Chapter Twenty-Two - Diane

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DIANE

I put on my yellow sundress, because it's still hot in the middle of the day, and wrap a sweater around my waist for when it gets cold. Then, in my boots, I start down the dirt road that cuts through Garrison Farms. It'll take me two hours of solid walking to get to the cemetery.

Under my skirt, I made a thigh holster out of braided rags and tied the gun to my leg. In a bag over my shoulder is an electric lantern and a knife. It'll be dark when I get home, and I'm not looking forward to it, but I know there's no point in asking Thomas to drive me. This is my punishment for using Avery against him.

Billie goes with me. We plod in silence until the dirt road ends and we get to the edge of Carter Farms. From here, I can see the house. David's truck isn't in the drive, so I don't have to take the long way around.

My heart twinges as I get close enough to make out the porch and front door.

This is my home.

It will be again someday.

Tears push up. I turn away, keeping my head down and continue walking. It's not much further to the wooden gateposts of the Carter family cemetery under the willow tree. The sun is setting, and gold filters through the trees. The grass is long.

My throat is tight.

The gate creaks, and I step through. It's then I notice there's a circle of grass stomped down outside the fence, like someone walks there and stands, waiting for something. It must be an animal, because I know David doesn't visit.

I hold back my skirt and wade through the tall grass to Nana's grave. So much of my life since her death has been spent in this little corner of the world. It's such a simple existence. I feel it should be easier for me to get.

All I want is a home and a family. I want to sleep here when I'm gone.

It shouldn't be so goddamn hard.

Tears in my eyes, I yank the grass up with my bare hands and kneel. Her headstone stares back at me, comforting in its familiarity. A sense of calm settles in me, and I find my body slowly relaxing. All the tension of the last few years eases.

"Hey, Nana," I whisper.

My throat catches. I thought I would have a million things to say, but now that I'm here, I only have one thought in my head.

Get me out. Please, get me out.

I can't break my deal with the Garrisons. This is my home. This is where my family's souls rest. One day, I'll sleep here too, with the stars bright overhead. The thought of their bodies being pulled from the ground, the fences knocked down, and the willow tree uprooted—it's too much to even imagine.

I wipe my cheek. Between my finger and thumb, I rub the tears away until they're gone.

Instead of speaking, I lie down and press my ear to the dirt.

And listen.

No words of wisdom seep up through the ground. Everything is so quiet. There's no pain. I close my eyes and remember what it felt like to curl up in Nana's arms. That was before the world was complicated and filled with men like the Garrisons .

Before I realized how incredibly vulnerable I am.

The sun goes lower. The gold turns to a dusky gray. I push myself up, grass sticking to my cheek, and stand. My unsteady legs tingle with pins and needles.

I have to go back and face reality.

Gathering my things, I leave the cemetery and loop the hook and eye lock down. I'm dreading having to walk back in the dark. Billie waits in the tall grass, but the expression on her face stops me in my tracks. She's crouched, her ears flat, like she's guilty. She's got something in her mouth.

I crouch. "Spit it out, Billie."

She obliges, and I frown, turning my head. It's a half-chewed dog treat.

"Di-ane."

I jump to my feet and whip around and my heart stops.

Standing tall and broad with his hat in his hand is Westin Quinn. He wears a worn shirt with the top buttons undone, showing a triangle of tanned skin and dark hair. Looped through his work pants is the same belt he used to tie me to the truck wheel.

My heart starts working again, picking up speed like a runaway train.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

My spine prickles. My body goes hot.

"Come here, Diane," he says, his voice low.

I don't move.

"I said, come here."

I lift my chin. "I know what you said, sir, but that doesn't change me not listening."

He hits his hat against his thigh. "I'm going to spank your perfect ass," he says, but there's no anger in his voice.

No, it's thick and desperate, like if I don't come to him, he might die at my feet .

I go because I asked for answers, and my Nana gave me Westin Quinn. That much is obvious. His eyes follow me, lingering on my mouth. He's giving me that look, the one that comes before a kiss. His hand comes up, rough and warm, on the back of my neck.

He pulls me in, but he doesn't kiss me.

