DELIVER(95)

Josh grabbed the bag, and Camila vanished behind the crowding bodies.

“Keep moving,” he said, holding her tight to his side, his height allowing him to see above the bystanders. His eyes were focused straight ahead. He must’ve spotted the car.

A knot formed in her stomach. Camila wouldn’t have risked exposing her connection with them just to bring a change of clothes. The thought niggled as she followed Josh into an old station wagon and shut the door. His parents climbed in the front, and she sat directly behind Mrs. Carter. Josh reclined in the middle, his big body crowding the bench seat.

He set the bag of clothes on the floorboard and whispered in her ear, “We’ll talk when we get home.”

She nodded, agreeing that a conversation about Camila in front of his parents would raise questions.

Headlights from passing cars flashed across his face as Mr. Carter pulled out of the lot. Something was working behind Josh’s eyes, and it had her sitting on the edge of the seat. He buckled their seat belts and tucked her close to his side.

The drive to Waco was filled with his parents’ gossip about church, accolades for the community’s support after his disappearance, and updates on the farm’s crop losses. Josh assured them everything would resume to normal soon, and her doubts about where she fit in sat heavy in her chest.

As Mr. Carter brought Josh up to speed on the business side of the farm, Josh caressed the skin above her thigh-high boots. Sliding toward the hem of her skirt, his fingers slipped between her legs and traced the edge of her panties. She held her breath and stared at his profile. Why was he doing this?

His attention seemed fully absorbed in the conversation with his dad as he eased beneath the crotch of her panties, found her wet, and pressed his index finger in to the knuckle.

She released a soundless breath and gripped his wrist, her body flooding with warmth. Still, he didn’t look at her.

“You fired the contractor, right?” he asked his dad, curling his finger inside her.

Her head dropped against the seat back, her thighs parting. Nerve endings tingled along her inner thighs. She realized he was telling her without words that nothing would change between them. The church talk, his parents, his previous life wouldn’t sever their connection.

She relaxed around his grinding hand, her lap shrouded in darkness. Her breaths quickened. Her mouth moistened.

He stroked her until she couldn’t contain her panting. His hand pulled away, and he drew his finger into his mouth, watching her with a smile playing at the corners. “Liv will be sleeping in my room.”

“That’s fine, honey,” Emily said. “I’ll make up the couch for you.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes, his arm resting over her lap. “No, Mom. She’ll be sleeping in my room with me.”

That was not how she’d envisioned him exposing their relationship. She slipped down in the seat, wishing she could disappear.

Tense silence pulsed through the car. He squeezed her thigh, and his eyes remained closed.

“Son.” His dad shifted, his gaze on the rear view mirror. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, and we’ll work through that. But the rules haven’t changed. You ain’t gonna be hitched and not churched. Not under my roof.”

Josh sat forward, slowly, his eyes narrowed on the mirror. “Your rules haven’t changed, but mine—”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Fuck, she didn’t want to cause this family anymore pain. She turned toward him and cupped his face, shifting his attention to her. “Please, Josh? I want to sleep on the couch.” He’d hear the lie, but she trusted he’d understand her intention.

He reclined against her, shoulder to shoulder, and traced the skin between her fingers. For a stubborn pain in the ass, he let the subject drop too easily. Which meant he was probably going to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Emily shifted the conversation back to church crap, promising that the ministers held all the answers to helping him heal. Forty minutes later, they shuffled into the Carter’s small, single-story home. The front half was split between a sparsely decorated sitting room and a galley kitchen. A short hall led to two bedrooms and a bathroom in the back.

He stopped her at the bathroom door. “Take a shower if you want. My room’s right there.” He pointed at the door across the hall. Following her in, he set the bag of clothes on the counter and dug through the jeans, cotton dresses, and t-shirts.

A comfortable warmth tingled through her chest. She owed Camila for so damned much.

He pulled out a camisole and sleep shorts. “Can you sleep in this?”

She nodded. “What happened back there with Camila?”

“She said something to me. The crowd was loud. I don’t know. I read her lips.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “I swear she said, Watch your back.”

What? Her spine tingled. “Why would she say that?” Their enemies were dead.

He unfolded the camisole, and a piece of paper drifted to the floor. Handwritten scribble bled through the thin folded stationary. Her shoulders tightened as they stared at it.

He picked it up, his eyebrows pulling together, and handed it to her.

Her heart raced as she unfolded the note. “Camila has no way to contact me.” Why would she need to? She gripped his arm and held it up so they could read it together.