pain and a script. I’ll fill it tomorrow when I grab clothes from her house.”
“Think she’ll eat something?” Mae rose and went to the fridge. “Soup?”
“Sure. That’s soft to eat, too.”
Nakos stood. “I’ll take it up to her. How are you doing, little red?”
“I’m...” She didn’t know. Confused. Guilt-ridden. Shaky. “Fine. I had no clue Chris had become violent. Did you?”
Nakos and Mae shook their heads. Nate stared at her like he was about to snap.
“Me, either. I mean, he’s always had a short fuse, but I’ve never seen her with bruises or...” Dang it. And here she thought she’d finally stopped the waterworks. “Lord, what he did to her.” Barely able to speak through tears, she clutched her chest. “I should’ve known. I’m her best friend and how could I not...”
Mae wrapped Olivia in her arms and smoothed her hair, damp from a shower. “This might’ve been the first time, baby girl. And if it wasn’t, Amy only showed you what she wanted you to see. You know her. Stubborn as a mule.”
With a laugh-sob, Olivia pulled away and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I think I just need some air.”
Nakos, bowl of soup in hand, stopped by her on his way out. “You need to eat something, as well. You look like a ghost.”
She sent him an I’m-not-hungry look, which he countered with an ask-me-if-I-care. She glanced around him to the table. Yep. Nate’s jaw was still clenched and he had murder in his eyes. More guilt coagulated in her belly for her behavior in the barn. Crying on him the way she had and all but clinging to him.
Lord. Shaking her head, she focused on the cowboy hat beside his arm. It wasn’t Nakos’s and Nate only ever wore a black baseball cap. “What’s that?”
Nakos turned and grinned. “That would be a souvenir for great shooting.” He looked at her and sobered. “Truth. Are you all right?”
The incident in the barn came back to her in quick flashes and rapid spurts. Amy’s battered body. The insults. The press of cold steel against Olivia’s forehead. Heart pounding, she stared at the cowboy hat, a hole clean through the brim. Because Nate had shot his gun. To protect her. After Chris had...
Dizzy, she tried to clear her throat and whined instead. “I’m going outside for air.”
Against the male protests, she strode out of the kitchen on shaky legs and through the living room to the front door. On the porch, she sucked cool air and dropped her hands on the railing, leaning into them.
Everything was fine. Just as Nate had told her earlier. She was...safe.
Like it had before, her mind and heart tripped over the word. Safe.
Funny, she’d never considered the term in regards to herself. Certainly not as anything she’d been lacking. Aside from her parents’ death, she’d had an uneventful childhood on a beautiful spread of land, with food in her belly, and a roof over her head. Aunt Mae had been there for whatever Olivia and Justin needed from hugs to band-aids on a scraped knee. Nakos had been and still remained at her side like a guardian. Amy filled the female gaps and they’d formed a long-ago bond of girl power in a friendship of genuine affection.
So why, then, when Nate held her, did she get an overwhelming sense of security? A virtual stranger, he should not fill her with a sense of peace. One she hadn’t realized she’d been lacking. Yes, he was big and strong. Yes, he was irrevocably tender considering his size. But he had dark, ugly shadows behind his stricken gaze that told her he was anything but safe.
She attempted to recall the last time she’d felt this way and couldn’t conjure one instance. Not the insane attraction or chemistry, nor the sheltering calm he inflicted when they were in contact. It was the craziest combination that would’ve had Freud banging his head.
Every person in her life had a purpose, a special gift they brought to the table. And in walks Nate, throwing everything off kilter. He didn’t even seem to like her presence, contrary to what he’d said in the kitchen a couple weeks ago.
The screen door snapped shut, and she knew without looking who stood behind her. Nate had an energy, a hum about him. She swore she could feel his gaze on her, no matter the time or place. Since he’d arrived, she was in a constant state of awareness and it wasn’t unpleasant.
“Mae said she was heading to bed. Nakos is upstairs with Amy and Kyle.”
Nodding, she stared at the quiet ranch as nerves danced in her belly. “You got stuck as the designated babysitter.”
“You don’t need a babysitter and no one asked me to come out here.” His boots scraped the wooden planks as he drew closer. “What are you thinking about?”
Right. They should talk? If only. He’d erect more walls if she told the truth.
She turned to assure him she was fine, but he frowned and crowded her against the porch post. Fieldstone dug into her spine as her breath caught. He traced his rough fingers over the bump on her forehead with such tenderness, her heart lodged in her throat. His hand shook as he dropped it by his side.
He let out a quiet, uneven breath. “Scared me to death. I saw that asshole standing over you and I was scared to fucking death.”
Lord. And then there were the rare instances like this when he let his guard down and she wanted to crawl inside him. For a guy who wore layers upon layers of armor, his give-a-shit was showing. And not for the first time.
“You didn’t seem scared.” At all. He’d taken charge and handled the situation with a frightening level of calm.
“Trust me. I was.”
