Christy

“Let me get some ice for your hand.” My nerves are so frayed, I walk straight through my living room and into the kitchen without waiting for a response or even thinking to offer the man a drink. My brain hasn’t finished processing what happened, let alone caught up enough to remember my manners. “Can I get you something to drink?” I call out while I fill a large zip lock bag with ice. “I’ve got bourbon.”

“And I’ve got a long drive home.” Chet appears in the doorway that leads to the kitchen. “Water would do fine, thanks.”

I hand him the bag of ice, my eyes locked on his. His fingers brush mine as he takes it and a thrill runs through my body. I find myself wanting to lean into him, wanting him to wrap his arms around me and pull me close. I need the warmth of his body, the security of his strength.

“Thank you,” he says and I realize I’m standing too close and staring too long.

I take a step back and drop my eyes. “It’s the least I could do.” I clear my throat and then move to the cabinet, pull out a glass, and fill it at the faucet. “I really am so sorry you got caught up in all of this,” I say over my shoulder.

“I hope being treated that way doesn’t seem normal to you.” His voice is gentle and that might just break me. I know how to handle harsh words. Kind ones? I don’t have defenses for those.

I turn and find him still leaning in the doorway, the bag of ice pressed against his knuckles. His gaze softens when his eyes meet mine and the trembling in my hands subsides.

“It isn’t like that all the time,” I say, crossing the room to hand him the glass. “I mean, things between us are tense, but that’s the first time he ever put his hands on me.”

Chet nods, letting out a long breath through his nose. “Ought to be the last, too.”

“I’m so relieved he’s gone. Like, I guess I thought I’d feel at least a little sad when he finally left, but I don’t. Not at all. I’m just … relieved. I hope he stays gone.” I hold out his drink. Realizing his hands are full, I put the water down on the table. “Will you stay for dinner? Here, have a seat and I’ll get things started,” I say, without giving him time to respond.

Come on, Christy. Get a grip. Take a breath. You’re making a hard situation harder.

My nerves are still on fire and I’ve never been one to sit still when I’m anxious. I scurry over to the fridge and pull out the steaks I had marinating for dinner tonight. Chet’s presence fills my kitchen while I cook and no matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m aware of him. I find myself coming up with reasons to watch him when I think he’s not looking because there’s something so very right about having him at my table.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Chet speaks up. “I don’t mean to pry, but if you didn’t want the man here, why’d you let him move in with you?”

“That’s the thing,” I say over the sizzle of the steak in the pan. “I never invited him to move in. He invited himself to come out and help me get settled and then never left. In fact, I’m sure part of the reason my uncle—Doc Hawes—left me this homestead when he passed away was to help me get free from Mark.” I flip the steaks onto a plate. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to leave him for a long time. It seems silly now. I didn’t need an excuse, did I? I just needed to leave.”

Chet nods. It looks like he has more to say on that topic, but he sits silently while I move around the kitchen, putting together the rest of dinner. I appreciate the quiet because the more I think about how much control I gave to Mark, the more foolish I feel. Anyone else would feel obligated to point out what a fool I’d been. Not Chet.

“Old Doc Hawes was your uncle, then?” he asks when I put his plate down in front of him.

I pull out a chair and take a seat. “Not just any uncle. He was my favorite uncle. He’s the whole reason I became a vet in the first place. My dad wasn’t around much, but Uncle Julius made sure I had a father figure to look up to. He brought me out here for a week or two each summer and let me run wild and get dirty and do all the things kids should be doing instead of sitting indoors and staring at TVs and phones and tablets and all that.”

“Julius, huh? I never thought of him as anything but Old Doc Hawes. Can’t say as I see the resemblance,” Chet says with a smirk as he slices into his steak.

“Thank God for small favors.” I laugh as I pick up my fork. “My uncle would have made a terrible woman.”

Chet nods his approval, a laugh rumbling low in his chest, and then takes a bite. “Damn,” he says around a mouthful of food. “You know how to cook a steak.”

