Colorado 02 Sweet Dreams (44 page)

My breath hitched as new tears threatened but I gulped them down and held Tate tighter. In return his arm pulled me closer but he didn’t speak.

“He loved me,” I said softly.

“Yeah,” Tate agreed.

“I think, in a way, he still does,” I went on.

“Yeah,” Tate repeated.

“I don’t know when it happened,” I whispered.

When I said no more, Tate prompted, “What, honey?”

“When he took me away. How he got me. How he did it,” I answered, referring to Brad and when I did Tate’s arm squeezed tight. I shook my head against his chest. “I didn’t even feel it happen. I didn’t know it. I don’t know…” My voice broke, I swallowed again and Tate’s hand still sifting through my hair dropped to my neck and his fingers curled there, giving me a squeeze and I forged on, “I don’t know why I
let
him.”

“He say shit?” Tate asked and I shook my head against his chest again.

“No, it was just that… just that… he was so convinced he was all that, somehow he convinced me and for him to be all that, I had to be less, not me having to be less, Brad needing to make me less and he just… just… made me feel that way and I just… I…” I pulled in breath and finished, “I just faded away.”

Tate didn’t respond and I lifted up, taking my arm from around his stomach and swiping at my face. Then I turned to him and looked in his eyes.

“I wasn’t running from him hurting me with Hayley,” I told him softly. “That’s not why I got out of Horizon Summit, why I fled my life.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I lied to Krystal when I asked for that job but I didn’t know it then. I know it now. She was right. I got lost and I was trying to find me.”

His hand slid up my neck to my jaw and his thumb glided along my lower lip.

“You just find you, baby?” Tate asked.

“Not exactly,” I answered.

“Then what exactly?” he pressed.

“I…” My teeth bit my lip, tagging the pad of his thumb which he didn’t move so I released it. “My brain just suddenly started paying attention.”

“To what?”

“To you.”

His brows went up and his thumb swept along my cheekbone. “Wanna explain that?”

 “You’re beautiful,” I whispered and watched his face change, surprise was there but it was soft, not astonished… moved.

“Ace,” he whispered back.

“I saw you,” I kept whispering, “at the hotel, meeting Neeta –”

Tate cut me off. “Know that, babe.”

“I know,” I replied. “But you don’t know that I hated Neeta instantly when I saw her throw herself in your arms. Pure jealousy. I didn’t know you, I didn’t know her. I just took one look at you and I…” I stopped speaking, suddenly embarrassed and more than a little scared and my eyes slid away. I would have moved my face but his hand tensed against my jaw.

“Keep talkin’,” he urged.

“I can’t,” I said softly.

“Baby, I think you don’t get this but you’re safe here.” His hand left my jaw and both arms wrapped tight around me, giving me a squeeze at the same time pulling me up so my face was level with his. “You’re safe, Lauren,” he murmured and my eyes came back to his. “You weren’t safe with him but, honey, swear to God, you’re safe with me.”

I felt the tears smart in my eyes and my lower lip quivered so I pressed them together.

“Keep talkin’,” he repeated, I took a breath in through my nose and nodded.

“You were far away,” I whispered, “it was night, I could barely see you…” I hesitated. “But you still took my breath away.”

His eyes closed and his hand slid up my neck into my hair and he put pressure there so our foreheads were touching.

“Christ, Laurie,” he muttered.

“The next day,” I went on, “I saw you walk into the bar and you were so beautiful…”

His eyes opened and his fingers tensed against my scalp. “All right, maybe you can quit talking.”

I ignored him.

“That’s why it hurt so much.” My voice was so quiet it was barely audible. “What you said. You being you, looking like you, breathtaking…”

“Stop, Lauren.” His voice was a growl.

“I’m not throwing it in your face, I’m just saying –”

He interrupted me again. “I know what you’re sayin’.”

I put my hand on his chest and told him softly, “Tate, you’re all that.”

“Baby –”

“And you like me.”

“Shut it, Laurie.”

I moved my head, sliding my cheek against his beard so my lips were at his ear, my arms went around him and I whispered, “So maybe I’m a little bit of all that too.”

I found myself moved suddenly, landing on my back with Tate’s body covering mine, his head up and his hand back at my jaw.