Somehow, he seemed to need reassurance instead of her. “You and Nakos saved me, saved Amy. Doesn’t matter how scared you were. What matters is what your actions were when afraid.”
He stared at her and shook his head. “How do you do that? Twist things around and try to take care of me? You’re the one who was held at gunpoint.”
“And I’m standing here because of you.”
Closing his eyes in a languid, frustrated blink, he sighed, then glanced at her bump again. “You’re starting to decompress, aren’t you?” At her questioning glance, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Decompressing. Adrenaline wears off and the tremors start. You feel hot and cold. You want to close your eyes and sleep, but your brain shoots images at you of what happened.”
Nailed that on the head. It made her wonder how many times he’d experienced this. She was a few hours in and could barely stand being in her own skin.
“Come take a walk with me.” He stepped away and held out his hand. Patience and understanding shone in his eyes while he waited.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far.” He waggled his fingers and she slipped her hand in his.
He led her off the porch and around the side of the house, his thumb stroking the back of her hand as if to console her. She wondered if he realized he did stuff like that because she’d grown to crave the small signs of consideration.
Such a conundrum, Nathan Roldan. Grizzly bear on the surface, teddy underneath.
They strolled in silence with the stars overhead and gravel crunching under their shoes. A breeze swayed the grass in the distance, creating a crackling in the air and leaves. Though the temperature was still mild, she hadn’t been prepared for the outdoors. Goosebumps skated over her bare arms and she shivered.
Without a word, he unzipped his hoodie, took it off to reveal a black tee, and stopped walking to hold the sweatshirt out for her. Moved, she slid her arms in and turned around to face him, her cheeks hot. Hopefully, the darkness hid her blush. Before she could do it herself, he zipped the hoodie, reclaimed her hand, and started them in motion again.
He stopped outside one of the barns and slid the padlock from place, then pulled open the carriage doors. Quietly, he watched her as if waiting for her to do something.
She stared inside the dark structure. The moon’s illumination from the skylight was the only thing chasing shadows. Silver light reflected off the gated stalls. The scent of soil and hay and horse fur filled her nose. Familiar. Yet, her heart pounded and her chest grew tight. Dots blurred in her peripheral.
“I know a little something about PTSD.”
Her gaze jerked to his. “But nothing happened to me.”
He took a step closer. “You found your friend bloody and bruised right here, then had a gun aimed at your head.” His jaw ticked. “Something most certainly did happen to you.”
She focused on the barn again. She’d been in there more than a billion times. It was just straw and dirt and wood. Her precious horses. Nothing scary. Her stupid pulse throbbed against her neck, though. “What went down today can’t be nearly as horrible as the things you’ve seen.”
“Look at me.” He ducked his face close to hers. “This isn’t a competition. You stared down the barrel of a gun and had your life threatened. Trust me on this. The longer you deny it, the harder it’ll be. Go inside. I’ll be right here with you.”
Eyes ahead, she drew a deep breath and did as he asked. But the sound of her shoes hitting dirt ricocheted around her head and she froze.
His warm hand skimmed up her spine and down again. “Right here, baby.”
Baby. He’d said the term earlier, seconds before he’d fired at Chris.
She’d never been one for endearments, but Nate’s wrapped around her and squeezed. Comforting. Unique. Special.
Using that as leverage, she put one foot in front of the other until she stood in the center of the barn. Right where it happened. The stench of beer. Chris slurring his words. The sharp smack of metal against her skin.
Warm hands cupped her cheeks and Nate’s face blurred in front of her. “Close your eyes. That’s it.” His hoarse, low tone caressed her ears. “Think of a happy memory. Something that happened here.”
Justin’s grin immediately came to mind. Once, they’d been brushing down the horses after a ride, and he’d nailed her with a stream of water from the hose. Except, her cocky brother hadn’t paid attention to what he was doing and tripped over a bucket. Lord, she’d laughed so hard her side ached.
“There you go.” Nate grabbed both her wrists. “Keep your eyes shut.” He guided her a few steps forward and moved behind her. Taking her hand, he set it on something soft. “Touch is a sensory. Keep that memory while you’re doing it.” Under his direction, he had her…pet whatever was beneath her palm. “Open your eyes.”
They were standing in front of one of the stalls. Leia, their youngest gelding, held her nose close to the gate, enjoying the attention like the princess she was named after.
Smiling, Olivia stroked her again. “How’d you learn to do that?”
“Therapy. It was forced on me after the injury.” His breath teased her hair.
“Well, it worked.” For her, anyway.
His hands fell on her shoulders. “You may have to repeat the process a lot.” He stilled as if contemplating something, then swept her hair to the side. “Memory replacement is another technique.” Gently, he massaged her neck with his thumbs. “The object is to return to a scene and substitute the bad feelings with good ones.”
Oh God. His hands were freaking amazing. And talented. Firm fingers, soothing motion. “Substitute feelings?” she breathed.
He dipped his face near hers, their cheeks brushing. The rasp of his beard grazed her skin and sent every nerve in her body on fire as he pressed closer, cradling her against him. “Are you scared right now? Panicked or upset?”
