Unbroken (27 page)

“Me too. Too much. That's not what I want.”

“Why not? It didn't bother you that first night.”

“That's because I didn't know how much better it could be,” he said. “I don't want to finish this way. It's been too long. I want to be inside you. I want to come with you.”

He kissed her, propelling them back onto the bed, and down onto the mattress. They bounced a little and she laughed, because it was so intense, and sexy, and kind of funny. Because it was Cade and he was . . . everything.

He put his hand under her butt and raised her hips, testing her with the head of his cock before sliding deep inside. She arched against him, their eyes clashing. She looked away, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

Cade put his hand on her chin and turned her face back to his, but she kept her eyes closed.

“Amber,” he said.

She shook her head.

“Look at me.”

“No,” she whispered.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice rough.

She opened her eyes, pain lancing her chest when his gaze met hers, pleasure arcing through her when he thrust back into her body.

“Look at me,” he said again, keeping his eyes on her as he established a steady rhythm. Pushing her closer to orgasm, and something deeper, something that ran straight through her soul and grabbed her by the throat, squeezed tight. Made it hard to think. Hard to breathe.

She wanted to push back against the pleasure, push back against the emotion. But she couldn't deny it. Couldn't deny him.

“Amber,” he said, her name a raw plea on his lips, the first wave of his climax making his voice shake, pushing her over into her own.

She held on to his shoulders, her nails digging in deep as she clung to him, tried to use his strength to hold her to earth. To hold her together.

But it didn't. It couldn't. She was breaking apart inside, slowly, completely, and being rebuilt whole. For the first time. All the little pieces of her coming together. This was the most perfect moment she'd ever experienced, and the worst.

A window into something that could be perfect. But only for a while.

She wouldn't force him to keep her. She wouldn't make him spend his life that way. She wouldn't wish it on herself, either.

She couldn't be a responsibility to Cade. Couldn't be an obligation.

Not to him. Not when she . . . not when he was so very much to her.

He rolled off of her and pulled her against his body. She rested her head on his chest, felt his heart beating against her cheek, his skin damp with sweat. And then with a couple of her tears. They didn't speak, and after a while, the rhythm of his heart steadied, and his breathing turned steady.

She lay there, awake—and started making decisions about what she would do next.

Twenty-Two

When Cade got up the next morning, Amber was gone, and
the bison were due to arrive within the hour.

He was a little irritated she'd gone to work without waking him, but at least they were sleeping together again. In fairness to her, he hadn't exactly beaten her door down. But he'd been trying to give her space to make her decision.

Which he thought was pretty giving, considering what he wanted to do was throw her over his shoulder, haul her upstairs and tie her to the bed until she agreed to marry him. Or maybe he'd just tie her to the bed for fun.

Though that was a separate fantasy altogether.

Or not. He could make good use of her being bound to the bed while he made her stay still and think his proposal through.

He didn't know why she was hesitating. It was perfect. They would get married, and share this house, and this ranch. She would be taken care of. They would have the family she'd never had. It was all perfect.

He made breakfast and coffee, then went outside to wait for the truck that was carrying his new future. The future of his family.

Really, he felt like he should be panicking about this more. Like the acquisition of a wife and child should be a lot more disturbing than it was.

But no. He was . . . happy. Happy at the thought of being with her. And for some reason, ecstatic about the idea of her being with him forever. In his bed. As his wife.

Because he knew now that he would be a good husband to her. Because he wasn't his father. Because he'd decided not to be. And it was that damn simple.

Or maybe the biggest part of it was Amber. He knew he would never want another woman, with bone-deep certainty. He could hardly remember another woman. Hell, he didn't want to.

The idea of forever didn't feel so bad when he imagined it with her. Actually, it was forever without her that seemed unthinkable.

Cade spent the whole afternoon with the men who brought the bison over, getting them into the right places in the fields, and making sure everything was as put together as he thought, and by the time he was done, he realized Amber should have been home.

He ran into the house, fear hitting him hard in the chest. It was nothing, and he knew it. But he'd lost enough people in his life that sometimes his mind could only go to the darkest place first.

