Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

I know how much he loves the softness, the sedation in the strokes. It calms us both in a way I never expected.

His touch moves across my cheekbone to my lips, his demeanor a world away from the man who chased after John. That Lorne was chillingly cold and deadly. Had he caught John, Lorne would’ve been hauled away from a murder scene in handcuffs.

He would be sitting in a jail cell right now, awaiting sentencing.

I could’ve lost him.

“There’s so much we need to talk about.” I drop my hands to the counter, my body sagging beneath the weight of it all.

He brushes the hair from my face, waiting for me to elaborate.

“The past.” I swallow.

“Tiana’s death.”

I nod. “The future.”

“Our relationship.” He steps into me and in one gentle pull, he intertwines our bodies in a tight embrace.

I can’t pretend there’s no relationship. It’s wrapped around me, holding me as I fall.

“The present.” I rest my head against his strong chest.

“John Holsten.”

There aren’t enough hours left in the evening to discuss how we’re going to proceed with that.

As he continues to touch my face and hair, I lose the will to talk at all.

Angling my head back, I dive into his eyes. “I want to go to the water.”

His dark brows form a V. “Water?”

“The pond on the east side of the property. The one enclosed by a cliff and—”

“I know the one. I used to swim there.” He doesn’t move to take me.

“John won’t come here tonight.”

“Or ever. But if he did…” His eyes darken with bloodshed.

Then he blinks, straightens. His hand laces mine, and he tugs me into the bedroom. From the closet, he removes the shotgun, confirms it’s loaded, and straps it onto my back.

He moves toward the door, but his gaze stays with me, fastened like the fingers around my heart. If he wants it, he only needs to pull. I won’t fight. I won’t shut him out.

Because I ache for another dance under the stars.

Maybe he’ll hurt me in the end. It’s possible he’ll never love me. But he’s worth the pain, the heartbreak.

He’s worth the fall.

“I hear you thinking.” A long-legged step brings him back to me, and he releases my hand to cup my face.

I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. Every time I ignored my gut and the messages of universal energy, I suffered greatly.

The silence urged me not to sell my body. The wind begged me not to climb into John’s truck. I dismissed it all for my sister, and I lost her.

Then I went out tonight, against the protests of the man trying to protect me, and I lost her all over again.

Tiana’s death is a wound I will carry forever, and John Holsten just ripped it open. But sometimes, what seems to be the hardest thing to bear is the universe’s attempt to wake me up.

Tonight forced me to accept two things. One, Tiana isn’t coming back. Two, Lorne feels deeply and fiercely for me.

The moment he realized I was attacked, he turned into an indomitable predator, both beautiful and terrifying, mercurial and logical. He’s a courageous man in his essence, who loves as passionately as he fights.

Leaning into me, he touches my neck and zings a frenzy of static across my skin. His mouth moves closer, holding me in transitory paralysis.

Is he going to kiss me? My pulse thunders for it, but his lips veer off to my ear.

He doesn’t whisper, just breathes, and my insides shiver in an intoxicated dance of energy.

“The universe is speaking.” I marvel out loud.

“Are you listening?”

I nod my head against his.

With a chuckle, he lifts me off my feet, shotgun and all, and carries me over his shoulder and out of the house. In the stable, he puts me in the saddle. Then he rides me out to the water.

The swimming hole stretches about fifty feet in diameter. A steep rocky cliff forms a horseshoe around it and slants into the starry sky. The reflection of the moon on black water floats like a milky spotlight. I’m drawn to it.

Sliding off the boots and socks, I walk barefoot to the shoreline. My toes dig into earth and wet grass, my senses attuned to the buzzing of nocturnal life.

Behind me, Lorne ties Captain to a tree. “Why are we here?”

“My ancestors believed that water is sacred.”

“You want to swim?”

“I want to cleanse.”

There are no pastures here. Livestock doesn’t use this pond. So I set the shotgun on the ground and remove my shirt, shorts, and undergarments. Muggy air kisses my nude skin, and I lift my face, soaking in the moonlight.

It’s refreshing, liberating, to be so exposed and close to nature.

Focusing all thought and energy on the water, I enter east, into a pond that is silk and shadow.

My feet slip over the muddy bottom, and gentle ripples lap at my toes, my ankles, then my calves. The water is neither cold nor flowing as it should be. I was never a very good student in the sacred ceremonies, but I remember the basics of this tradition from my grandmother.