Nora Roberts - Black Hills

“That’s very sexist, and mostly true. I’m starving.”

“I ate the leftovers.”

“I want a sandwich. A really big sandwich.”

“Then it’s a good thing I went shopping, too,” he said as he walked with her to the kitchen. “Because you were out of bread and anything-other than peanut butter-to put between it.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” She opened the fridge, and stood staring with her eyes wide. “Wow. This is a lot of food.”

“Not if two people actually eat a couple of meals a day.”

With a shrug, she pulled out packs of deli meat. “We did fancy for lunch, which means you end up ordering salad. Fancy salads. I nearly ordered a Reuben, but somehow it felt wrong. Especially since we had champagne. I just don’t think you can have a Reuben and champagne at the same time.”

He sat on the bench, watched her. “You had a good time. It shows.”

“I did. It took me a while to change gears, get in the groove, whatever. But thankfully I did and will not be forced to wear puce and flounces at Tansy’s wedding.”

He cocked his head. “What is puce, anyway?”

“Every bridal attendant’s worst nightmare. Tansy got the most fabulous dress. A killer of a dress, which mine will complement perfectly. Then there were the shoes. Watching Lucy and my mother in the shoe department is an education and a thrill. I’m a rank amateur in comparison. Then there were handbags.”

She chattered about purses, then the flower shops, reliving little pieces of the day in the telling while she poured a glass of milk.

“We grazed through shops like a herd of starving deer. I think my credit card gasped weakly at the end of the day.” She brought the sandwich to the table, plopped down. “God, my feet!”

Even as she bit in, she toed off her shoes.

“It’s work, you know. The shopping safari. As physical as mucking out stalls.”

“Uh-huh.” He lifted her feet onto his lap, and began to rub, running his knuckles up her instep.

Lil felt her eyes roll back in her head. “Oh. This is probably what heaven’s like. A huge sandwich, a glass of cold milk, and a foot rub.”

“You’re a cheap date, Lil.”

She smiled and took another bite. “How much of my shopping adventures did you actually listen to?”

“I tuned out in the shoe department.”

“Just as I suspected. Lucky for you, you give a good foot rub.”

Later, when she hung her new dress in the closet, she thought it had been an exceptional day. Stress-free, once she’d put stress aside, and touched with moments of real joy and wonderful foolishness.

And her mother had been right, she realized as she heard Coop tune in for the baseball scores. It was nice to have someone who’d walk out on the porch to welcome her home.

Lil felt him touch her, just the lightest touch, a brush on her shoulder, down her arm. As if he reassured himself she was there before he got out of bed in the predawn dark.

She lay, wakeful now, in the warmth of the bed, the warmth he’d left for her, and listened to the sound of the shower. The hiss of water against tile and tub.

She considered getting up herself, putting on the coffee, getting a jump on the day. But there was something so comforting, so sweetly simple about staying just where she was and listening to the water run.

The pipes clanged once, and she smiled when she caught his muffled oath through the bathroom door. He tended to take long showers, long enough for the small hot water heater to protest.

He’d shave now-or not, depending on his mood. Brush his teeth with the towel slung around his hips and his hair still dripping. He’d rub the towel over it briefly, impatiently, maybe scoop his fingers through it a few times.

Oh, to have hair that didn’t require fuss or time. But in any case, vanity wasn’t part of his makeup. He’d already be thinking about what needed to be done that day, which chore to deal with first on the daily list of chores.

He’d taken on a lot, she mused. The farm, the business, and because of who and what he was, the responsibility of finding ways to keep his grandparents involved in the day-to-day while making sure they didn’t overdo.

Then he’d added her, she thought. Not trying just to win her back but also to help her deal with the very real threat to her and hers. That piled extra hours, extra worry, extra work into his day.

And he brought her flowers.

He came back into the bedroom, moving quietly. That, she knew was both an innate skill of his and basic consideration. He took some care not to wake her, dressing in the half-dark, leaving his boots off.

She could smell the soap and water on him, and found it another kind of comfort. Heard him ease a drawer open, ease it shut again.

Later, she thought, she’d go downstairs to the scent of coffee, the scent of companionship. Someone cared enough to think of her. He’d probably light a fire, to take the chill off the house, even though he’d be leaving it.

If she needed him at any time of the day, she could call. He’d find a way to help.

He came to the bed, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She started to speak, but felt words would spoil the moment, would distract from what was happening inside her. She stayed silent as he slipped out of the room.

The night before he’d come out on the porch to greet her. He’d eaten the leftovers, and gone to the market. He’d walked with her on her evening check of the habitat.

He waited for her, she admitted. But what was she waiting for?

Promises, guarantees, certainties? He’d broken her heart and left her unspeakably lonely. It didn’t matter that he’d been motivated by good intentions, the hurt still happened. Still existed. She feared it nearly as much as she feared Ethan.

In fact, Coop was the only man who’d ever had the power to break her heart or make her afraid. Did she want to live without that risk? Because she would never get there, not with Coop. Just as she would never, never feel so utterly safe, happy, and excited about anyone else.

As dawn streamed in the windows she heard him leave. The door closing behind him, and moments later, the sound of his truck.

She rose, crossed to her dresser to open the bottom drawer. She dug under layers of sweats to draw out the cougar he’d carved for her when they’d been children.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she ran her fingers over the lines as she had countless times over the years. She’d put it away, true. But she took it with her when she traveled, kept it in that drawer at home. Her good-luck piece. And a tangible piece of him she’d never been able to toss away.

Through that roughly carved symbol, Coop had gone with her to Peru, to Alaska, to Africa and Florida and India. He’d been her companion on every field study.

Twenty years, she thought, nearly twenty years since he’d taken a block of wood and carved the image of what he knew-even then-she valued.

How could she live without that? Why would she choose to?

Standing, she set the cougar on her dresser, then opened another drawer.

She felt a tug for Jean-Paul. She hoped he was well, and he was happy. She wished him the love he deserved. Then she emptied the drawer.

She carried the lingerie downstairs. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the scent of coffee tantalized the air. In the kitchen she put the nightwear in a bag, and with a smile ghosting around her mouth put it in the laundry room.

It would wait until he got home, she thought, because this was home now. For both of them. Home was where you loved, if you were lucky. Where someone would light the fire and be there when you came back.

It was where you kept the precious. A baseball bat, a carved cougar.