Page 27 of Wandering in Love
I’m leaning against the doorframe, my forehead on the wood, when it opens. I almost fall inside, but a warm chest catches me.
“Eva? What happened? Are you okay?” His arm wraps around my waist to hold me up.
“Peachy keen,” I giggle but don’t lift my head off his chest.
He smells so good. I just want to lick him. The muscles of his chest move under my cheek as he gets me settled on the couch.
“You’re drunk,” he says, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk pulling on his lips.
“You’re sexy.” I mock his tone and try to cross my arms over my chest too, but my hands get tangled.
Kneeling in front of me, Ian pulls my boots off, shaking his head at me. He always took care of me. When I was sick or just sad, he was always there. These last ten years without him have been so hard. I missed him.
I reach for him and run my hand through his hair. “I missed you.”
His head lifts, the dark brown eyes I’ve longed to see staring straight into my soul. “I missed you too.”
A tear I didn’t know was there slides down my cheek as alcohol-induced exhaustion washes over me. My eyelids are so heavy, I can’t keep them open anymore.
“I’m sorry about the baby. It’s all my fault.”
* * *
The first thing I notice when consciousness comes back is my head fucking hurts. There’s something pounding inside my skull, behind my eyes. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I curl into a ball on my side and groan. I think I’m dying.
I’m hot and sweaty. There’s a heater on my back, but my head hurts too much to move away from it. Maybe it’ll set me on fire and end this torment.
Daring to crack an eye open, I’m thoroughly confused.
What room is this? Where am I? And how did I get here?
By some miracle, I’m able to sit up without vomiting or my head exploding, though it was touch and go there for a second. Through the crack in my eyelids, I look around the room: simple furnishings, quilt on the bed, no dirty socks on the floor. I’m at Ian’s. Turning to see the person on the bed beside me, I confirm it.
Shit.
Forcing myself to move, I’m careful to ease my way with my hand on the wall for support. Dragging my ass into the bathroom, I dig through his medicine cabinet for aspirin or ibuprofen, anything to make the vice grip on my skull lessen. Finding a bottle, I wrestle the top off and pour a few pills into my hand. Using my hands to cup the cold water from the tap, I get a mouthful of water and swallow the meds.
Wandering my way into the living room, I find my boots, socks, and jacket, but no cell phone and no keys. Ian has a phone in the kitchen with cord for when snowstorms hit and knock out power. Picking it up, I dial the Rojas Ranch number that I still remember by heart.
It rings twice, making me wince when a man answers.
“Rojas Ranch.”
“Will?” I whimper, my head revolting against the sound of his voice.
“Hey there, Wildflower. How ya feeling?” Bastard is smug.
“Just come get me.”
He chuckles, and I hang up on him. I amble to the couch and get my socks and boots on. Forcing myself to get off the couch, I slide my jacket on and head out to wait for my ride. How did I get here with no keys? The sun is making the pressure in my head worse.
Sitting on the bench in front of the sheriff’s office, I cover my face with my hands.
“Morning, Eva,” an amused male voice says, making me flinch.
Peeking through my fingers, all I can see is work boots and pressed khaki pants, which means it’s a deputy.
“Mornin’,” I grumble.