He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed her cell. It went straight to voice mail. He cursed and looked up the number for the diner.

“Delia's.”

“Hi, this is Cade Mitchell. I was just wondering if Amber left for the day?”

“Amber wasn't here today, hon,” said Delia.

“What?”

“She wasn't on the schedule. She's been sick and she told me she wouldn't be in at all this week.”

“Thanks,” Cade said, fear making it hard to breathe. “I'll call her cell phone.”

He did, and it went straight to voice mail again.

Panic settled in his gut. He walked upstairs and looked around, walked into the bedroom they'd shared last night.

He closed his eyes for a second, then went into the bathroom and looked at the cup that held her toothbrush, and for the past few weeks, his. Only his was there.

“Shit,” he said.

Then he opened up the cabinet. Her makeup bag was gone. Her hairbrush was gone. That stupid flat iron she never used was gone.

He swore and slammed the doors shut.

She'd left him.

He walked back into the bedroom, the pain in his leg shooting up into his spine. He knelt down on the edge of the bed, cursing, waiting for the pain to pass. But it didn't. It lingered. Deep in his bones, in his heart.

Amber had left him. She didn't want to marry him.

And right when he'd realized just why he thought he could be a good husband to her. Just why the idea of being with her forever didn't seem like a life term in prison.

He loved her.

He loved her, and she'd left him.

He growled and brought his fist down hard on the nightstand, the corner of the wood biting into the edge of his fist. But he didn't care. It didn't matter. The physical pain didn't matter. He might as well go ride a horse across the plains. It would only hurt his body.

Amber had cut open his chest and torn out his heart. He knew Amber. She would never yell. She would never make a fuss, or tell him to go to hell. This was just what she would do. Slip away early in the morning, with all her things in one bag. The girl who'd always acted like a tenant in the house she'd spent her teen and adult years in would pick up and move that easily.

Because she was a lot more closely related to that angry, hurting kid she'd been the first day she'd rolled into Silver Creek than she ever wanted anyone to believe.

Pain burst inside of him like a grenade. She hadn't told him. Hadn't shared with him. In the end, he hadn't been enough. In the end, his friendship, his damned love, hadn't been enough.

He'd never wanted love. Because of this. Because of the pain. Dammit, that was the real reason. Not just the fear that he'd be like his father . . . but the fear that he'd be like his mother. In love, and so stupid he couldn't see that he was in love alone.

But that was just what had happened. Not this week. Not this month. He was sure now that he'd loved Amber Jameson since he was sixteen years old. He'd just been too scared to acknowledge it. To himself, to anyone.

But now? Now there was no hiding it. All he could do was lie there and bleed.

But at least he wasn't afraid anymore. No, he was just fucking dying.

He laid his head back on the bed, Amber's scent, the smell of that damn girly shampoo of hers, teasing him, tormenting him.

For one moment, his whole life had been together. It had all been perfect. The ranch. Getting his revenge on Davis, getting justice. Making peace with Nicole and with Quinn.

And having Amber.

But he could lose the ranch. He could lose all the goodwill between him and Quinn and Nicole. He could let Davis walk free to win the biggest damn trophy the Rodeo Association had to offer, and he'd still be fine.

The only thing he needed was Amber.

And she was the thing he'd lost.

Without her, none of it meant anything.

*   *   *

“I like your store,” Nicole said, touching the row of small
tractors she'd been attracted to the first time she'd come into the store. She had a little tractor in her purse now. She figured she probably always would.

“I'm glad to hear it,” John said from his position behind the counter. “Does doing my taxes seem more appealing since you like the environment?”

“I don't know. Maybe. But then . . . I have a job back in Portland. I'm just on . . . family leave, actually. It was a family emergency, coming here to see the half-siblings I never knew. And the one I didn't even know about.”

“That must have been the highlight of your visit.”

She looked around the store, even though she was ninety percent sure no one else was in there. “I think the highlight of my trip may have occurred in bed. Your bed, specifically.”

“That's quite the compliment,” he said.

