Blind Tiger

* * *

Not long afterward, they lay naked and entwined, her hair as tangled around them as the bedsheet. He lay on his back with one knee raised, she with her head on his chest, which she lightly strummed with her fingertips. “I gave in way too easily.”

“Easy, hell.” He cupped her bottom and scooted her hip up against his. “It took me twenty whole seconds to get you up the stairs.”

She laughed, then took his hand and nestled it between her breasts. “No teasing, I truly am sorry that you lost Mr. Hobson.”

“I didn’t lose him. He’ll always be there.”

“Will you tell me stories about him?”

He tilted his head down and tipped hers up so he could look into her face. He ran his thumb across her lips, but, being too moved to speak, only nodded.

She returned her cheek to his chest. After time, she asked, “What was in Bynum?”

“A job.”

He felt her go still. “It’s not a horse training job, is it?”

“No.” He lifted her off his chest and turned onto his side to face her. He laid it all out and was more worried than he wanted to admit when she didn’t immediately embrace the idea.

“It seems so random,” she said. “Where’d you hear about it?”

He gave her a half smile. “I met a man on the train out of Amarillo. He told me about it.”

“It sounds good, Thatcher, but you could have the same job here.”

“It would be hard for me to work for Bill again.”

“I get that, but—”

“And I can’t wear a badge and be married to a local moonshiner.”

“You haven’t even asked me to marry you.”

“Will you marry me?”

“No.”

He laughed and nuzzled her neck. Sliding his hand into the vee of her thighs, he whispered, “You don’t have to give me your answer right away.”

He kept her occupied for the next half hour, rearranging her limbs to allow him access to enchanting spots, turning her this way and that to explore and entice, lazily mapping her sweet body with his hands and lips and tongue. He tormented her with his dalliances until she gasped now.

He pushed into her, and the fever pitch that he’d aroused in both of them combusted. He emptied all the sadness and disappointment, uncertainty and longing that he’d experienced in the past few weeks into her.

He was now convinced that everything that had happened since his leap from that freight car had been predestined. He’d been making his way home. But not to a place. To a person. He would only ever be home with this woman.

Still breathing hotly, he rested his forehead against hers and pushed his fingers up into her hair. “I love you, Laurel.”

“I believe you do.”

“And you love me.”

“I’m thinking it over.”

“Naw, you love me, and you’re gonna marry me.”

“You don’t know that.”