“You were all that before me,” he declared, his voice again a growl.

“Tate –”

“My guess? You been all that for awhile.”

“Captain –”

“Shitty luck, stupid decisions… I lost a lot in my life. My Mom left when I was a kid. Thought I’d live life high, playin’ football and that dream was dead almost the second it began. Then my Dad died. Mixed up with Neeta, with Bethany, havin’ Jonas and thinkin’ I finally got a hint of sweet only to have it come along with a lot of fightin’ and headache and broken promises I was fuckin’ stupid enough to believe. I haven’t had much of all that. All I ever had I had to fight for, pay for or do penance for because I jacked up. Then
you
walk into my goddamned bar lookin’ for a job.”

“Tate –”

His thumb came to my lips and put pressure on.

“Shut it,” he whispered.

“Okay,” I said against his thumb.

“I don’t define you,” he told me.

“I know, but I –” I started and his thumb, still against my lips, pressed gently so I shut up.

“You’re not found because you found me,” he went on. “You think that you’re still lost.”

I didn’t speak.

Tate did. “I wasn’t here, you cuttin’ ties and gettin’ out from under him, you woulda found your way.”

He stopped talking so I chanced speaking.

“Can I say something now?” I asked against his thumb and he moved it away, rolled to his side and brought me to facing him.

Then he said, “Yeah.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “But –”

“No buts about it, Ace.”

I put my fingers to his lips and asked quietly, “Can I say what I need to say, Tate?”

He didn’t speak or nod, he just waited.

So I spoke. “I would have come back to me, eventually. It’s just that, it so happens I found myself with you leading the way.”

“Laurie –”

I moved my hand and replaced it with my lips.

“Thank you,” I whispered and then I kissed him, doing it hard and putting feeling into it, a lot of it, as much as I felt for him and what he’d given me. And what he’d given me was huge.

He’d given me
me
.

I pushed him to his back, slid on top and kept kissing him with Tate kissing me back.

Eventually, I lifted my head to look at him and Tate’s hands slid into my hair, pulling it away from my face and holding it behind my head.

His eyes were on the fall of hair that escaped his hands and curtained my left eye then they came to mine.

“You got great hair, babe,” he muttered.

I lifted a hand so my finger could slide along his hairline then all of them glided in.

“You do too,” I replied.

One of his hands left my hair and became an arm wrapped around my upper back, his other hand cupping my head and both brought me back down to him.

“I have to frost the cake,” I whispered.

“In a little while,” he whispered back.

“And make dinner,” I continued.

“Later.”

“Captain –”

He cut me off with, “Ace.”

I studied his beautiful face.

“She’s mine,”
he’d said to Wood.

I was his. And he was mine.

I smiled and my mouth went to his. “All right, honey. Later.”

His head slanted one way, mine tilted the other and it was a lot later when I was able to get up, frost the cake and make dinner.

* * * * *

We had pork tenderloin with Gramps’s famous glaze, boiled new potatoes, salad and delicious rolls with sunflower seeds crusting the top, eating it at the wrought iron table on Tate’s back patio.

My eyes were on his terraced yard and my mind was filled. It was filled with what it would say to Tate if I spent a day weeding the plants and adding more. It was filled with if I cared anymore about Tate reading what that said (and I figured I didn’t). It was filled with Tate telling me his Mom left and his Dad was dead and how little I knew about him. It was filled with how strong the feeling was that I wanted to know more and the fact the power behind that feeling didn’t scare me. It was filled with the knowledge that Wood “killed” Tate’s Dad in a car accident; with Stella telling Tate to cut Wood slack; with Stella saying, if Tate let it go, Wood would be able to; and with Wood telling me they once were brothers. It was filled with Wood coming to take my back when Neeta was in town, for me but also for Tate, even after what passed between the three of us. And it was filled with Wood telling Tate he’d do anything he could to help Tate get Jonas from Wood’s sister.

Wood missed Tate and you only hold onto anger that long if the person you’re angry at meant something to you so I was guessing Tate missed Wood too.

“Ace,” Tate called and I looked from his plants to him. “You lied.”

Taken from my thoughts and surprised at his words, I felt my eyebrows draw together. “Sorry?”

He slid his fork on his plate and his brows went up. “Passable?”

