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“Being kicked repeatedly by a horse would be painful. And it might kill you.” Archer’s tone was anything but sympathetic.
Fisher sighed long and loud, shaking his head in pure exasperation. “That’s about right.”
Archer stood there, his computer cord clutched in one white-knuckle fist. He frowned at Fisher, his lips pressed tight as he stepped forward and pulled Fisher into a hard embrace. Fisher was too startled to speak, his brother’s uncharacteristic show of affection awkward. And comforting.
* * *
KYLEE GLANCED AT the clock. It was two in the morning. Shawn snored in the other double bed, oblivious to her tossing and turning. She’d counted sheep, stared at a single spot on the ceiling and gone through the ways to make various drinks—but nothing helped. She was wide-awake.
Maybe it was because the Lodge was so quiet.
Maybe she was worried about this weekend, their trip—starting over.
She drew in a wavering breath.
She didn’t lie. She shouldn’t start now. She knew the truth. It was Fisher. Somehow the thought of leaving him scared her more than anything else. Even Jesse. She didn’t know what to do. Or how to bear the almost unbearable pain in her chest that thoughts of heading to Montana prompted.
The last few days he’d stood by silently, wanting to help, offering a smile or some word of comfort. And every smile or word of encouragement tugged at her heart, challenging her resolve to hold him at arm’s length. She knew it was the right thing to do, for him.
She’d never had something to give up before. Now she was giving up so much. Her job. Her friends—something she’d never had before. A community and friends for Shawn.
And Fisher. And all the love and joy and hope he gave her. It always came back to him. To the aching emptiness that threatened to swallow her whole if she left.
If she stayed...
She slid from her bed and padded across the thick, plush carpet to peer out the glass pane of the French doors. The full moon was bright, spilling into their room and illuminating the Lodge’s wide wraparound porch. If Teddy Boone hadn’t insisted they stay with him, where would they be now? On the road, probably. Her money wouldn’t have run out, but they’d both be jumpy and tired by now. Instead, they were surrounded and protected by acres of Boone land. Shawn was happy—suntanned, exhausted and happy. And she was lonely. Even surrounded by the Boones, she ached for more. She ached for Fisher.
It would be better when they left. When she didn’t see him every day...
She closed her eyes, panic and grief washing over her. She wouldn’t see him every day. She wouldn’t hear his laugh or know that he’d drop everything if she needed him. Leaving him would be the hardest thing she’d ever done. If she could do it.
Staying wasn’t an option. If Jesse came...
She pressed her forehead to the cold glass. What if he came? She swallowed, trying to picture Jesse. Here. But she couldn’t.
Was Fisher right? Was his threat just a threat? It didn’t make sense for him to leave Las Vegas. Why come all this way for two people who would only cause him trouble—the one thing he took pains to avoid? And if he came, what would happen? He’d yell, maybe throw a few punches, but he couldn’t force them to go. He wouldn’t touch the Boones, he was too smart for that.
So why was she leaving? She swallowed, allowing herself the freedom to think—to hope.
Everything she’d ever wanted, even though she’d had no idea, was right here. She and Shawn had been given a real chance at a real life. With people who loved them. With a man who would always take care of them.
Shawn snorted, rolled over and sighed, making her smile.
Let him come. He’s not going to hurt you. Not here. I won’t let him. Fisher’s words reached her.
She slipped through the French door, sighing as a warm evening breeze blew against the oversize T-shirt she was sleeping in. She walked forward and rested her hip against the railing, listening to the chirp of the cicadas and crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. Out here, the sky was blue black, sparkling with millions of stars in a cloudless sky. Her gaze wandered, until she saw something from the corner of her eye.
Fisher was sprawled in one of the deck chairs, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his cowboy hat tipped forward on his head. One arm dangled off the side of the chair, the other lay across his chest. A soft snore reached her.
She stared at him, her heart thumping while every inch of her demanded she go to him. So she did. She leaned forward, carefully lifting his hat to stare down at him. He was so damn handsome, rough and big and manly and...gorgeous. She loved him.
“Kylee?” His eyes popped open. “You okay? What’s wrong?”
She crouched by his chair, taking his hand in hers. “I’m sorry, Fisher.”
He blinked, not awake. “For what?”
“For the last four days.” She cradled his hand against her chest, loving its warmth and solid feel. “For putting you through...what I’ve put you through.”
