31. Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-one

Remington

The first time I’d been in Hannah’s apartment, I’d had the thought that she didn’t belong in a closed-in space like that, nice as it was. But it wasn’t until we roamed Graham’s property, seeing her wistful for what it once was and what it could be, that the thought struck me. This is where she belongs. Ten acres was a postage stamp compared to the Kelly ranch, but if all this was hers, she could have her space, her horses, anything she wanted.

I wanted that for her.

I set up an appointment with Dell Rivers the first chance I got, which ended up being a week later. He’d questioned my decision but, in the end, had agreed to prepare the paperwork.

Walking out of his office, the preliminary paperwork in hand, I felt lighter than I had in some time. That was how I’d known I’d done the right thing. Hannah would have her land, her horses, room to run and be free, and I’d get to give all that to her.

Yeah, I’d definitely done the right thing.

I couldn’t wait to see her face when I told her—just as soon as Dell finished filing what he needed to and not a second longer.

After my meeting with Dell, I drove back home. Since Caleb was still limiting my time working on the ranch until his stubborn ass decided I’d fully recovered and Hannah was off at work, I was at loose ends. Sitting around, doing nothing, wasn’t me. I was accustomed to being on the move, having a goal, but I still hadn’t uncovered what that looked like since coming back to Sugar Brush over two months ago. I was in the middle of considering what I wanted to do with my day when Henry rapped on the screen door and called out, “Got you a package, kid.”

I pushed the door open and took the small but heavy box out of his grizzled brown hands. “Thanks. Do you want to come in, have a glass of water or tea?”

Henry had been living on this property for as long as I could remember, and he’d always been old. His skin was leathery from his years spent in the sun, and the crags on his face were deep and weathered. His white hair was almost always covered by a trucker hat, and his wiry frame was beginning to stoop, but he could still lift a bale of hay over his shoulder without flinching. He could’ve been fifty or ninety. I couldn’t guess, and asking was out of the question. It didn’t really matter anyway. Henry was as much part of this property as the yellow grass covering the land and the lone pine tree that had sprouted up out of a slab of granite I’d been fascinated by as a kid.

“Nah.” Henry waved me off, already shuffling away from the door. “Too much to do to spend time chitchatting.”

With no other fanfare, he tromped down the porch steps.

I took the box into the kitchen, noting it’d come from North Carolina, but no name. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but a scratched and beaten leather camera bag wasn’t it. There was a folded piece of paper on top of it with a note inside.

Dear Remi,

You were always part of Logan’s stories. He admired the work you did, and his private goal was to match your skill and ability to tell a story through a picture. As his mother, I thought he was brilliant, but he always strove to be better. You inspired him.

This camera was his most treasured possession. He had no use for other material things. I’m sure you understand.

I think Logan would be honored for you to have his camera. Keep it or give it to someone else who will treasure it. I have a feeling you’ll know what to do.

I’m sorry we were never able to meet, Remington, but I’m glad I have the chance to tell you how highly my son thought of you. Live well. As you know, life is far too short.

In gratitude,

Rebecca Adamski

Knotted emotions clogged my throat as I lifted the bag out of the box, picturing it where I’d last seen it, slung across Logan’s chest. I couldn’t remember if he’d had it in the car the day we wrecked. It would’ve been a miracle if it survived in one piece. Maybe he’d been carrying his second camera that day.

Unzipping the top, I held my breath as I slid out Logan’s Nikon. It was pristine, well taken care of. Some of my colleagues primarily used their phones to capture images, but Logan and I had agreed nothing touched what we could get with a high-quality professional camera.

With a clenched gut, I powered on the camera and brought the viewfinder to my eye. My finger twitched on the shutter release, and something shifted in me. This camera was mine now, and I would make good use of it.

Instinct drove me outside into the fields, and my feet didn’t stop until I reached the tree in the rock. There, I raised the camera again, and for the first time since I’d arrived in Wyoming, I was truly, fully myself.

I was sitting on the porch steps when Hannah pulled up. She waved as she drove past me, parking in front of the detached garage. Hopping out of the truck, she sauntered over to me, her thumbs hooked in her belt loops.

The sun was behind her, glinting off her hair, casting a golden hue on her bare shoulders. With each step she took, her lips curved a little more. I raised the camera in my hands and snapped a series of pictures of her.

