Page 74 of Taking What's Ours

I study his eyes. They are tired, with lines radiating out. “Okay.”

He dips to brush a kiss on my lips. “I don’t want you out in the garage apartment anymore, okay?”

“Okay.” I stare over his shoulder at his room.

“Why don’t you lie down? It’ll be a while before I come to bed. Feel free to grab one of my t-shirts to sleep in.”

I nod, giving him the space he seems to need.

He disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower come on.

I take one of his t-shirts and strip to my panties, then slip under the covers. I fall asleep waiting for him.

Sometime during the night, he must come to bed, because I roll against a body. Peering in the light from the other room, I can see he’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and no shirt. He’s on top of the covers but sound asleep. Rosie lays at the end of the bed, making herself right at home.

I cuddle against Baja, rest my head on his chest, and wrap my arm across him. In the dim moonlight, his ink-covered chest and abs are perfect. No marks, no scars. I thank God for that and wonder if I’ll be able to break down the walls he’s building.

If tonight’s violence reiterates to him why he can’t bring me into his life, I’m not sure there’s any hope for us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Elaina—

The smell of bacon cooking has my eyes popping open. Early morning light streams in the windows, and I can hear the sizzle of the meat in the pan. Rolling over, I find even Rosie has deserted me.

I pad into the kitchen, yawning, and head to the coffeemaker.

Baja’s already fully dressed. He’s got on a gray thermal under a flannel shirt. He stands, moving the bacon around in the pan, but glances over his shoulder. “Mornin’. Sleep okay?”

“Fine,” I say with no emotion, and I think he gets the hint. I fill my cup and take a seat at the bar, hiking my butt on a bar stool. Sipping my coffee, I wait for any reaction.

It takes about forty-five seconds before Baja tosses the tongs down, flips the burner off, and walks over to me.

“You’re pissed, right?”

I ignore him.

He exhales, then occupies the stool next to me, takes my hands, and spins me around to face him.

“You want to know why I keep running hot and cold?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’ll show you. Get some clothes on and meet me at the truck.” He moves off the stool, grabs his keys and phone, and stalks toward the door. “Come on, Rosie.”

I gape after him, wondering why any of this involves driving somewhere.

I hurriedly dress in jeans and a sweater and follow him out. He doesn’t open my door this time, just sits brooding behind the wheel with Rosie in the backseat.

Climbing in, I look over at him and click my seatbelt, but he says nothing, just backs out and drives down the street.

He drives us for about ten minutes to the other side of Durango, then he crosses the Animas River and climbs a slight hill. We pass under an arch that reads Greenmount Cemetery.

I look over at him, but he’s slumped in his seat, his hand at his mouth, and he seems to be buried in his thoughts. We go around a curve, and when we crest the hill, there it is… spread out before us.

Pine trees line the road, and I see a field of cemetery stones of varying shapes and sizes. Trees in the distance are changing colors to bright reds and golds, and beyond them, mountains rise up. The grass is still green, and everything is well-maintained.

We pass a sign with the rules. “It says no dogs,” I murmur.