One to Leave (One to Hold 5)

I went straight to the door and was just about to push through it when Mariska ran up to stop me. She was taller than her friend, but smaller than me. Her skirt swayed around her slim hips with her movements.

“You forgot this.” She touched my hand before holding out the cup.

Her skin was cool against mine, and I wanted to pull her against my chest. Memorize the feel of her body, take a deep inhale of her hair so I knew her scent. I wanted to watch her as I drove deep between her thighs, see how the light changed in those beautiful eyes. I wanted to hear the sounds she made when she came.

But it was more than sexual desire I felt. Her touch, the sound of her voice, did something to me. It filled my head with images of morning light breaking over her skin. Time passing in her arms. Her stomach round with my baby.

Jesus. It was coming off the fucking drugs is what it was. I needed to get out of here, to Uncle Bill’s. If I couldn’t get it together there, none of this mattered. Besides, I didn’t know anything about this woman. Correction, this girl. Up close, I could tell she was at least ten years younger than me.

“Thanks,” I said and pushed through the door.

* * *

Bill met me at the airport. I’d made it to Cleveland on Imodium and ibuprofen then I’d left the truck in the parking garage and boarded a five-hour flight to Great Falls, bolstered mainly by Benadryl and alcohol.

Bill was my dad’s younger brother, and like father, like son, they’d never gotten along. Still, my uncle had always been good to his nephews. He was someone I could talk to when my old man didn’t have anything to say to us. I rarely had much to say myself, but when I did, I expected someone to listen to me besides our mother.

I remembered my dad saying once Bill was an alcoholic. At the time I was too young to know what that meant, but from my father’s tone of voice, it sounded on par with being a murderer.

Bill conquered those demons years ago, and after, he’d owned a home in Arizona that Patrick and I visited every summer—minus our parents—and now this horse ranch in Montana. It wasn’t a functioning ranch, but he liked to keep a few horses on it. It was the only place I could rem

ember ever feeling quiet, and Bill was the only person besides Derek who I’d ever felt like I could trust.

When I saw him at the airport, despite how tightly I was wound fighting all the symptoms with everything I had, the tension eased a bit.

“Boy, you look like shit.” He caught me around the neck in a hug.

“I feel like shit,” I confessed, pressed against his shoulder.

He let me go and passed a hand over his mouth under his thick, grey mustache as brown eyes evaluated me. His matching steel-grey hair was slightly long and swept away from his face, and his leathery skin was lined. Bill was as tall as me, and about as slim. I guessed we had the same build. He took what I said as seriously as I meant it.

“You’ve come to the right place.” With a nod, he started walking and I followed. “Winter’s barreling in, but the old timers say we’ve got a Chinook coming this year.”

“Think they’re right?” We went from the baggage claim out to his old blue Ford. Tossing my roll in the back, I was in the cab slamming the metal doors before I got my answer.

“They usually are.”

“I only remember one since you’ve lived here.”

“There’s been a couple. Could last a day, might last longer. Either way, it’ll make everything downright tolerable for a little while.”

It would be an unexpected gift. We headed down the two-lane dirt road out into the middle of nowhere—exactly where I wanted to be. I wasn’t planning to lean on him. I wasn’t planning to ask anybody to help me out of the mess I’d made, but it was nice knowing I had someone close by who’d been there. Someone who loved me. It was the shit withdrawals making me weak, but it was how I felt.

We drove most of the way in silence, and I held on through the growing pain and nausea. I had more sleep aids and Imodium in my pack. It was going to be a helluva night, but I’d make it through this. What came after that, I hadn’t decided yet.

“You can take the east wing of the house if you want.” Bill said, once we were at the sprawling ranch. His expression was calm, but I knew he had a read on me. He wouldn’t crowd, which I appreciated. “You know Winona. She’ll be in tomorrow morning to cook. After supper, she heads back to her place in Black Eagle.”

“Thanks.” I nodded, not bothering to say I hadn’t felt like eating in weeks. “And thanks for taking me in. I can’t tell you—”

“Then don’t.”

We exchanged a nod, and I headed to my room, preparing to face the night.

* * *

Derek

Stuart was missing.