Page 69 of His Saving Grace

She reached out to touch him, but hesitated before she made contact. She had no idea what he was dreaming about, and she didn’t want to freak him out. So, she lay back down, not quite touching him, but close. “Mason?” She kept her voice quiet, light, soothing. “Come back to me, baby. You’re safe.”

He moaned and stopped thrashing, but didn’t open his eyes.

“That’s right, baby. You’re safe now.”

“Grace?” His voice was raspy, broken, and he turned toward her. He opened his eyes. The torment in their depths made every inch of her ache. She cupped his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed. A lump pulsed to life in her throat. She swallowed hard, but didn’t know what to say to help him.

She didn’t have to say anything. Quick as lightning, he grabbed her hip, rolled her over so her back was to his front, and wrapped his body around hers like she was the only thing stopping him from being ripped away. He cocooned her completely, every part of them touching. He was trembling. Her heart splintered into sharp, painful pieces.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She rubbed his arm in a hopefully soothing rhythm.

His face was buried in her hair, and she felt him shake his head, his breath tickling the back of her neck. He pressed his lips to the back of her head and it was her turn to tremble.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, licking her lips. “That maybe you should see if there’s a support group or something close by. Or maybe you could join one of the online groups.”

He sighed and she tensed, sure she’d overstepped. She just didn’t want to see him in so much pain. She could help with the physical, if he’d let her, but she wasn’t dumb enough to think she could help with the emotional. Sure, she could listen and pretend to understand, but that wasn’t fair to either of them.

“I’ve been thinking about it, too.” His words were muffled, and she had to strain to hear him. “Since I’m going to be staying a while, it’s probably a good idea.”

She relaxed, melting against him, glad they were on the same page. She closed her eyes, feeling safe and secure wrapped in his embrace.

Tell him. Tell him now, before it’s too late. Her eyes popped open and she opened her mouth to say the words, but nothing came out. She closed it and swallowed and tried again. Still nothing.

He trailed his lips across her shoulder, his teeth nipping at her flesh. “Distract me,” he said, the words quiet, with an edge of desperation. “Make me forget, even for just a little while.” His hand traveled lower, sliding inside the fabric of her panties. Although he’d woken up and taken care of the condom earlier, she was still wearing her lacy underwear.

Within seconds, all rational thought fled and the fact that she was nothing but a big chicken was the farthest thing from her mind.

Mason whistled as he walked toward the house, the evening sun casting long shadows on the ground. He was in such a good place. Getting his feet back under him regarding the ranch. His and Owen’s relationship was civil, if still a little strained. At least Owen no longer made a beeline for the exit when he saw Mason coming. And he’d found a fantastic online PTSD support group to talk things through when they got rough.

And then there was Grace.

Whatever they had—he wasn’t yet at a stage where he wanted to define it—was incredible. She was beautiful and funny and sexy as hell. And the sex…well, the sex was incredible.

But it could be so much more than that.

At least, it could if she’d just open up and tell him the truth. He could see the battle going on inside her whenever she didn’t think he was watching. If she would just talk to him, they’d be able to work it out and then there’d be nothing standing in the way.

He’d promised after their fight a couple weeks ago that he wouldn’t push, and he hadn’t. It didn’t mean the whole thing didn’t bug the shit out of him. He imagined all sorts of weird stuff, each new scenario worse than the last. All of which were way more dramatic than the truth.

He opened the back door, removed the cowboy hat he’d started wearing, and stepped into the kitchen. Wearing your hat in the house was likely to get you a whack with his mother’s infernal wooden spoon.

Declan leaned against the counter by the fridge, an ice-cold beer in his hand. Mason’s mouth watered.

“Should you be drinking?” Mason hung his hat on a peg by the door and eyed his brother’s uniform. Last time he checked, the county frowned on its sheriff’s drinking on duty.

Declan flipped him off and took a swig of his beer. Mason laughed, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a beer of his own. He popped the top and took a drink, the cold beer sliding down his dusty throat.

“I’m glad you’re alone.” Declan put his bottle on the counter.

Mason turned to him and cocked an eyebrow. Cryptic. He didn’t like cryptic.

“I, umm, think I found out something about Grace.”

Mason’s pulse leapt, pounding in triple time. He fought the urge to grab Declan by the shirt and shake the information out of him.

Declan reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

Mason reached for it, his hand trembling slightly. Declan had the good sense to not mention the shake. He unfolded the paper slowly, knowing whatever was on it was going to change things.