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She hesitated. “Casey mentioned that she contacted you.”
He continued to play with her hair. It was soothing and made his feelings much easier to get out. “I was a belligerent thirteen-year-old and told her to go to hell. Casey forgave her right away. He got the forgiveness gene I seem to be lacking. I wasn’t willing to forgive Emily either when she called wanting closure.”
“It’s hard to forgive when you’ve been badly hurt.”
He smiled. “Says the woman who I bet has no trouble forgiving. If Brandon called right this second and asked for forgiveness, what would you say?”
“I’d say, ‘Sorry, Brandon, I don’t have time to talk because I’m having amazing sex with my childhood sweetheart who has been crazy about me since kindergarten.’”
Rome didn’t laugh. There was something about the sentence that struck him wrong. It wasn’t the amazing part. What they’d shared had been amazing. It was the sex part. It hadn’t felt like just sex. It had felt like so much more.
She tipped her head and looked at him. “I was kidding, Rome. I know you haven’t been crazy about me since kindergarten.”
He lost himself in the green of her eyes. “I should have been. I should’ve seen you for who you are.”
She tipped her head. “And who is that?”
“A beautiful person. Inside and out.” He kissed her.
This time, he took things slow as if he wanted to prove to her that whatever this was, it wasn’t just sex. He worshiped her body with soft caresses and lingering kisses, reveling in each sigh and moan that came from her sweet lips. When she was breathless and begging, he entered her. Interlocking their fingers, he held her hands above her head and used deep, slow thrusts to bring them both to the edge. Their gazes held as they tumbled over together.
No, this wasn’t sex.
But he wasn’t willing to use another word.
Whatever it was, they spent the next week doing it whenever they got the chance. Rome made sure they got plenty of chances. He made excuses to come back to the house at all hours of the day. He forgot his hat. He needed to check on a horse in the stables. He needed to get his rain slicker—even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He was sure Daddy and Casey knew what he was doing, but, besides Casey’s knowing smirk, they never said a word.
Cloe had completely won them over too.
Some of it was her cooking. Cloe’s meals were what country culinary dreams were made of. Before she had arrived, working past dinnertime had been no problem. The thought of Casey’s cooking or a cold sandwich had not been enough to pull them away from herding cattle or mending fences. In fact, they’d paid no attention to time. Now, all three Remingtons had become clock-watchers. As soon as it got close to five o’clock—or even not so close—they finished up whatever they were working on and called it a day.
Sam and Casey didn’t argue nearly as much as they had—of course, that was Cloe too. She had a calming effect on both men. If they started to get into it, she would step in and soften whatever harsh words had been spoken. “I’m sure Casey didn’t mean any disrespect, Sam. He’s very proud of all you’ve accomplished.” “Like all fathers, your daddy just wants you to be all you can be, Casey.”
Then there were times when she wasn’t so soft. Like when all three of them had tracked in on her freshly mopped floors. After she had given them a thorough scolding, they now removed their boots, mud or no mud, in the mudroom. They also didn’t wear their hats in the house. Nor did they dive into the succulent dishes she’d prepared until she’d taken a seat and said grace.
Rome loved her cooking as much as his brother and daddy. But that wasn’t why he watched the clock, praying it would move faster. He thoroughly enjoyed dinner, but it was the time after dinner he enjoyed the most. Whether it was helping her do dishes and talking about their days, or sitting out on the front porch and enjoying the evening, or taking a walk down the country road and watching her excitement over all the spring wildflowers in bloom.
Or spending time in bed.
Cloe had a way of stripping off more than his clothes and making him feel comfortable in his own skin. When they were alone in bed, she seemed to feel the same way. In the last week, Rome had seen a side of her he’d never seen before. He realized how wrong he had been. Cloe Holiday was no wilting pansy. She was a steel magnolia. Under the soft-spoken façade was a strong, passionate woman who knew how to get her way without ever raising her voice.
She proved it Sunday morning when she woke him with a soft kiss. He went to pull her closer and deepen the kiss, but she drew away.
“No distractions this morning. I have to get ready for church.”
“Church?”
She smiled. “Yes. You know the building in town with the tall steeple that’s referred to as God’s house. I promised Mimi I’d be there. You can come if you want. Your daddy and Casey are coming.”
He stared at her. “You talked Sam and Casey into going to church? How did you manage that?”
“I just told them how much it would mean to me if we attended as a family.”
Family. There was something about the word that made his heart tighten.
Since Rome was a little boy, his daddy had stressed the importance of family. He’d taught Rome that blood was thicker than water. That your lineage and where you came from mattered. And keeping that lineage going was what mattered the most. Rome had believed him. He’d worked hard all his life to uphold the Remington name and to grow the ranch and make it bigger and better. But now, he realized family wasn’t about lineage or a ranch. It was about people. Not just people who had your same blood, but people who came into your life and made it better.
Cloe had made his life better.
