Leave a Trail (Signal Bend #7)(71)

Their life would begin now, together.

Dressed, he went out to the kitchen and found her sitting at their little table with a cup of tea. She was wearing a pair of knit shorts and a halter top, clothes that were easy to manage around her braced arm. Her right arm and leg were wrapped in the white mesh sleeve things they’d given her at the hospital. Her hair was loose and wild, over her shoulders and down her back. She had not lost that in the fire.

She smiled up at him as he came into the room. “Hey.”

“Hey. You get out of bed okay?” He kissed her cheek and went to pour himself a glass of orange juice.

“Obviously. Not too stiff this morning, actually.”

“Good. You want some breakfast?”

“I had a banana.”

“That’s not breakfast, babe.”

“It worked for me. Not hungry.” She wasn’t a big eater in general, but since the fire, getting her to eat was turning him into a nag. She didn’t seem to be interested. Ever. He didn’t completely believe that she’d had a banana, but he resisted the urge to check the garbage under the sink for the peel.

“Have an early lunch, then, right? Who’s coming today—Cory, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Cory is today’s babysitter.”

Lilli, Cory, and Tasha were doing the circuit, helping Shannon and Adrienne both. It was mostly Lilli and Cory, really, doing the heavy lifting. Tasha was busy at the clinic during the days, and some nights, too.

“Not babysitter. Company.”

“I know. It’s fine—it’s good, even. Being alone sucks. But I’d rather have your company.”

“I’m sorry, Adrienne. I’d stay if I could. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And I’ll call and check in, let you know what’s up with me. Okay?”

She nodded and sipped at her tea. Since it didn’t look like she was going to be a player for any real kind of breakfast, Badger poured himself a bowl of cereal. Standing at the counter, his back to her, he asked, with as little affect in his voice as possible, “You give any more thought to what we talked about last night?”

Quiet behind him. He didn’t turn right away, just finished making his breakfast. He put the cereal box and the milk carton away before he turned. She was staring at him, and her eyes followed him as he sat across from her at the table.

“You gonna answer me?”

“I have. I’ve answered you every time you’ve asked. I told you last night I didn’t want you to bring it up again. So the answer is no. I have not given it any more thought. I don’t intend to give it any more thought. And I hate that you won’t listen to me telling you what I want.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Yeah, I got that. I don’t care what you think. About this, I don’t care.”

“He doesn’t even know any of this happened.”

She stood up—and she did it okay, not too shaky. When she crossed to the sink with her mug, she limped a little, but Badger could tell that she’d been honest earlier when she’d said she wasn’t so stiff today.

After she rinsed her cup out, she stood there, at the sink, her back to him. “He made me choose. I chose. I mean it, Badge. Don’t bring him up again. Ever.” She limped out of the room without looking at him.

Before he followed, he finished his breakfast, giving her a little space. He shouldn’t have pushed again.

But it didn’t make sense in his head that her father was just out of her life. He knew how close she’d been to him. It sat wrong with him that her father and brothers had no idea that she’d almost died in a fire. He felt certain that if they knew, the bridge between them could be rebuilt. But she didn’t want them to know.

When he went back to their bedroom, she was standing at her little dresser, staring down into the sparse top drawer. He’d been stunned by all the clothes and shoes they’d unpacked a few weeks ago, stuffing two closets full in the B&B. Now, she had very little. And he had no idea how she’d rebuild the kind of wardrobe she’d had. Her style, despite her fondness for cowboy boots, was not exactly something that could be replicated at Walmart. Or even at the mall in Springfield.

He could tell that she sensed him coming up behind her, but she didn’t reject him when he got as close as he could and put his hands on her hips. Brushing her hair to the side, and with a lingering kiss to her bare right shoulder and its lovely freckles—he was a fan of this halter she was wearing—he murmured, “I’m sorry. I won’t say more about it.”

“I can’t deal, Badge. I need to keep that door closed. Locked. Key thrown away.” She tipped her head, extending the line of her neck for him, and he kissed from the ball of her shoulder up to her ear, letting his beard brush invisible lines over her skin. He knew how she liked that. He felt her pulse beating faster beneath his lips. When he nipped lightly on her skin, he felt her moan as much as heard it.

“I know, babe. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening. I love you. I want you happy. I want you whole.”

Almost of their own volition, his hands pushed forward, from her hips to her belly, his fingers sliding just under the waistband of her little shorts. She wasn’t wearing underwear.

More than a month since the fire. More than a month since they’d been intimate. In the hospital, he’d felt too worried and protective to get unmanageably horny. He’d barely thought of sex. But in the days that he’d had her home—in their home, in their bed, her body and his together with little between them—he was starting to have some trouble. But she was still hurt.