“Summer.” He sounds exasperated with me.
“Stop being difficult and come sleep in the bed.”
Silence fills the room, and I wonder if he heard me at all.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he rasps.
I already am. Uncomfortably horny. But I don’t say that. “You won’t. What’s making me uncomfortable is that you’re sleeping on a dirty floor with an injured shoulder or back. Get your ass up here.”
He blows out a deep breath in response, and I hear the rustling of blankets as his form takes shape across the room. When he comes to sit on the bed, the mattress dips beneath him and he scrubs at his face. The sound of his stubble rasping against his hands is more pronounced in the dark.
“You sure?”
His shoulder must be sore for him to have given in so easily.
“Eaton, stop being such a pussy and get in here. I thought you were good at hopping in and out of women’s beds.” I lift the blanket and scoot over to my side to make extra room for him.
He chuckles as he moves under the covers and drops his head onto the pillow he brought with him. “Most women aren’t as terrifying as you.”
“Yeah, right.” I tuck the covers tight around myself, as though they’ll protect me from the scent of liquorice and leather that envelops me. As if I won’t feel the heat of his body sidled up close to mine and let my mind wander.
He lies flat on his back, hands clasped over his chiseled abs. Because, of fucking course, he’s not wearing a shirt.
When his elbow bumps me, I try not to start. “I mean, you told me you were going to kill me in my sleep. I have some sense of self-preservation, you know.”
“You ride angry bulls for a living. I’m really not so sure about that.”
He huffs out a small laugh, and we fall into an uncomfortable silence.
So, like the awkward mess I am, I blurt out, “Where’s your mom? There’s an awful lot of testosterone out at that ranch. Total sausage fest.”
“She’s gone.” His voice gentles.
“Yeah. Mine too.”
His head turns in my direction. “Really? I thought you had an older sister. I know I’ve heard Kip talk about his wife.”
My face scrunches. “Yeah. Funny story that.”
“I could use a laugh.”
“The nanny is my mom.”
Rhett’s body goes rigid beside me, and I laugh. This story always horrifies people. “Come again?”
I clear my throat and reach up to push my hair off my forehead. “Kip was getting busy with the nanny. And ta-da! Along came me.”
“Shit.” I wish there were light so I could see his face right now.
“Yeah. Pretty much. My mother was travelling from abroad when she worked at our house. She basically had me, signed me over to my dad, and went back home. I don’t even think I blame her. I’m not sure I’d want to be tied to the aftermath of that.”
“That’s . . . well, that’s really fucked up.”
I laugh and know he’s looking at me like he can’t quite decide how to tread into this. Most people don’t.
“When did you find out?”
My eyebrows rise. This is usually when people promptly change the subject and run like hell toward another topic. “I think I’ve always known in some regard. My stepmom made sure that was the case.”
“She stuck around?”
“She sure did.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah. I don’t get it either. Particularly since she’s always gone out of her way to make things strained between us. Between my sister and me. Between her and my dad. I almost feel bad for her. I know he shouldn’t have cheated on her, obviously, but it’s like she stuck around just to make everyone else miserable. I wish she could be happy.”
“What does she do?” I know he’s thinking she stuck with Kip for the money.
“She’s a surgeon. Just like my sister. Or just like my sister will be.”
“Wild.” He sounds genuinely shocked. “And you and your sister?”
“Complicated.” Really, really fucking complicated. “She’s . . . well, she’s pretty much the polar opposite from me. Looks. Personality. Shit, her name is even Winter. I think in my dad’s misplaced desire to have us be one big happy family, he tried to stick with a trend of seasonal names, and instead we’ve just been pitted against each other. Even in moments that we weren’t aware of it.”
Silence stretches between us. “I’m sorry you grew up with that,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, well, we adapt. I prefer the vibe at your ranch.”
“Have you ever tried to find your mom?”
I suck in a sharp breath. “No. If she wanted to know me, she could easily find me. But she never has, and I don’t want to be a burden to someone I don’t even know.”
He’s silent at that, so after a few drawn-out moments, I ask, “What happened with your mom?”
“She died giving birth to my little sister.”
I don’t hesitate as I inch closer, pressing my arm against his, hoping to provide some sort of gentle comfort to him now that we’ve traveled down this path. Straight into heavy conversation, sharing secrets in the dark.
“I’m sorry, Rhett.”
“I was not quite two, so I don’t remember her. Actually, I think that’s the worst part. I missed out on this whole facet of life. I’ll never get to experience having a mom. And my dad never moved on.”
Nodding, I say, “I can relate to that. But you know, at least your mom wanted you.” I sound terribly tragic saying that, but I blurt it out before I can think better of it. “My dad has spent his entire life proving to me he loves me, and I think a lot of that is to make up for the clusterfuck that is everyone else around me.”
“Kip pisses me off sometimes.” I snort because Kip Hamilton does have a knack for pissing people off. “But I can see him being a good dad. A funny one. A protective one. Obviously. Can we not tell him about this bed-sharing thing?”
We both laugh. Thinking of his threats. The rules he set out for us.
“Yeah. It took me a while to reconcile, you know”—my hands flap in front of me—“the circumstances of my birth. That my dad can be a flawed but good man, all at once. When I was sick, he stayed with me every day. He literally worked from my hospital room and slept in the chair in the corner until some nurse took pity on him and snuck him a cot.”
My voice breaks. This always gets me. That kind of love, well, it’s scarce. Someone who doesn’t leave your side, no matter what. Unlike my mother or stepmother.
This time, Rhett reaches down and tentatively threads his fingers through mine, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. His callouses rasp against my skin just like I knew they would, and against my better judgment, I don’t pull away.
“I didn’t know,” is all he says, and somehow, that simple sentence and the feel of his warm hand brings me comfort.
“Yeah, lots of health issues growing up. Turned out to be an undiagnosed congenital heart defect. Fixable with surgery, except surgery went wrong, and there were complications. Big scary ones. Plus, a nice lingering infection. Kind of killed my teenaged years. Just really had to go all out on making myself an extra burden and all that.”