“No.”
“Do you feel good?” His hot breath fanned her jaw.
She moaned and tilted her head back, fully leaning on him. “Yes.” So, so good. Her breasts ached and her panties grew damp. “Yes,” she repeated. Pleaded.
His hands moved from her shoulders to her collarbone and slipped under her sweatshirt. Chest rising and falling in a rapid pant, he brushed his nose against the shell of her ear, then pressed his lips there. “I don’t understand how you do this to me. But hell, you make me feel good, too.”
Reaching around, she grabbed the backs of his thighs, earning a low, rumbling groan. His thick muscle was tense under the denim, yet his touch was tender. His fingers delved lower, tracing the outline of her shirt while his mouth moved to her neck. Feather-light kisses and unspoken words fluttered against her skin, and her legs buckled.
He instantly wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her to him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Face pressed in her hair, he sighed. “I forget to think when I’m close to you.”
He wasn’t the only one. And why was that a bad thing?
She turned in his arms and he gripped the stall bars above her head, leaning into them. His lids fell closed as—guilt?—furrowed his brows. His scent of soap and warm male filled her nose, surrounding her because of the sweatshirt and his nearness. It was beginning to become familiar and she wanted to bury her face in his neck, breathe nothing except him.
This attraction was about more than just the two of them. It had grown and cultivated. She was caged by bulging biceps and a fortress of a chest, in a place where, hours ago, something awful had happened. Yet all she could do was focus on how badly she wanted him. All he seemed capable of doing was denying it. With everything he had.
“I don’t understand.” She pressed her lips together, rolling them over her teeth.
He opened his eyes, gaze trained heavenward. “Ditto.”
“No. I mean, you said you couldn’t do this, that it wasn’t right and—”
“I know what I said, Olivia.” He still refused to look at her, his position stiff and unrelenting.
“I gave you space.” She pushed the hair away from her face with both hands, growing frustrated. “I stayed away from you because I thought that’s what you wanted. Forget what happened were your words.”
His biceps flexed as if he’d fisted the bars tighter. His jaw ticked to the beat of her pounding heart and his nostrils flared like a confined bull.
“Is it what you want? Do you want me to forget?”
He shook his head, turned it away, and set his chin near his shoulder in a clear move that proved he was ready to snap. Veins and tendons popped on his neck and his tat sleeves came to life with the ripple of muscles.
“You claimed to not be the right guy for me. But one minute you act like being near me hurts you, and the next you’re touching me as if you want to be that man.” His only response was a steady increase in his respirations. “If you don’t want to try—”
“I do,” he growled and shoved off the bars. He stalked away and came back. “Everything I said was true. But you make me burn, Olivia.” He fisted a hand over his heart. “I don’t understand it and I’m doing my best to fight. You are this strange anomaly that’s become an obsession. So, yes, I want to try. Can I? No.”
A cold sense of unease wove around her and chilled the blood in her veins. Not from his livid mood or his prowling, but because something was very, very wrong if he had to deny himself something he wanted. She scrolled through the fragmented conversations they’d had and latched onto the one thing he’d said that fit.
“Why are you unaccustomed to touch?”
Cursing a wicked streak, he set his hands on his hips and glared at the floor as if expecting it to swallow him.
There. An answer without him saying a thing. “Does it hurt? When I touch you, I mean?” Holy Lord in Heaven, please tell her this wasn’t due to an abuse situation from his childhood.
“No.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” There had to be a valid explanation. The few times they’d been in contact, his mouth said one thing and his body another. She didn’t know which to listen to.
“Christ,” he muttered and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, no, and more no. I’m not feeding you a line here. It’s me, not you.” He strode forward two feet, right up to her until their chests bumped. His golden brown eyes were dialed to say-a-prayer and dilating darker by the second. His irises were nearly swallowed by his pupils. “No one’s ever touched me.”
What? “You can’t be serious.”
His unrelenting expression didn’t waver.
And her heart cracked. Right in two. “Ever? I don’t—”
“Foster care, Olivia. Since infancy, I got moved around from one place to the next. Cuddling wasn’t part of the system’s M.O.”
He was killing her. Killing. Her.
She exhaled a turbulent gust and rubbed her forehead. “After you aged out?” Surely, he’d had sex. Partners. Something.
“Minimal.” He pointed at her as if reading her mind. “Uh-uh. No, I’m not a damn virgin and I’m damn good in the sack. Doesn’t mean I’m up for fondling and everything else.”
Then he’d never been intimate, truly intimate, with anyone, woman or otherwise. Had he not been…hugged? Held? She couldn’t fathom it. For crying out loud, the poor man had never been loved. Did he matter to anyone?
“And we can call this exercise a rip-roaring success.” He gestured toward the exit. “Let’s go. You need to sleep and I need a drink.”
She knew exactly what he needed and it wasn’t alcohol. But she didn’t think he’d allow her to show him.