She stopped right in front of me, hands on her hips. “You’ll have to talk to my agent before you take any more pictures. I’m expensive, you know.”

Grinning, I lowered the camera to rest on the step beside me and walked down to meet her, looping my arm around her waist to draw her in.

“That’s why I had to steal those shots. I knew I couldn’t afford you.” I touched my mouth to hers, soft and slow. Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping the fabric in a fist. “Prettiest pictures I ever took,” I murmured.

“Shut up and kiss me, Remington.”

With a laugh, I banded my arm beneath her ass to lift her and walked her over to the post holding up the porch, pressing her back against it. Her long legs wrapped around me, ankles locking behind me and her fingers delved into the sides of my hair. I took a beat to drink in her face, a little smudged with dirt from a long day at work. Sweat beading in her hairline. Freckles dusted the bridge of her nose and fanned out along her cheeks. Since we became an us , I’d seen her nearly every day, but there was no getting used to this. Her beauty nearly dropped me to my knees every damn time.

I covered her mouth with mine, giving her the kiss she’d requested. Long and deep.

Her lips parted, letting my tongue sweep inside to explore. Her legs tightened around me as a soft moan spilled free. Once I’d started, it’d become impossible to stop. I slipped a hand under the back of her tank to get to her warm, smooth skin.

“Remi,” she murmured, “I’m so dirty. You don’t wanna touch me.”

“Says who?” I continued under her shirt, trailing my fingers along the edge of her sports bra. “I don’t mind dirt.”

Laughing, she unlocked her legs and gave me a gentle shove. “Well, I do. And it’s not just dirt on me, you know. There’s a good blend of sweat and horseshit.”

“All right.” I let her drop her feet to the ground but kept her close. “I like your sweat, but I could do without the horseshit.”

“Figured.” She took my hand in hers. “Come keep me company while I unload my tools.”

Grabbing the camera, I followed her to her truck. I didn’t try to help her. I’d made that mistake once. Hannah had a system, one I couldn’t grasp, so she’d forbade me from touching her tools. I couldn’t say it didn’t bother me just standing by while she worked, but I knew when to stand down, and this was one of those times. I’d learned Hannah had come up with ways to cope with having a somewhat chaotic brain. Her after-work ritual was one of them, and my interfering really threw her off. That meant I sat in a folding chair, staying quiet and watchful.

The view was nice, and I sure as hell didn’t mind the company, so I had no problem with it. This time, I took pictures of her, her tools, the garage. The textures and lighting made for some interesting images. I was looking forward to editing them on my laptop. The excitement stirring in my gut was familiar and had been sorely missed.

Once Hannah had finished, we went into the house. She took a quick shower while I sat at the kitchen table, loading the pictures onto my computer. I was engrossed in the first edit when she reappeared in one of Graham’s flannels and nothing else.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

I patted my knee. “Come here, I’ll show you.”

She made herself at home in my lap, her solid weight both a comfort and a visceral turn-on. Then again, this woman could breathe and my dick would take notice.

I scrolled through the unedited pictures I’d taken today. There were…a lot. Hundreds. I’d been out for hours roaming the property, even catching Henry from a distance.

“These are all from today?” she asked.

“They are.”

“They’re incredible, Rem. What made you decide to break out your camera?”

I touched the Nikon sitting beside my computer. “This isn’t mine. It belonged to Logan Adamski. He was one of the photographers in the car with me that day.”

She sucked in a breath. “He’s the one who didn’t make it?”

“Yeah. His mother sent me this. She said he’d want me to have it and make good use of it. How could I put it back in the box? It seemed disrespectful not to take it out and grab a few photos. But once I got started, I didn’t want to stop. I remembered what it was like to look at the world through my lens and find interesting in the mundane. Beauty in devastation. Magic in nature.”

She twisted in my lap to face me, her eyes roaming my face, surveying me. “You’re really happy.”

“Yeah, maybe? Having a camera in my hands was like…like regrowing a missing appendage. I can survive without it, but now that it’s back, I feel whole again.”

“I’m glad you have it, then.” She brushed her nose along mine. “Was Logan your friend?”

