Page 72 of Trigger Happy

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

We finish getting ready for bed and then slide under the covers, pillow wall piled high. All I can think about is Sabrina’s soft breathing next to me. I’ve grown used to the sound, so it will be hard falling asleep alone when this is all over. I start picturing her chest rising and falling with the motion. Then I’m imagining what she’d do if I demolished the goddamn pillow wall and dragged her body on top of mine.

It’s a stupid idea.

Really damn stupid.

Because in here, with no one watching, there’s no reason to pretend.

35Sabrina

I stare at the cedar beams on the ceiling, and stare… and stare some more. It’s well past three in the morning, but sleep won’t come. It’s absolutely frigid in this barn, for one. I keep telling Bobbi to fix the heater, but she insists it’s working. My thoughts also won’t stop galloping ahead.

Why didn’t Bobbi tell us about the workshop? Why did I want Lawton to kiss me on that Ferris wheel? What are we going to tell the shop owner? Why did I want Lawton to kiss me?

There was no reason for me to want that, other than it was marginally better than imagining the cart wiggling loose from its hinges and plummeting to our deaths. Still, I let him distract me, and I don’t get distracted. I had one job. All I had to do was find the booth, but instead I couldn’t stop thinking about how warm Lawton’s hand felt in mine.

I stifle a groan into my pillow. The barn is wrapped in silence, except for the occasional whistle of wind and gigantic evergreens scraping the window, but then I hear it.

A muffled gasp.

It settles, but then I hear the noise again, louder this time.

I reach for the gun I sleep with under my pillow and turn the safety off, but when I peek over the wall of pillows, all I find is Lawton’s rigid body. His brow is creased, and his bare chest quivers with quick pants. I watch his muscles bunch and clench, like he’s trapped in his thoughts, trying to escape.

The moonlight catches the scars dusting his bare chest, and I wonder which memory is dragging him under. He writhes again, and I put my handgun back.

Seeing him like this, the crank in my chest unravels. I should go back to bed. Let him deal with his own pain. For all I know, he could be having a nightmare about getting trampled by cattle, but I don’t.

I tear down the pillow wall.

Carefully, I touch his shoulder, half expecting him to sleep-punch me.

“Montoya,” I say, shaking him a little.

His face pinches harder.

“Montoya.”

Nothing.

After taking a deep breath, I try, “Lawton.”

His name comes out softer than I meant. He doesn’t even flinch, so I try again, this time with more force.

“Lawton.”

His eyes snap open with a wild gleam, and his hand jerks up to grab my throat before I can pull back. It’s our instinct, so I’m not surprised. In fact, I expected this reaction because it’s what I’d do. He squeezes, but I can tell he’s still stuck in his nightmare, unaware of who he’s trying to choke to death.

“Hey,” I wheeze, wincing as his grip tightens around my throat. “It’s me.”

He blinks, and the haze in his eyes clears as he slowly pieces together where he is. His eyes widen, and he drops his arm like he’s been scalded. A curse scrapes through his throat.

He scrubs a hand over his face, breathing hard. “Sorry. Didn’t know it was you.”

“It’s fine.” I shrug, rubbing my neck. “I like being choked under the right circumstances.”

His head snaps up, and I swear a corner of his mouth twitches, but it’s gone too fast to be sure. I’m in too deep now to pat him on the shoulder and say, Well, good night, so I say the only bland thing I can think of, “Bad dream?”