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How do I wake him? I want to slide the back of my hand over his masculine bone structure and comb my fingers through his hair but I settle on an arm shake. His inked skin is warm in my hand and a lot smoother than I thought it would be from a man who tries so hard to be a walking, talking callous.
“Dash,” I whisper. I use a louder voice because the whisper doesn’t work. “Dash…”
He wakes, but not the way some people might with a human sitting on the edge of their bed in the middle of the night. Dash isn’t that kind of person. His head flicks in my direction, his eyes wide open momentarily before narrowing them to focus on me. He inhales a sharp breath through his nose.
“Dash, it’s Romeo… I think he’s getting worse.”
With that, the cowboy hops up fast, completely unconcerned with the fact that he is buck naked. His powerful ass moves swiftly, and my greedy eyes work hard to memorize his every inch. All I get is his backside bent over, legs just wide enough for me to vaguely make out his balls. He opens a drawer and, taking out boxer briefs, he slides them over the best view I’ve had in ages. He snatches his work jeans that are slung over a chair.
He turns to me, chest bare apart from the patterns on his skin. He buckles his belt over the angles of his hip bones and what I can’t see, but imagine, is a very happy trail.
He clears sleep from his throat then asks, “What’s going on with him?”
I’m still sitting on the edge of Dash’s bed. I stand and nervously throw the covers back into being partially made then wipe my hands on my jeans. “Um… he’s sweating. Keeps lying down and wanting to roll. It’s hard to keep him on his feet. I’m sorry I came to wake you but…”
Dash smooths a shirt over his head. “You did the right thing.” He swipes his hands over his face, followed by fingers through his hair, and when he faces me again, he seems wide awake. “Let’s go sort this guy out.”
ChapterSeven
DASH
Wakingup to Molly’s touch was—well, I imagine, because I wouldn’t know much these days—like waking up to the sunrise. I’ve been startled out of my slumber by the world’s loudest, most annoying alarm clock for so many years.
I don’t know if I was having my incredible dream before or after she arrived in my bedroom. It’s remarkable all the same because I either don’t dream or have bad ones. But my mind was on a secluded beach, sand perfectly warm, massaging my back as I lay in it. The sound of waves lapping on the shore had me totally relaxed. Sea birds punctuated the consistent lull of waves just enough to remind me I was on vacation.
Then, my arm got all fuzzy, like energy from another world was flowing into me. And that’s when my mind began to break back into reality. A reality where someone was touching my arm. I knew right away it was Molly. I didn’t know how. I hadn’t even opened my eyes yet. But… I know the feeling of her now.
I was hazed, so her hand stayed on me long enough for me to like it. Long enough for me to have a split moment of desire to sweep her into the bed and under the sheets with me in a chance to offer the rest of my skin the heaven of that touch.
But when I finally woke enough to talk sense back into myself, a shameful part of me was glad there was a problem because it helped erase those reckless thoughts.
It’s a concern how much I like being close to her.
Now she stands almost as near as she was sitting on the bed next to me. We work around the small stall, made even smaller by a horse two sizes too big for the stable. Molly has no choice but to invade my personal space. I tell myself a lie that I hate it, but it’s a cold, cold night, and even in this shitty circumstance, the woman has a warm presence I can’t deny.
I pull up Romeo’s lips to get a look at his gums, and Molly is there with me, shoulder to shoulder. She wants to learn more, I know that’s the only reason her side touches mine, but after her being in my room with me naked under the covers, images of her in that towel come flooding back. I get itchy. How could I be thinking about the curves she flaunts under that puffer jacket at a time like this?
It’s dim. With one sole stable light holding out the darkness, she leans into me, just like that morning I showed her how to examine the horses like I do. Her sweet perfume is long gone, but I like her smell even more now. It’s uniquely her. Something like the scent of rain approaching while standing in a field of strawberries and mint. And hay. But that might be the stalls.
Her side brushes against mine, and we’re practically cheek to cheek as we squint, trying to take in the shade of Romeo’s gums.
I dart my eyes to the side for a glance at her beauty, and her face displays an empathy for Romeo that makes her even more attractive than she already is. She strokes his under belly with that soft, caring hand of hers, and my mind is drawn to my own forearm. I still feel her warmth on it like a phantom limb. I wonder what it would have felt like if I’d let her touch me longer tonight. It’s an affection I’ll never allow, but I want it just the same, even though I know that kind of closeness will never work for me.
Knowing that a decision will be made on Romeo’s fate tonight makes my heart come alive in a way I’m normally very good at suppressing. That’s all this is. I get emotional over the horses, and it’s seeping into my other thoughts. Plus, there’s nothing wrong with a little admiration for the way someone handles the horses.
Though I’d say it’s a little more than admiration. I’m absolutely fixated on the way her hand soothes Romeo.
Once, when I was about nine, I stayed with my uncle and aunt up in Montana. While I was there for the summer, they had to put their dog down after a freak accident, and I had to go along to the vet since I was too young to leave back. My aunt told me to wait outside, but then, my uncle suggested it’s an important experience, for a ranch boy, to be in the room.
They stroked that dog, petted and petted and petted it to the point I thought there wouldn’t be any skin on their palms when we left the sterile, white room. Now, I recall the way they touched their dog. They petted him to soothe themselves. They petted him for one last touch to commit to memory. They did it forthem.
Molly touches Romeo forhim. Her caress isn’t that of a lamenting, worried rancher. She’s deliberate. Full of hope to heal. It’s more like maybe if she gives him enough of herself, he’ll be okay. My throat goes dry and thick all at the same time. I give it a good, firm clear, take out my phone, and put a flashlight on his gums for a second time, just to be sure getting my sister is the right thing to do. She might be sleeping by now since I asked her to come at three for a shift.
Romeo’s mouth illuminates all right, but a lot more than that shines, too. How the hell is Molly still so beautiful after being up for what has got to be a good fifteen, sixteen hours?
I pat Romeo’s side. “His meds have worn off.”
“He’s in a lot of pain.” Molly’s eyebrows pinch together.
