Page 112 of Ransom
"I'll do better."
"You will."
He rolled toward me and tucked his face into the place under my jaw like he'd decided the spot was his. He hooked one arm over my chest and slid the other under the small of my back, holding me to him from both sides. His breath was warm against my throat, evening out.
"Sleep," I said.
"Yeah."
"I'll be here."
"You better be."
He was asleep inside three minutes.
I wasn't.
I lay there with him heavy against me, his breath even on my throat, and stared at the dark ceiling. Winston wasn't going to say no. I'd known that since the morning he told me he wasn'tgoing back to Texas. What I didn't know was what to do with a yes once I had it.
I'd figure it out in the morning.
I let Winston sleep in while I showered and dressed. He was still out cold when I left to join Sierra in the kitchen. I hung my coat on the back of the chair where I could see it and sat down.
Sierra slid a mug across the counter without looking up. He'd known since the morning I'd come in asking about ring sizes. The man missed nothing and said less.
"He's out again," Rafe said from the window.
I turned. Rafe had his coffee in one hand and was looking out over the yard.
"Galahad?"
"Fence line's fine. Gate's open. You tell me."
I went to the window. The paddock gate stood open, and Galahad's tracks cut north out of it and up the wash toward the ridge, clean in the frost the ground had pulled on overnight. The horse had been doing this since the first winter I'd owned him. Ten years of it. He went up to the ridge when something in him told him to, and stayed up there until I came to get him. He came home with me after. I didn't fight it anymore.
Today of all days,I thought.You son of a bitch.
I set my cup down. "I'll get him."
Rafe didn't turn from the window. "Take Winston with you."
"I was going to."
Sierra slid two hot breakfast tacos wrapped in foil across the counter toward me without being asked. Rafe finally turned from the window and gave me a look I couldn't read all the way. I took the tacos and went out to find Winston.
He was at the bunkhouse, standing on the porch with Coyote, both of them leaning against the rail. Coyote had Nimue wound around his forearm in a way that would have made any sane mantake a step back. Winston had stopped taking steps back around the third week.
"Galahad's up the ridge," I said.
Winston pushed off the rail. "You want company?"
"Yep."
Coyote tilted his head at me, too far. His black eyes went across my face, then down to my coat pocket, then back up. He opened his mouth.
I glared at him.
He closed his mouth and put a finger across it and held it there with the considered solemnity of a man performing a religious gesture. Nimue slid up off his forearm and tasted the air by his ear.