"Fuck," he says. "I've never touched another man's wife."

I can taste the desire on his breath.

"It's not like that," I blurt out. "I made Thomas agree it's in name only. He sleeps with whoever he wants…and I can too."

His eyes narrow. "I don't believe that."

"He did. That's why he won't let me leave Garrison Ranch."

"So he said it, but he doesn't really mean it." His brows are creased.

I nod. "But he said it."

His throat bobs. Sweat trickles down and disappears beneath his shirt. We're so close, I can feel the heat coming off him. I want to feel every inch of him. I want him laid out in this field with his cock between my legs, as deep as he can get it.

I've been dead for weeks, but tonight, I'm alive again.

"He sleeps with other women?" he asks.

I nod. "He does. I thought it was only fair if I wasn't letting him touch me."

His eyes change, like the light sparks back into them. His hands tighten on the nape of my neck, and he drags me another inch towards his body until my breasts brush his upper stomach.

We both inhale sharply.

"He's never touched you?" he rasps.

"No," I whisper. "You're the only person who has."

I can tell he's dying to know how I pulled that off, but I'm not getting into Thomas and Avery's complicated relationship or how I've exploited it to protect myself.

Right now, I don't want to think about the fucking Garrisons.

He steps back, and Billie rises. He gives a low whistle, and she drops back down. Her tail swishes. Apparently, all it takes for her to fall in love is a treat. Westin reaches in his pocket and takes out another, tossing it underhanded so she can snap it from the air.

"Stay put," he orders.

She wriggles her body, like she's promising she will. I scowl, but he doesn't notice. Instead, he picks me up, letting my bag drop to the ground, and slings me over his shoulder. I yelp, but I don't protest.

He carries me several yards away, like he knows I want privacy from the cemetery, and spills me into the grass. His face is hard, his eyes glittering in the dim light. The hands that rip his belt open have more scars than I remember.

I love it. I love his rough body.

He pulls his shirt free of his pants. Then, he falls over me, shoving my thighs apart. My skirt slides back, revealing the gun strapped to my thigh. His brows rise, and his gaze flicks to mine.

"I came here alone, I have to protect myself," I whisper.

He bends in, almost kissing me. "You shouldn't have to. That's my job."

"I've never used it."

"Where did it come from?"

The memory of the night Jensen gave me the gun is so far away tonight. "It's Jensen's. I asked him for it before the Garrisons took me away."

He bends, kissing the inside of my thigh, right between where the twisted rags cut into my skin, above the cold barrel of the gun.

My entire body tingles. Every fiber of me is alight, like warm sunshine runs through my veins.

And I remember why I fell for him—because he feels like a hundred years of living. Dirty, messy, complicated, with lust and joy and grief and the kind of pain that comes from growth. He feels like the life I dream about having.

"Spread your legs," he says.

I hesitate.

"Spread them," he repeats, his voice cracking .

He's desperate, hungry. I obey, startled by this side of him. I tasted it at the swimming hole, when he fucked me on the bank. Now, it's back in full force.

My spine arches as my thighs spread. I wonder distantly if it'll hurt when he pushes inside me, like it did when he took my virginity. It has been so long since he had me last.

His hand slides up my other thigh and pulls my panties down. My legs start to clench, but he stops me with his head, knocking them back.

"No," he says firmly.

Hesitantly, I spread my legs. It's not like he hasn't seen my pussy before. My heart pounds so hard, I feel it in the base of my throat, like the storm in my chest is trying to be let out.

His jaw tightens. His eyes go dark. He falls over me, but this time, he doesn't stop himself when his mouth hovers over mine.

There's a second, a half breath, where we still have time to stop.

Then, his mouth meets mine, kissing me so hard, I can't breathe. The dull sheen over the world that fell into place when I married Thomas evaporates. Our bright colors meld like the northern lights, dancing on my tongue as his taste sparks in my mouth.

He kisses me like he's starved, and I have to pull back to take a breath. He follows my mouth with his until I push him with a hand on his chest. Our gazes lock. He's wearing that intense expression, the one he gets when we're past the point of no return.

"Fuck it, Diane," he says hoarsely.