The Lost and Found (11 page)

Josiah chuckled darkly and then was quiet. He was on his feet in an instant, his tall frame dwarfing mine. He lifted his arms above his head and in one smooth motion, peeled his shirt off. I stared at him in fascination. He was more beautiful, more rugged, more untamed than I’d imagined. My eyes roved slowly over him, his chest, his arms, his shoulders. He was fairly muscled — not body-builder hard, where everything looked direct and intentional, proportionate. He was an artful display of a working-man’s roughened and toughened body. Cut. Chiseled. Rugged. Beautiful. A sprinkling of dark red hair curled across his chest.

On each pectoral plane, right above the nipple, a sun was tattooed in shades of black and yellow. The center of each sun had some sort of design in it — I couldn’t tell what it was until I got to my feet.

Josiah stood still. He didn’t move, even as my fingertips lightly grazed over his skin. My stomach tightened as I realized the center of each sun was a scar. My gaze flickered up to his in question.

“Courtesy of my mother, for my fifth birthday. I’d asked for a cake. She burned me instead.”

I swallowed back nausea, my throat tight. I steadied my breath and looked at his arms, his neck. Josiah turned around.
Wings
. Wings were tattooed across his back and shoulders. The tattoo began just to the outside of his spine; the leathery wings were extremely detailed in shades of black and gray and blue. The wings had hooks. Claws? I’m not sure what they’re called, but those claws curled up the back of his neck and around to just under his ears. At the points just over his shoulder blades were two more burn marks; these were bigger, more defined. The tattoo artist had done an amazing job incorporating the scars into his work. Gently I grazed one fingertip along the wings, up his neck then down to the scars.

Josiah glanced over his shoulder at me; his eyes sparking with some inner turmoil, some heat. “Those were from Dad. He wanted to get me something, too.”

“That’s sick,” I whispered past the lump in my throat. How could anyone do that to his own child?

“Billy helped me get the ink done when I turned eighteen, to mark myself over their ugliness, with something of my own choosing.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Why do people always say they’re sorry, even when they’ve done nothing wrong?

“I told you, it’s gotta be nice to know you’re wanted. I was born to both my parents — who never cared a crap about me. The state had to take me away from them. A stranger took me in. You were born to a mom who loved you and wanted you. Circumstances took that away from you. I learned to live, to survive. You will, too.”

“It’s hard,” I said, my eyes drifting over the muscles under that ink.

Josiah turned to face me. Now my eyes were staring at his chest. “I know,” he said. “Giving up is easier. But giving up is for cowards. You’re not a coward. You’re a fighter — you just never knew it before.”

Though I already knew the answer, I asked the question anyway, “Are you a fighter?”

“I learned to be.”

“Will you teach me?”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, but with a piercing quality to it, reaching deep inside me, bringing me to the brink.

I felt like I was on a cliff, on the edge of a precipice, like a huge abyss opened before me and right now I couldn’t even see the bottom. His voice pushed me closer to that edge, pressing me on. I wanted to take that step, to listen to the urging and trust him, but I had to know something first. “Why?” I whispered. “Why are you helping me? Why did you wake me up and make me choose?”

Josiah stared at me for one long moment, his blue eyes gazing into mine. They flickered down to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “Because you needed to know you were still alive. Because I saw something I recognized in you.” He paused then said, “Because if you didn’t wake up, I’d never be able to do this.”

Josiah stepped closer to me, our bodies a whisper apart; my eyes focused on the suns on his chest. He raised his hands to my shoulders, trailed them up my neck, to my jaw, my mouth. He grasped my chin and lowered his head to mine. His lips were firm, gentle, hot, and a little dry — they possessed mine effortlessly. His hands moved around to the back of my head, wove themselves through my hair, gripping me, holding me.

Whoa
. I was definitely alive. In this moment I was
glad
I was alive. My world, my awareness, my focus narrowed to him — his mouth on mine. The feel, the taste, the texture of him. I kissed him back, let my hands travel over his shoulders and feel his strength. Josiah gave that strength to me; he enveloped me in it, surrounded me with it. I completely trusted him.

Several slow, delicious minutes later he lifted his mouth from mine, pulled back, and pressed his lips to my forehead. His breath was as unsteady as mine, his heart raced in his chest. I closed my eyes and just breathed him in.

“That’s… that’s a good reason to be alive,” I whispered after I’d caught my breath. Josiah’s chuckle rumbled in my ear, then he stepped back.

“I’ve been waiting a while to do that.”

“I’m glad you finally did.”

“Me too,” he chuckled again. “Fair warning — I plan on doing that often.”

“Duly noted,” I breathed.

“Good.” He smiled as he kissed my lips gently then said, “Let’s finish this up, get back to the house.”

Josiah

BILLY HAD WORRIED ABOUT
Crimson, if she’d be able to do this job, if it’d be too much for her. Josiah reassured the older man that she’d be fine. The wreck had been cleared away; the only evidence was the broken fence-line. Crimson had come such a long way, and Josiah felt she was strong enough to handle it.

Chase McFee, one of the locals from Salmon who had graduated the same year as Josiah, had, after a night of drinking, attempted to drive himself home. He’d lost control of his little Honda and had torn through the fence; thankfully no one else was injured in the accident. Dazed, he’d been able to climb out of the car, and after several minutes had made his way down to Red’s house and crying, confessed to the whole mess. Chase was arrested; Red called Billy to let him know. He also arranged to have the wreckage towed away. Billy told him he’d take care of the fence.

