Big Man's Bride (Big Men Small Towns 1)

I’m him. The thing that I swore that I would never be. But what I just did … how I sounded … it’s all too familiar. Too much like my despicable, controlling father.

The trees are blurs in my vision as I walk away quickly, back to the house. I barely stop to grab what I need, headphones, and my axe, before I find a fallen tree nearby the house, and start hacking it to pieces. I will take every bit of my anger out on this tree, and drive every piece of that man out of me.

None of him is welcome.9AllyCaleb and I don’t speak for the rest of the night, but I watch him through the windows of the house, curious, and nervous and … so many other things at once.

I don’t know what happened at that picnic. Or at least, I have no idea what happened to Caleb. I knew that I was hitting below the belt with everything that I said to him. Knew from the way that he talked about his family that there was some kind of wound there that was still raw. And in that moment, I didn’t care if I hurt him. Not after he hurt me.

But the anger I saw come over him was shocking, and the devastation that clouded his face was equally shocking. I brought out something in him that was unexpected, even to him.

For the rest of the evening he works without stopping. He chops an old dead tree into pieces and stacks the wood against the south wall of the house for firewood. He gets a ladder and cleans out the gutters from the third story. He starts hammering in the new wooden planks to rebuild the front porch.

All things that rich boys don’t often do. And that’s reflected in the plans that he gave me this morning. The documents are far more extensive than I had imagined. The plans he has for restoring the house are … perfect. He wants to update things in a way that respects the integrity of the building without compromising its beauty.

I checked every single thing on his list while he was outside with the sledgehammer, but I couldn’t find anything he’d overlooked.

As I make the guest room bed, I think about what happened at the river more. Was I afraid of him? No. I wasn’t. Even in his anger, I knew that Caleb would never hurt me. But we are both proud people with things that we are hiding, and I think he may be carrying deep secrets. We barely know anything about each other, and the fact that we have chemistry and amazing sex doesn’t exactly make up for that. I’ll give him some time, and when I think he’s calmed down enough and receptive, I’ll apologize.

I have every right to be angry about the photos, but I do understand his reasoning, even if it was a dick move. There’s a wave of shame that I struggle to move through. My grandfather wouldn’t be proud of me for the things that I said to him today. Being cruel to someone, even in response to their wrongdoing, isn’t okay.

And that’s what I did. I knew that I was going to cause him pain and I did it anyway. I need to apologize.

Before he comes inside, I move my things to the guest bedroom. After everything that happened today, I highly doubt that we’ll be sharing a bed for a while. It’s probably for the best.

But as I strip to nothing but a tank top and underwear, and go to bed alone, I miss his warm body next to me. It’s ridiculous. I’ve been sleeping alone for my entire life, and after just one night with Caleb, the bed feels empty.

Geeze, Ally. One night in a man’s arms doesn’t change you that much. I get an extra blanket to make up for the chill, and turn out the light. Everything will be better—clearer—in the morning. It nearly always is.* * *The darkness is disorienting.

I check my phone, but it’s the middle of the night. Why am I wide awake?

Immediately I’m flooded with the memories of dreams. Hands that skim my body, covered in callouses. They somehow know exactly how to play my body like it’s an instrument for his pleasure. But those aren’t a rich man’s hands. How come I never noticed?

There’s a thump in the darkness, and my heart starts to pound. Is that what woke me? There’s another one, followed by a moan. That’s Caleb. I’m on my feet before I realize it, pushing out of my room and into his.

The barest hint of moonlight shines through the windows, but it’s enough to see that he’s having a nightmare, thrashing on the bed and then curling in on himself. The desperation of the movements, of the sounds that he’s making, pull at my heart. He’s in pain—anyone could see that.