19. Home

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D rake pulls up to my uncle's house and walks me to the front door. He leans in close. I think he's going to kiss me, but he dodges to the side to whisper in my ear.

"I had the best night." He teasingly nips at my ear. "Can't wait for our next movie night."

"When is that?" My reply is energetic.

Enthusiastic.

His low, throaty chuckle brings a smile to my face. "Damn, but you're adorable." He taps the tip of my nose. "I've got work on the ranch that needs doing, then I promised Bert to help mend some of the fences on his property. That's going to keep me busy until sundown." He peers up at the sky, covering his eyes as he tracks the sun. "You kept me up late, city girl. I'm falling behind in my chores."

"Chores?" I lift on tiptoe, cupping his chin as I place a chaste kiss on his mouth. "You're a grown man. You don't do chores."

"Chores. Work. It's all the same. I'd love to see you tonight, but I'll probably be working late."

I bite my lower lip, unable to stop the show of my disappointment, but then he laughs again. Drake reaches for me and pulls me tight to his chest.

"You're my permanent Friday and Saturday night date. How does Friday sound?"

"It sounds like a really long time from now."

His lips curve. The scaring on his face distorts the smile, but his eyes twinkle with mirth. Someday, I'll be bold enough to ask about that scar.

"If I can, I'll call sooner. But for now, let's plan on Friday."

I pick at his shirt, remembering what his skin felt like beneath my palms. "Another movie night?"

"Yeah, we'll have another movie night. Minus the movie part." The wicked grin on his face turns my insides to mush.

Apparently, Drake turns me into a needy, sex-crazed lunatic. Which is totally fine by me.

"Sounds wonderful." Thinking about sex with Drake sets off needy pulsations between my legs. I could go another few rounds with him.

Drake leans down, kisses me senseless, then waits for me to open the door. After I head in, I glance back outside and watch his truck disappear around the corner. With a deep sigh, I shut the door and lean my forehead against the warm wood.

What an incredible night.

A throat clears behind me, and I spin around. My uncle sits on the couch, looking gaunt and pale. A threadbare afghan covers his lap, one I recognize from when I was a kid. My aunt knitted that for him, giving it to him as a gift.

While my heart breaks with his illness, he appears at peace. That makes some of this easier for me. I'm not ready to lose my uncle, but his entire being lit up when he said he would soon join my aunt. I have to find comfort in his joy.

"Late night?" He takes a sip of water and waits for my answer.

"You didn't wait up for me, did you?"

"No. I just got up. Made some breakfast. It's in the kitchen but might be cold by now."

"I had breakfast at Shelly's Diner."

"Ah…" He takes another sip while I wait for him to ask the obvious, but my uncle's having too much fun watching me squirm.

Why do I feel like a recalcitrant teenager who got caught sneaking home? The silence is killing me.

My uncle takes another slow sip, eyes simmering with amusement as I pick at nonexistent lint on my skirt.

"What?" I can't stand it any longer and wring my fingers together.

"Nothing." Another sip. "You're a grown woman."

"Aren't you going to ask where I've been?"

"Not my place."

Not his place? He's sure looking at me like my father used to when I broke curfew growing up.

"So, you're not going to ask?"

Another sip. He smooths out the afghan on his lap, pointedly not looking at me. He picks up the book he was reading, turns the page, then looks back up at me.

"Do you want me to ask?" He turns his attention back to the book, pointedly ignoring me.

Do I?

It's a fair question, with an obvious answer. Uncle Pete and I don't have much time left together, months if we're lucky. Pancreatic cancer is a relentless monster. I want to share this with him. Not the sex part, but meeting Drake. Going out on a date. Having fun.

Not worrying about when the next punch will come.

I cross the room and plop down into the chair opposite him. "I was out with Drake."

"Drake?"

"You know, the one who helped me the other night?" I told my uncle all about the mysterious man who shot the wolves and saved me from the blizzard.

"I do. I know him well, as a matter of fact." He turns his attention back to the book, looking disinterested. Only my uncle is a horrible liar. He's keenly interested in what I have to say.

"And?"

"And, what?" I worry my lower lip between my teeth, anxiously waiting for my uncle to ask me something—anything—about Drake.

He's having fun messing with me.

"What do you think about him?" I bounce on the balls of my feet, urging him to pump me for information.

