“You know, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just go back to the bunkhouse.”
“Why?”
“You seem a little drunk.”
“I’m more than a little.” His words are slurred.
I set my purse on the entryway table. He hasn’t let go of my hand, but he drags me over to the sofa and pulls me into his lap.
“Mmm, I missed you.”
I feel like, at this point, I’m only leading him on if I stay over tonight. I want to—every part of me wants to. I wasn’t even thinking straight when I walked over here after Scott dropped me off at the bunkhouse.
But here I am, sitting with him, and he’s clearly not mad about it.
He’s a playboy. Maybe he went on his own date tonight too.
“How was your evening?” I ask.
“Sucked.”
“Oh? Why?”
“You were gone.”
He’s tracing a freckle on my arm. I lean my face into the side of his, where his facial hair prickles my skin. He hasn’t shaved yet today, and the five-o’clock shadow gives him a sexy, broody look.
I missed you,I want to tell him.
But I meant what I said earlier. He can do so much better. He’s only twenty-six. His entire life is ahead of him, bright and full of possibilities. I’m about to turn thirty, which isn’t that big of a deal by itself, but with my custody situation and the fact that I know my ex-husband is going to continue to wreak havoc on my life and my son’s lives … I just can’t put that on him.
He starts nuzzling my neck. I close my eyes, my heart aching for how much I want him and this life.
I should go. Find a new place to live, move off the ranch. I don’t have the self-control to be his neighbor.
“I want you. Whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”
My throat tightens at his murmured words. He squeezes me around him and lifts me up, carrying me toward the bedroom.
“So, you want me to stay over?”
He grunts, “Yes,” and my stomach does a little dance.
He’s holding me sideways, like a baby. My arms are looped around his neck, and his expression is concentrated. He tosses me on the bed before tracing his hands down my leg until he reaches the low heel on my foot.
His eyes lock on mine as he slowly removes my shoes, one by one. He places them down on the floor.
“I’m going to shower. Don’t leave me.”
I nod. “I won’t.”
My hands are trembling as I wrap them around Dutton. My heart shatters into tiny pieces when he starts to cry.
“I don’t wanna go with Daddy! I don’t want to go! I wanna stay with Mommy!”
The social worker assigned by the judge for the supervised visit looks annoyed by the scene, not a shred of sympathy on her face. Dawson is already resolutely standing near Matt, whose face is a mask of feigned concern.
Sandy is here too. Her gray bob has recently been cut, and she’s dressed in a plain T-shirt with loose jeans. She was a day-care owner for thirty years before retiring.