I grin, pleased by the obvious pleasure on his face, but the smile dies as I remember how Mark complained when he saw them in the fridge this morning. Apparently, my thighs have gotten too big for me to eat red meat. My heart goes skidding through my chest at the thought. I’ve been wishing for Mark to leave since we got here and here I am, eating dinner with the man that kicked him out of my house for me. A man I barely know but can’t seem to get out of my head.

When Chet wipes his mouth, his swollen knuckles catch my eyes. I’ve never seen someone hit another person before and the memory spins in my stomach. The moment when Chet’s fist connected with Mark’s face plays over and over in my mind. It combines with the terror that froze me in place when Mark put his hands on me and the way Chet’s presence sends electricity throughout my body and my hands start to tremble all over again. I don’t know what to think about everything that happened today. I glance down at my plate, suddenly not very hungry and not at all ready to process how I feel about the spreading bruises on Chet’s hand.

I look up and find him watching me. “Does it bother you?” He lifts his hand. “What happened before?”

“I don’t know how I feel about it yet.”

“I didn’t mean to overstep, but he had no right to grab you the way he did. And, well—calling my mother a...” His lips form a grim line as he shakes his head. “We don’t take that kind of thing lightly around here. We hold women in higher regard than that.”

I take a bite and nod as I chew. “I really am so sorry,” I say after I swallow. “You’ve wasted your whole day taking care of me and I feel so bad about your hand. It looks like it hurts.”

“Nothing that won’t heal in a day or so. Don’t you go blaming yourself for what happened between Mark and me. In my experience, sometimes that’s the only way to get through to a man when he’s got his mind set, or his ears closed. Either way, none of that is your fault. More important than my hand, how are you?”

“Me? I’ll be fine. Probably better than fine if Mark is really gone. I wanted a fresh start. Looks like maybe you finally gave it to me.”

Chet gives me a long look, one I can’t even begin to decipher, but I swear I see tenderness in his eyes. My cheeks grow hot and I veer the conversation towards safer topics. When our plates are empty, I offer him something else to eat and disappointment settles on my shoulders when he stands.

“I should probably be getting home,” he says.

“I don’t want you to go.” The words are out before I even know what I’m saying. I hurry to clarify. “I’m just a little afraid to be alone, you know? What if Mark comes back?”

That’s bullshit and I know it. Me wanting Chet to stay has nothing to do with me being alone and even less to do with Mark. I don’t want Chet to leave simply because I like him being here.

He steps closer and puts a hand on my arm. “You lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone or anything tonight. I can camp at the end of the drive if you like, if he decides to turn back, the sight of my truck might be enough for him to keep driving.”

“That’s kind, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. I think you gave him a good enough scare to keep him from coming back tonight.”

His proximity renders me speechless. His words touch some part of my soul that forgot what it means to be a woman standing next to a man willing to do anything to keep her safe. And his hand on my arm? The contact has adrenaline coursing through my body. I can’t think through it. My gaze drops to his mouth and my lips part. When I glance back at him, I find his eyes hooded and filled with desire.

I tilt my head and lean in. Chet grips my other arm, his gentle touch in stark contrast to the way Mark gripped my shoulders just a few hours before. I can’t remember the last time a man looked at me like he wants me. Like he sees me. Like he cares even the slightest bit about me.

I close the distance between us and press my lips to his. He breathes in sharply, tenses, and then draws me close to his body. One arm wraps around my waist while the other cradles my head. He sweeps his tongue across my bottom lip and I open to him. The light stubble on his chin scrapes against my skin and desire pools warm and liquid at my core. I grip his back and revel in the muscles bunched beneath the fabric. It all feels so right.

But then it all goes so wrong.

Chet grips my shoulders and pulls away, his eyes wide and uncomfortable. He licks his lips and then takes a deliberate step back.

“I am so sorry,” I say before I remember how to breathe. “That was completely inappropriate.”

“I ought to be the one apologizing—I didn’t mean to take advantage.” Without another word, he picks up his hat, squares it on his head, and tips the brim in my direction before walking out the door.

I watch Chet back out of the driveway and stand on my porch, staring at the road long after he’s disappeared from view. The stars shine overhead and the moon hangs low and swollen in the sky. I wrap my arms around my stomach and shiver as a cool breeze rustles across the porch and then run a finger across my lips, still tingling from his kiss.