pooled on the ground, her dark sable hair glowing in the light.
Her lips part. “It’s you.”
I take a seat next to her. “It’s me.”
My body casts a shadow across her face, giving me an eerie slither of portent.
She wipes her hands across tearstained cheeks. “I want to be alone.”
“I’m sure you do.” I prop up my legs and put my elbows on my knees, taking in the gravesite in front of me.
Melody McKay
Beloved Mother ~ Devoted Wife
Followed by the dates of her birth and death.
It’s a simple gray stone, etched in block letters. Nothing like the elaborate crypts made famous in New Orleans.
“Could you please leave?”
I lace my fingers, not looking in her direction, wanting to provide her with some of the privacy I know she craves. “Sometimes what we want isn’t what we need.”
“And you think you’re entitled to make that decision for me?” Her voice is strained, like she’s fighting tears. She probably is.
“Yeah, today I think I do.”
“You’re wrong.” She moves to stand. “If you won’t leave, I will.”
Lightning fast, I reach out and grab her wrist. “You’re going to sit here with me, and that’s final.”
She glares, trying to pull away. “You have no right to make decisions for me.”
I don’t let her go. Maybe it’s not politically correct of me, not respecting her wishes, but she’s gonna sit with me. And I’m going to make her talk. “Your body gives me the right.”
She stares at me, galled. “Fuck you.”
I tug at her wrist, not hard, but insistent. “Sit down, Cat.”
She peers at my fingers locked around her fine bones. “As soon as you let go, I’m out of here.”
I shrug. “Then I guess I’m not letting go.”
She lets out a scream that surprises me and punches my shoulder with her free hand. “Stop it. You’re driving me crazy!”
“Right back at you, sweetheart.”
She tumbles to the ground, falling to her knees and shaking her head. But when she speaks, her voice has lost all the defiance. “What do you want from me, Caden? Make up your damn mind.”
“That’s fair.”
“I know!” She throws up her hand. “You’re hot. You’re cold. You pull me close. Push me away. It’s infuriating. Stop fucking with me.”
With those words I do drop my hold, because she’s right. I’m being a bastard. I meet her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want it to stop.”
“Couldn’t you say the same though, Cat?” My eyes dip to the mouth I’ve only tasted once, but somehow the very essence of her has been imprinted on me. “If you think about it?”
She blows out a breath, looks away. “I guess.”
A smile flits over my lips. “Hard to stay away, isn’t it?”
She chews her bottom lip, staring at her mother’s grave.
“I know what I should do, but you make it hard,” I tell her.
She picks up a blade of grass and plays with it as a muscle in her jaw works. “I’m sorry we’re attracted to each other.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. “I’m sorry too.”
She falls silent, appearing lost in her thoughts, and I let her have them. I sit and watch her, the play of emotions dancing across her face, the way her head tilts, and way the cords of her neck flex and loosen.
When I first sat down in that office in front of her, I’d thought her pretty, thought she could be sexy if she let herself be. It was a shallow assessment. And a wrong one. She’s beautiful, complex, and a complete mystery to me. Every time I see her, interact with her, she grows more compelling, more addictive.
Finally, she asks, “How did you find me?”
“Wyatt.”
She jerks her head to look at me. “He told you?”
“Yeah, he did. Does that surprise you?”
“Yes. I thought he’d have my best interests in mind.”
I shrug. “Maybe he does.”
She scoffs, chucking the blade of grass. It flutters in the wind before falling to the ground. “You think my best interest is a secretive, remote drifter whose only asset is a beat-up truck?”
I chuckle, wanting to alleviate some of the tension. “Well, when you put it like that…”
She shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”
Her expression is exasperated, but her shoulders have dropped from hovering around her ears.
I point to her mother’s grave. “How’d she die?”
Cat swallows hard. “Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” I look at the years of her birth and death. “She was young.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes turn bright, watery as she studies the stone. “Maybe that’s just how it is for the women in my