She looked at him, and she wanted to cry a little bit. Because something about this place, this town, this store, this man, felt more like home than anyplace she'd been before ever had. And she was supposed to leave it.

Go back to a desk job in Portland that she didn't like. To friends that she didn't like very much. To weather that sucked. Basically, the food was good. But her family was here . . . and then there was John.

Who was, by his own admission, a man-whore of the highest order. She was probably lucky he hadn't thrown her over for another woman already.

“Yeah, well . . . dysfunctional family reunion, multiple orgasms. It's a toss-up, but in the end I'm gonna go with the multi-Os.”

“That sounds like a breakfast cereal.”

“The breakfast of champions. As you've proved on a few occasions.”

“So,” he said, looking down at his computer, “when are you leaving?”

“Uh . . . I . . . soon.”

“Don't go,” he said, looking up from the computer and planting his hands on the counter, his eyes serious—shockingly so.

John was always laughing, always joking. Teasing and flirting. Sincerity wasn't something she'd seen on him before.

“Uh . . . what?”

“Stay. Stay here in Silver Creek. Stay with . . . me.”

“With you?” she asked, her heart pounding hard. “I don't understand.”

“What's there to understand? You can move into my apartment and have very little privacy. I'll sleep with you and probably make you meals. And you really could do my taxes. And I'll pay you in very small farm implements. You like those. I don't just have little tractors. You could also have a tiny hay baler.”

“But . . . but why do you want me to stay with you? That's what I don't understand.”

“Weren't we just discussing multiple orgasms?”

“Why, John?”

“I love you.”

All the air left her lungs in a rush. “You love me?”

“Yes. I love you.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to decide if she was panicking or . . . if she was deliriously happy. “Can you love someone you've only known a few weeks?”

He rounded the counter and strode toward her, his eyes intent on hers. “I've not loved a lot of people I've known for years. I don't see what time has to do with anything.”

“I . . . it seems like time is important,” she said. “For trust.”

“Do you trust anyone?”

“Yes,” she said, her throat tight.

“Who?”

“You.” And she realized it was true. She wasn't sure how he'd managed it, this guy she'd known for such a short amount of time, but he'd become someone she trusted. There was no one back home who fit that brief.

Not only did she trust him, she'd allowed herself to depend on him. To need him. She'd never needed anyone in her life, because in her experience, that just left you vulnerable.

But she needed him. Wanted him.

Loved him.

“You trust me?” he asked, taking her hand in his. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I think that's even better than I love you.”

“Well, I think I might . . . that . . . too. But you said you were a man-whore and a playboy. And you said not to fall for you and—” He cut her off with a kiss.

When they parted, he touched her lip with his thumb. “Yeah, I said all that. But that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I knew you were different. Before I knew you were you. It was before you let me count your tattoos. Before you told me about your childhood. Before I knew that your left cheek had a dimple.”

“And those are important details?”

“They're the most important details in my whole life. Stay with me.”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I'll stay with you. I want . . . I want this life,” she said, looking around the store. “I want to live here. I want to be here. With feed and fencing and tiny tractors.”

“Are you just staying with me for my store?”

“No. I think I love your store because you're in it.”

“I'm glad. Because I don't think I would love it anymore if you weren't.”

“That's . . . the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I've never made anyone's life better before,” she said, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“You didn't just make my life better. I feel like you made it start.”

“That is . . . way too romantic.”

“You have an amazing rack.”

“Oh, that balanced things out,” she said, laughing through her tears.

“I'll say things like that more often than I say the romantic shit. I guarantee it.”

“That's good.”

He took the red hay baler off the shelf by her shoulder and held it out to her. “So, will you move in with me?”

“I will.” He put the little die cast vehicle in her hand and she closed her fingers around it, happiness, belonging, home like she'd never known before, pouring through her.

She had a family. She had love. And not just in the Mitchells, but in John.

“I suddenly have so much more than I ever thought I would,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his chest.

“Two small replicas of farm equipment?”

“Yes. And the love.”

“Oh, right. The love. Well, I promise I'll keep giving you both.”