Jagged (Colorado Mountain 5)

And that was when it hit me. All of it.

So my body melted under his and both my hands moved back to his jaws and I shared, “You gave me that.”

“Yeah, now. For the last coupla months. Not the last nine years,” he returned.

“Kim died and you were there,” I whispered and Ham’s head jerked. “Kim got diagnosed and you were the first person I called. We talked for three hours, Ham. You listened to me cry, and in two days, you showed up at my house just to spend the night holding me then you had to go and drive back so you could work. I broke my wrist, you took a week off to be with me. Except for when I let you go, you were always there for me. And you let me let you go because you thought I needed that. And Ham”—I dug my fingers gently into his face—“when I lost everything, you were there and you gave it back.”

By the time I was done speaking, his eyes were burning into mine and when I finished, he dropped his forehead to mine and groaned low, “Fuck, Zara.”

“Rachel burned you, she gutted you, she killed your dream,” I whispered. “And that would mark anyone. It changed you, made you protect yourself, made you into the man you had to be. But if a woman loves you, truly loves you, baby, she lets you be the man you have to be. She doesn’t change you into the man she wants you to be.”

And by the time I was done saying that, Ham had angled his head and crushed his mouth to mine.

This was not a slow, tender, sweet, deep, long kiss.

This was a hard, devouring, intense, wet, deep, long kiss.

It was a show, not a tell.

And it said everything.

And when we were done, Ham had rolled us so he was on his back, I was on top, one of his arms was clamped tight around me, his other hand in my hair, holding my mouth to his, but when he let me lift my head, we were both breathing deeply.

“I love you, Zara,” he growled.

And I loved that.

So freaking much.

“I know, darlin’. I love you, too,” I replied.

His eyes still burned but then that burn muted to a warmth I felt flowing through me in a way I knew, down deep, without a doubt, that warmth would never leave me.

“I know, cookie,” he whispered.

“Good,” I whispered back, then I watched Ham grin.

It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

But even so, I grinned back, dropped my mouth to his, and kissed my man’s grin right off his face.

* * *

Late that night (or more accurately, early the next morning), we were in the truck after work, Ham driving, me with my phone to my ear listening to the voice mail Aunt Wilona left while I was lugging drinks around the bar.

It was late. I was tired. I had a shitload of tips in my pocket because Ham had hired a band and the place had been packed.

But, even as tired as I was, I was happier than I’d ever been in… my… life.

“Aunt Wilona called,” I told him after I listened to her voice mail and shoved my phone into my purse. “Says the next night we both have off, she’d like us to come over for dinner and she wants to know what you don’t like to eat.”

“Eat anything, babe,” he replied.

That wasn’t strictly true. The not strictly true part about that was that he didn’t quibble about food. It was just, if he didn’t like it, he left it on his plate.

I made a mental note to share with Aunt Wilona the stuff I’d noticed Ham left on his plate and turned my eyes to the windshield.

When I saw where we were, I felt my brows draw together.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Got a stop to make,” he answered.

I looked to him. “At three thirty in the morning?”

He was silent a moment before, gently, he ordered, “Bear with me, cookie.”

Man, oh man, he’d asked me to bear with him once already that day, to spectacular results that lit my world with a rosy glow, so I had a feeling I needed not only to bear with him but bear up because as awesome as our morning was, I was not a girl used to awesome so I knew I had to prepare. Therefore, I shut my mouth and looked back to the road.

Five minutes later, I opened my mouth because we’d turned into my old development.

What on earth were we doing here?

My eyes went back to his profile and I started, “Ham—”

“Five seconds, baby.”

I’d heard that before too, another time he’d colored my world with a rosy glow when he told me he’d come back to Gnaw Bone for me.

I pulled in a breath, confused, uncertain, but since this was Ham, I let it out.

Ham drove right to my old house, right up into the drive where he parked, and my heart started beating hard.

I hadn’t been back since I packed up and left, a very unhappy day, and I was surprised by the way the house looked. Many foreclosures looked unkempt, what with no one to take care of the yard.

Mine looked like it had when I lived there except the house had that empty feel any empty house had.

Ham opened his door, I followed suit, and he was at my side when I’d jumped down. He slammed my door, grabbed my hand, and led me to the front walk.

“Ham, this is weird and kind of—” I began.

“Five more seconds, cookie.”

I again shut up.

Ham walked us to the front door. Not letting my hand go, he flipped his keys around and inserted a key in the lock.

My breath caught.

I forced it to flowing again so I could ask, “Darlin’, how’d you get a key?”

He didn’t answer.

He unlocked the door, shoved it open, and pulled me through with him.

The blinds I’d left behind were pulled, the space almost dark so I could barely see a thing. Ham kicked the door closed with his boot so even the minimal light coming in from the streetlamps outside was extinguished.

I knew where we were going by memory when he walked us into the house and stopped by where I knew there was a light switch.

He flipped it on.

When the lights came on, I stopped breathing.

Mindy’s furniture was there.

Also, in the built-in cabinets was Ham’s TV, under it the DVD player, cable box, and a new stereo and receiver. On either side of the cabinets sat two attractive standing speakers. Arranged in the built-in were my knickknacks, books, and what appeared to be Ham’s as well as my CDs, not filling the spaces but making it appear homey.

My eyes drifted and I saw in the dining room a new oval, distressed dark-wood, gorgeous dining room table with six dark wicker, woven chairs all around. New attractive, green-and-blue woven placemats were on the table and even new matching napkins folded in rectangles on top of them. In the center of the table there was an enormous spray of blood-red roses, no baby’s breath, no greenery, just those stunning stems.