I looked at his clean plate then back to him. “My cooking’s okay, not much to write home about. This was good because of my grandfather’s famous mustard sauce, not me.”

“Your grandfather come for a visit while I was puttin’ up the curtain rods?” he asked.

“No, he’s dead,” I answered.

“Babe,” Tate replied on a grin.

I felt the sudden, intense need for Tate to know about me. I’d let him in, I’d let me out. I wanted this and I wanted him and I wanted him to have me.

Therefore, I shared, “All my grandparents are dead.”

He sat back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah?”

“Gramps, that’s Mom’s father, he’s the mustard glaze guru,” I informed him, Tate didn’t reply so I went on. “It was his farm that became Dad’s. He had only girls. Three of them. Dad studied agriculture at school. His folks owned a farm too but it was smaller and he was the second of two sons. My Uncle George got that farm.” Tate remained silent so I went on. “Dad took over Gramps’s farm. We all lived there together, all my life, until I left and, after that, Grams and Gramps passed away. It was okay though, us being together, because it was a big house and it made us a big family.”

Tate still didn’t speak, didn’t start sharing his own stories so I continued.

“Mom’s Mom, Grams, she made great chocolate chip cookies. The best,” I stated. “She used to refrigerate the dough between making it and baking it. I don’t know what this did but it made her cookies
killer
.”

Tate watched me and made not a noise.

“Dad’s Dad, he was a master at the grill. He could grill an
amazing
steak,” I continued.

Tate’s lips twitched but he remained quiet.

“Dad’s Mom,” I blathered on. “She was Polish and she could cook. I mean she could
cook
. She made these cookies, like crescent rolls but in cookie form with lots of cinnamon and sugar and butter and the dough was made with sour cream so they were rich and she sifted powdered sugar on them. She made them every Christmas and I always went over to help. She let me brush the melted butter on the rolled out dough and sprinkle the cinnamon and sugar on and she let me sift the powdered sugar on top.”

Finally, Tate spoke.

“All your memories come with food?” he asked.

“Dad makes the best cocktail sauce for shrimp you ever tasted. Carrie concocted this homemade macaroni and cheese that’s out of this world. And Mom got all the good of Grams and Gramma and put her own spin on it. Everything she makes will knock your socks off but her chocolate pecan pie is
unbelievable.
”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tate mumbled.

“Food is love,” I replied.

“No, babe, it ain’t, but makin’ it for the ones you love so they can brag about it is,” Tate returned.

He had a point.

“You have a point,” I told him.

His arm shot out, his hand tagged me at the neck and he leaned forward as he pulled me to him. Then he touched his mouth to mine.

When his head moved away two inches, I asked softly, “Do you want cake?”

A smile spread on his face, a face that, at my question, grew soft and warm like earlier and since he was so close all I could do was stare.

Finally, he answered, “Yeah,” and let me go.

I grabbed my plate and beer bottle, Tate grabbed his and we took them into the house going through the backdoor into the mudroom. As we walked through the mudroom, I heard Tate’s cell phone on the kitchen counter ring.

When we hit the kitchen, I took his plate from him and walked to the sink while he walked to his phone.

I heard him answer, “Pop?”

I started to rinse the dishes.

“Yeah?” Tate asked and then there was a long silence. So long I had the plates and cutlery rinsed and in the dishwasher, I’d grabbed a knife and was cutting into the cake that was sitting on a plate on the island (homemade yellow cake, homemade chocolate butter cream frosting) when Tate spoke again. “Tell her, when I show, I don’t see that jackass.”

My eyes went from the cake to Tate. He had a hand on his hip, the other one holding his phone to his ear, his bottle of beer was on the counter and his head was bent, eyes studying his boots.

“Right… and Pop?” he said then finished with a quiet but intense. “Thanks. Owe you big.”

I stopped cutting and Tate flipped his phone closed, set it on the counter and started to me.

“Um…” I hesitated, “what was that?”

I held my breath for his response because his face was as intense as his voice had been and I didn’t get it. He also was coming to me in a way that was strangely purposeful and aggressive and I didn’t get that either. I let go of the knife still stuck in the cake and started to take a step back when he caught me and yanked me forward so hard I collided with his body.