The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(94)

The temperature is falling fast. Apparently, this is one of those fronts bringing a sudden temperature drop. Texas never does things small, including seasonal changes. Nope. At least in our area of the state, the weather prefers extreme change. A storm blows through and—BOOM! Twenty minutes later, it’s forty degrees colder.

Lindy and I end up at the same spot, trying to wrangle the very last sheet. The wind tears through the backyard, and it’s like we’re on a stormy sea, trying to batten down the hatches or whatever you do with the sails.

The weight of the soaked cloth pulls at the line. The sheet smacks wetly against me, twisting around my legs and tripping me up. I stumble forward into Lindy, grabbing her waist. A wind gust whips the rest of the sheet around Lindy, and now we’re plastered together like a soaked human burrito.

Rain drips steadily into my eyes, and my hair is plastered over my face. Lindy wraps her arms around me and shivers. Then she begins to laugh.

“This is ridiculous!” she yells.

Thunder booms so loud she jumps, and I wrap my arms tighter around her, seeking her warmth, seeking connection, wanting to keep her protected.

She says something I can’t hear over the wind and rain, so I bend down, my forehead pressing to hers. “What’d you say?”

Her eyes meet mine, but we’re so close, they’re out of focus. “I said, ‘Kiss me!’”

It shouldn’t shock me, not after our kiss last night and the almost-kiss at the school. And yet, shocked I am.

I don’t even move, just blinking as cold rain runs down my face as I stare at her. “Kiss you?”

“KISS ME!”

When she yells the words at me this time, I don’t hesitate. I don’t question the wisdom of standing outside in the middle of a storm, or the fact that Lindy’s whole body is shivering. I don’t wonder if I should press pause on all forward motion until after the hearing or at least until after we’re not in danger of being struck by lightning.

I simply haul Lindy against me and do as the woman says.

A flashing yellow light warns me to proceed slowly and with caution, but my self-control is a fraying piece of rope. The moment my lips touch hers, it snaps.

There is no stadium around us, no classroom full of elementary kids about to walk in on us. We are two married adults in our own backyard and there is no good reason to hold back.

This kiss is the explosion at the end of a mile-long fuse. Or maybe the fuse is measured in years not miles, and a tiny spark has been steadily traveling minute by minute, month by month, year by year toward this inevitable conclusion.

Her mouth is wet and hot in the now-cool air, her body pliant against me. The kiss feels like a battle, but it’s really a surrender. We are laying our weapons down and throwing ourselves across the battle lines we’ve drawn.

I pick Lindy up, fumbling a little with the sheet still plastered to our bodies. My hands feel huge as they grasp her thighs. I’ve never felt so powerful. Kissing someone strong like Lindy, having this wild force of a woman in my arms makes me feel like the most powerful man in the world.

Her fingernails scrape lightly up the back of my neck and find their way into my wet hair. My senses are heightened, making me fully cognizant of each point of contact between us: each brush of her lips, the pad of every fingertip, the press of her torso inch by delicious inch against mine.

I kiss her like a man coming up to the surface after a dive, gasping for air. She is all I need, and I do need her. I was drowning without her, dark and cold and alone, not sure which way in my life was up.

I have no question. This is my life. She is my life. She and Jo and whatever else might come our way.

I am all in. And, at least for the moment, it seems that Lindy is calling my bet.

A loud crack of thunder makes us both jump. We break apart, but only just. Her hands still roam my chest, our lips still brush as we smile. Her breath is hot against my lips. I’m about to say something, probably something really stupid like, I love you, when there is another rumble, one louder and closer than thunder.

The whole yard lights up with a flash that feels way, way too close.

I’ve never heard a sound like the one that follows, a tearing, wrenching, terrible craaaaack.

I set Lindy down but keep my arms tightly banded around her as we turn toward the sound. As we watch, the dead oak tree falls right toward the other side of the house. There is a crash and the sound of glass shattering.

I feel the thudding boom in the bare soles of my feet.

Grasping Lindy’s hand, I tug her with me, discarding the wet sheet on the muddy ground. As suddenly and violently as it came, the storm begins to let up, and the angry rumble of thunder recedes.

We reach the other side of the house, and Lindy gasps. The house is still standing, but all the windows on that side are broken. Some branches are fully inside the house. Wet curtains flap through the openings in the wind, which is dying down along with the storm. In places, the wood siding has been ripped away, splintered wood everywhere.

I let go of Lindy’s hand to wrap my arm around her shoulder. It could have been worse, especially if Jo were home and we were all inside. But this is her childhood home, and the damage is significant.

Lindy turns to me with wide eyes, her lashes spiky and wet. I can’t read the emotion in her face. “My house.”

I press a kiss to her temple. “I’m so sorry. We’ll take care of this, Lindybird. You and Jo are safe. The dogs are safe.”