Normally fixing the fence was a job for Josiah. As the ranch foreman it was his duty to take care of those types of things, but Billy knew that Crimson worked with Josiah so he asked him to put it off for a while. When two weeks had passed, Josiah told Billy he intended to fix that fence.

“You sure she’s ready?” Billy had questioned him. He could hear the concern in the man’s voice.

“She’s ready. Crimson can handle this,” Josiah reassured him.

“Maybe she needs more time…”

“She’s ready, Billy.”

Josiah watched Crimson carefully as they pulled up to the crash site. She’d seemed a little distracted that morning, and he’d noticed her face had been a little flushed. Josiah had caught her looking at him several times and wondered what was going through her mind. Now, as she took in the torn and broken fence, her brown eyes widened, and for a moment the blood drained from her face. She asked what had happened, her voice low, and a little raw with emotion.

Josiah wanted her to relax, so he stayed calm, nonchalant — this was just another duty to perform, no need to worry, no excitement here. He scratched his chin, casual-like and told her it had happened a couple weeks back. Immediately Crimson snapped her focus from the wreck itself to the reason behind allowing the fence to remain unrepaired for so long. She knew that wasn’t normal for him. After he explained Billy’s reasoning, Josiah gave her a much-needed dose of confidence. He told her he thought she was strong enough to handle it. Then he quickly stepped out of the truck, leaving her no choice but to follow him.

They worked for several hours and Josiah could feel her eyes on him like a physical touch. Like her small, gentle fingers were grazing over his back, his neck, his shoulders. Tension was building. Josiah felt explosive. He tried working off that extra energy through the job he was performing, but he could still feel her eyes on him. He wanted his hands on her. He just didn’t know if she was ready yet. Yes, Crimson had made great strides. She was no longer the walking dead. She was alive, but was she alive enough to handle him? That he didn’t know yet, so he’d have to rein it in and wait.

Finally, when Josiah couldn’t take the tension any longer, when he’d been contemplating throwing down the post-hole digger, pushing her up against that truck, and taking her mouth with his, he simply asked her, “What’s up?” If he was going to control himself, she was going to need to redirect her thoughts, or at least her eyes.

And then suddenly she was telling him everything. All her pain, all her fears, all her worries. Josiah already knew the gist of what she was sharing with him from Billy, but he was relieved that she was now able to articulate her own feelings in all this, and that she trusted him enough to open up about it.

Josiah let her talk. He didn’t interrupt, he didn’t question; he just let her get it all out. As she talked, he continued working; the only comments he made were instructions to her for the work they were doing. After she finished talking, he saw her shoulders lift as that burden left her, and then after a few more minutes she sagged again, anticipating his reaction, his horror at the truth of her life. While Crimson’s past was a painful and confusing one, it wasn’t the worst he’d heard or experienced, so he just kept working.

Crimson was helping him hold the wire as he stretched it tightly and nailed it off. All of a sudden it began slipping through her grip; Josiah moved swiftly to assist her. A loose wire can be dangerous; he’d seen people cut up pretty bad from a snapped line as it rebounded back. He took a firm hold of the loosening wire, one arm on either side of her, and there she was, her little body pressed up against him. He could feel her against his chest; his arms were nearly around her, and it felt so dang right. She
belonged
there and he never wanted to let her go. As he inhaled, her lemon, vanilla, and sunshine scent twisted his gut with need and desire. And then she’d begun to relax into him, to accept him. He could see the flutter of her eyes, hear the catch in her breath, feel the softening in her stance.

Josiah knew if they didn’t pull it together right then, he’d be lost. “Tighten that down some, Crimson, or we’re gonna have a serious problem here,” he warned her.

He had to nudge her arm gently to get a reaction out of her. It was like she’d just melted and melded into him.

Once Crimson became aware of her surroundings again, of what they were doing, she took a firmer grip on the wire, and in doing so pulled away from him. Josiah, relieved and frustrated at the same time, quickly stepped back. He nailed the wire down as fast as he could then turned to the truck, in desperate need of ice water. A shower would have been ideal, but he’d have to settle for the water bottles sitting in the small ice chest. He tossed one to Crimson, and they both took a moment to collect themselves. He leaned against the truck and watched her as she took long sips of the cold water, her shirt clinging to her in all the right places.

Josiah decided he wasn’t ready to get back to work, not just yet, not when he might find a need to put his hands on Crimson again. So they took a lunch break. He knew he needed to distract his mind, get it off Crimson and her body. Because he could still feel her pressed against him, and it was driving him insane. He reflected on what it was she’d shared with him, reminding himself she was still damaged, still hurt. And then, because she’d been so open with him, he decided to let her in, let her see a little of his own personal, hellish past.

Josiah knew that Crimson tended to steer away from anything having to do with Billy. He could see she was uncomfortable around him. But, he also knew that Billy desperately loved her and regretted his actions in the past regarding her. He told Crimson about Billy, how Billy had helped him, how Billy had saved him. And as he spoke, he watched the walls come back up. Crimson tried making light of the situation, tried to shift the focus from her and Billy, and their lack of relationship. In doing so, she’d inadvertently brought the conversation right back to Josiah and herself.

“What are your tattoos?” she asked, quickly shifting gears, seeking a diversion.

Josiah grinned to himself; he knew she was reaching for anything to pull her away from her thoughts, but now he was cornered. He’d tried, tried to let it go, but her diversion fueled his desire, fanning the flames until he felt devoured by it. He kept his gaze focused on her — his blue eyes held her golden, honey-brown ones. Maybe it was time she was made perfectly aware of his feelings for her, made to face her attraction to him.