“He…I’m not sure I’d call him a friend. He was younger. Early twenties. He reminded me of myself when I first started. Full of adrenaline and vigor. Ready to change the world with his pictures, you know? We met in Thailand a few years ago, after the tsunami. I’d only been there a couple days, and it had been his first time working overseas. I saw him off and on after that. When we’d met again a couple days before the wreck, I’d noticed a big change in him. Some of his light had dimmed. It’s impossible for it not to. Being on the ground in the middle of a disaster—and the disasters we documented were more often man-made—hearing the sounds, the smells, witnessing firsthand what desperation drives people to, I think it rewires our brains. The only way to get out of this job whole is to detach. I’m not sure Logan ever conquered that skill. He’d told us he’d been thinking about going home, maybe staying put for a while. Then…”

She curled into me, her face in my throat, her arms tight around my shoulders. I held on to her, probably a little too hard, but she let me take the comfort I needed.

“Sometimes it’s too late to go home,” I rasped past the grief clawing at my throat. “You never know until it’s too late.”

Hannah rubbed slow circles between my shoulder blades and pressed light kisses along the column of my throat.

“Lucky for us, you came home,” she whispered, so soft I barely made it out. Then she moved her mouth next to my ear and said, “He was singing, baby. Remember that?”

A wave of tenderness crashed into me, and I clung more tightly to this woman. Alive and solid and real. Untouched by so much of the ugliness that was out there. Hannah Kelly was like coming upon a pure, crystal-clear stream after I’d been wandering the desert, unaware of just how damn thirsty I’d become.

We stayed like that, the two of us wrapped in each other, for a long while. Eventually Hannah returned to her original position in my lap and began peppering me with questions about the camera, then sat with me through the editing process. She seemed interested in all of it, curious about my career and art, so I spilled. Telling her about the places I’d traveled, where I’d want to go back to given the chance, and countries I would never set foot in again.

I missed her questions petering out because once I got going, I wanted her to know everything. This was me sharing a big part of my life with her, something I generally kept compartmentalized from the people I’d spent brief periods of time with over the years. With Hannah, I had an all-encompassing urge for her to know me and for me to truly know her. She’d let me have these beautiful glimpses of her internal life, but I craved the wide-open picture.

After a while, Hannah got to her feet and poured us glasses of juice. She brought me mine, then retreated away from the table to lean on the island, slowly sipping from her glass.

“You’re far away,” I said.

Her smirk was automatic but missing some of her normal sass. “I’m right here.”

“Far.” I got up and joined her at the island, cupping her nape to draw her near. “This is better.”

She set down her glass to spread her fingers on my chest. “I’m really happy for you, Rem. Thank you for sharing your passion with me.”

I cocked my head, alarm bells sounding in the distance. “You don’t sound all that happy.”

“I am, promise. I’m just tired and thinking about the drive home.”

“You don’t need to go home. Stay here.”

She turned her head and yawned, but I could’ve sworn it wasn’t real.

“If I stay here, we both know I won’t rest. Plus, my medicine’s at home, my clean clothes…I’m gonna go.”

I tensed, prepared to fight her. “Why?”

“I just told you.” She raised herself on her toes and pecked my lips. “I need a good night’s sleep. When I’m here…”

She didn’t need to say her nights with me were often interrupted by my nightmares. The thing was, they’d lessened over time and with having her beside me. But that wasn’t her cross to bear; it was mine. If she didn’t want to spend her nights comforting me, she shouldn’t have to.

“I get it.” I touched my lips to her forehead, then let her go. “Go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She untangled herself from me without a second’s hesitation, gathering her things and stuffing her legs back into her jeans. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to me and offered a wave.

“Don’t stay up all night editing pictures,” she said.

“Yeah,” I replied, gripping the edge of the counter hard enough to crack it. “Drive carefully, Hannah.”

One curt not, then she disappeared out my door, leaving me wondering what the hell had just happened. How had we gone from being wrapped up like two octopuses to spending the night apart?

Hannah withdrew from me; I knew that much.

This was my first time opening up like I had, but maybe I’d come on too fast, too strong, and she wasn’t ready for it. I’d be disappointed if that were true, because there was nothing Hannah could share with me I couldn’t handle. I’d thought she was in the same place with me, but what did I know?

I guessed I read her wrong. And standing here in this quiet, empty house sure as hell didn’t feel good. Not good at all.