Lenny and Sharp had words I couldn’t hear even if they weren’t that far away. Lenny shook his head then moved his body as if to block Sharp but Sharp shook his head too and rounded Lenny.
“Not a good idea, Jeb,” Lenny called after him as Sharp approached Gray and me.
Gray, already tense, went so solid I feared touching him would make him shatter. Still, I curled into him and put my other hand on his abs.
Sharp, astutely, stopped outside arm’s reach.
He was like his son, good-looking. But he was that way in the way Gray was. He’d be that way until he died. There were lines on his face that came from hard work in the sun and hard laughing often in his life. There was a burn in his eyes that came from not a small amount of anger and a hint of shame he couldn’t quite hide but he was trying. I knew he was Buddy’s Dad and, one look at him, I still couldn’t help but like him.
Then he announced, “I’ll deal with this, son.”
“Time for that’s passed, Jeb. Got seven dead horses and no barn,” Gray returned.
“You’re smart, you’ll let me take care ‘a this,” Jeb said quietly.
“He’s been gunnin’ for me since junior high and tonight he put my woman in danger. Not feelin’ like bein’ smart right about now,” Gray replied.
Jeb’s eyes came to me, his hand went to the bill of his baseball cap for a second before it dropped and he muttered, “Ma’am.”
I lifted my chin to him but no more and he looked back at Gray.
“Ask you one more time, Grayson, let me deal with this.”
“You do what you gotta do. Len’ll do what he’s gotta do. And I’ll do what I gotta do,” Gray stated.
Jeb Sharp held my man’s eyes.
Then he whispered, “Fair enough.” Then his eyes went to the barn and he kept whispering when he said, “Cryin’ shame.”
He was not wrong about that.
I pressed closer to Gray and Gray’s hand squeezed mine tighter.
Sharp looked through me and back to Gray.
“You need help cleanin’ up and buildin’, you call on me. I’ll send some boys,” he offered.
When Gray made no reply, I had a mind to suggest he didn’t hold his breath but I kept my tongue.
“Right,” Sharp muttered, knowing exactly what Gray’s non-response meant then he looked to me. “Mizz Larue, wish we’d met under more auspicious circumstances.”
“Me too,” I whispered.
He nodded. Then he looked at Gray. Then he sighed deeply. Finally he turned and walked away.
That was when I sighed.
Jeb Sharp got in his truck, turned it around and drove down the lane.
I felt some of the tension leave Gray’s body and he turned us to face the destruction.
Wood barn, it went up like tinder, came down in no time flat.
“I’m gonna go make coffee for the firemen, honey,” I whispered.
“Good idea, baby,” Gray murmured, his eyes never leaving the barn.
I squeezed his hand. He squeezed mine back but he did it not looking away from his loss.
I let him go, took two steps away then turned and took two back.
Pressing again to his side, I lifted up until I was as close as I could get to his ear and whispered, “Say you love me, Gray.”
I rolled back to the soles of my feet and watched as he closed his eyes then he opened them and turned to me.
His hand came up, he cupped my jaw and his eyes moved over my face.
Then he said, “I love you, Ivey.”
I grinned a small, sad grin.
He gave me the same.
Then he bent and touched his mouth to mine, dropped his hand and I turned and went into the house to make coffee for firefighters.
* * * * *
Three hours later…
Dawn was hitting the sky, weak light beginning to glow through the window.
Gray and I had had showers but no sleep. We were in bed, Gray on his back, me pressed to his side, my head on his pectoral, hand flat and lightly trailing his chest and gut, his arm around me, hand in my panties cupping my ass.
We’d been there awhile, lying close, not speaking but also not sleeping.
Finally, I broke the silence by whispering, “You okay?”
“No.”
I pulled in a breath. Then I slid my hand up his chest, lifted and turned my head and rested my chin on my hand under me.
He had four pillows bunched haphazardly behind his head and shoulders (this was his way, my man liked pillows) and his eyes dipped to me.
“Please don’t kill Buddy,” I said quietly. “Just got you back after seven years. I don’t want to spend the next seven visiting you in the penitentiary.”
His face softened but he didn’t smile.
Still, he replied teasingly, “You’re in the mountain plains of Colorado, dollface. No jury from these parts would convict me for killin’ a man who killed seven horses.”