Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(85)

We stand side-by-side, staring at the old piece of barn board that we found tucked inside one of the empty stables, Jesse with a hammer in one hand. “Are you sure she’s going to be okay with this?”

“Yes. No. Yes.” I bite my lip with a touch of worry, tapping the horseshoe against my thigh.

He shrugs. “I guess she’ll learn to be okay with it, if she’s not right away.”

“Right. And we can always put them back if she’s really mad.”

“Right.”

I hold the horseshoe up. “Start here. That way we can fit them all in.”

He shifts to stand behind me, his arms circling me from either side as he takes over holding the shoe, fitting a nail into the hole and hitting it with the hammer to fix it into place. “Like that?”

I smile. “Exactly like that.”

He slides a finger around my ear, tucking my hair back, exposing my scar, before leaning in to kiss my temple. It’s like a silent communication, telling me that he knows it’s there, he sees it, and it won’t deter him.

He grabs another shoe and nail.

“Does it really not bother you?” I ask. “You can tell me the truth. It bothers me. A lot.”

He sighs, moving back to stand with me just like before, lining the next shoe up. “Not in the way you think it does.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a constant reminder to me.” He pauses as he hangs another shoe. “That someone hurt you like that.”

“They did,” I admit. “And they’ve gotten away with it.”

“Maybe they haven’t. Or won’t.”

“What do you mean? Your dad would have told me if they found someone, wouldn’t he? From the sounds of it, the case is dead.”

He’s quiet as he hammers a third shoe into the board. “Maybe life will punish them.”

“Yeah. Maybe. But by that logic, life could have been punishing me for something I’d done.”

“No.” Jesse drops the hammer and grabs my shoulders, his eyes penetrating mine. “You didn’t deserve this. Okay?”

I nod. “I’m not hurt anymore. I’m fine now. It’s just a scar.”

His voice softens. “Are you? I mean . . . are you happy here?”

Am I happy?

I am lost and yet somehow found.

I am afraid and yet somehow comforted.

I am drifting and yet somehow . . . home.

A smile stretches over my lips. “Yes, I think I am.”

His hands drop to slip into mine, his fingertips curling around mine, squeezing tight. “Good.”

It’s late by the time we’ve nailed all thirteen shoes to the board and I’ve brought the horses in for the night. Ginny will see this in the morning. I wonder how she’ll react.

Jesse leads me by the hand toward his garage. He didn’t need to ask and I didn’t need to even consider it, although each step closer fills me with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This is all moving so fast, and yet Meredith’s words resonate with me. Yes, this is a Tuesday. And what if it’s the last Tuesday I ever see? Or the last Tuesday Jesse ever sees?

It’s such a morbid thought to have, and yet thoughts like that will forever linger in my mind. They are a part of who I am now, an invisible scar.

Dakota is right. My soul is scarred.

I step into Jesse’s apartment to find a low fire crackling in the woodstove. It’s mid-June and probably unnecessary now, and yet I’m happy for it. “What is that smell? I know it’s wood, but it’s . . .” My voice drifts as I inhale deeply. It’s so familiar.

“Leaves. I like the smell of them burning.” Jesse pulls me down with him into a pile of pillows.

“Copycat,” I tease. He reaches across me for something behind my head and flutters fill my stomach. As he produces a long metal stick with a fat marshmallow speared onto the end, I stare at him crouching in front of the opened stove, flames dancing in his dark eyes, his strong arms held steady, waiting patiently for the marshmallow to brown.

“I can’t promise you that I’ll like it,” I warn.

He fumbles with some plastic in the corner. When he settles himself beside me, the melted marshmallow is now surrounded by two flat cookies and a chunk of chocolate. “I can promise you that you will.”

I open my mouth for the gooey sandwich and he feeds me between laughs, as crumbs scatter and drips of chocolate and marshmallow cover his fingers, my chin, my shirt.

“You’re right. It’s a bit messy, though,” I admit, watching him lick chocolate off his thumb.

Wishing he’d kiss me again.

His left brow arches. “What?”

I inhale, gathering my courage, and reach for the hand against his mouth. I pull it to mine, stealing the last drops of chocolate from his knuckle with my tongue.

Drawing a long, low hiss from him.

He must finally decipher the silent plea in my gaze, because the next thing I know, his hand is cradling the back of my head, his mouth is closed over mine, and I’m sinking deep into a tailspin of heady emotion.

And fear.

Crippling fear that makes me break free of his lips, because somehow I know with certainty where we’re heading tonight if I let it happen.

Jesse’s intense gaze settles on me. “I get it. We don’t have to go any further.”