"Are you asking for my opinion or my blessing?"

"I dunno." I shrug and think about his question. What do I want? "Is he a nice guy?"

"Was he nice to you?"

"Yes."

More than nice.

Although, when I really think about it, nice guys usually don't fuck on the first date. For that matter, nice girls don't either.

"Then I think very well of him." My uncle is purposefully hedging. "He's one of the good ones."

Finally.

It's nice to hear Uncle Pete commit to an answer. If he thinks Drake is one of the good ones, then I have nothing to worry about. There's only one problem.

Drake's not a nice guy.

Although, he's not pinging any warning bells in my head. Not that failing to set off alarms means anything.

Scott didn't either.

I'm a horrible judge of character.

Scott's abuse came on gradually, so much so that I didn't recognize it for what it was. Even after the second visit to the emergency room, I still made excuses, blaming myself for what happened.

"Uncle Pete, I need to tell you something."

"What's up?" He puts the book down and gives me his full attention.

"I want to tell you about Scott."

His brows tug together, and the gentle smile on his face disappears. I've told no one about the abuse.

It's my ugly secret, and I don't fully understand all the emotions behind it. While I know, intellectually, that none of it is my fault, I bear a tremendous amount of guilt.

Why didn't I leave sooner?

What did I do to deserve it?

Why did I keep excusing what he did?

Why did I keep forgiving him?

Why did I, a smart, professional woman, not realize how toxic my relationship was?

In many ways, I feel like a failure, ashamed of that piece of my past. But after all the berating, I focus on the positives.

The biggest positive sits across from me. As I tell my uncle about the abuse, my hands tremble, and my body shakes.

"Your invitation couldn't have come at a better time." I sit back and take in a deep, cleansing breath.

That felt good. Like really good. Telling my uncle about what happened lifts a terrible weight off my shoulders. I feel lighter, less burdened. It finally feels as if I can move on.

"Oh, Abby, I'm so sorry. I had no idea." He makes a move to stand.

I think he wants to come to me, give me a hug, but he's too weak. The cancer gets worse day by day.

I hang my head and stare at my hands. I trace the lines on my palm, remembering the way Drake kissed every inch.

"Please tell me Drake is one of the good ones." I can't bear another broken relationship.

And Uncle Pete should know about Drake. As the town doc, he knows everyone in town, and if what he said earlier is true, he knows where the bodies are buried. Metaphorically, that is.

"You have nothing to worry about with Drake."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"How much do you know?"

"Very little."

I let a man, who I don't know, fuck me into oblivion. For someone who made a vow to steer clear of romantic entanglements, I certainly stepped right into one hell of a mess.

Relationships founded on physical attraction alone seldom stand the test of time.

That's my mother speaking. Her words of wisdom fill my head and break my heart. I miss her terribly.

It feels as if I've made my first colossal mistake. Unlike Scott, this won't be one I can run away from. Peace Springs is my future. I'm stuck here.

"Drake is a good man. Gentle. Kind to animals. Good with people. He goes out of his way to protect others. Joined the military, did a lot of stuff he can't talk about. He's harder now, smiles less, but his heart is in the right place."

"Is that where he got the scar? The military?"

"That came later."

"What happened?"

"That feels like something you should ask him, but as far as whether he's one of the good guys, you can't do better than that man. He's seen a lot, been through a lot, lost more than anyone should. He's an incredibly hard worker. Manages one of the largest ranches in the local area and still helps out where he can."

"Like Bert's llama farm?"

My uncle laughs. "Technically, it's a llama ranch, but yeah. Ever since Bert's wife and son died, Drake's been helping him out."

Wife and son? "That sounds tragic."

"Sorry, I've probably said too much. Curse of being the town doc. People tell me all kinds of things. Speaking of, I thought we might head into the office. I've got some things I need to take care of."

I look at him and wonder if that might not be the best thing. His strength is failing. But that's not my decision to make.

"I need to take a shower." I hold back a smile as to why that might be. "Give me a little bit?"

"No rush, sweetie."

I head to my room and take a shower. When I remove my clothes, I breathe in the lingering scent of Drake on the fabric. Part of me doesn't want to wash him off my skin, but it's time to get to work.

The faster I learn the ropes of my uncle's practice, the easier things will be in the long run.