Page 85 of Knox
Oh, uh…
“AJRussell? Kelsey said softly.
“You know him?” Knox said.
She nodded. “He sent me flowers. Even showed up once at the rehab center, but Ham made him leave. He was pretty upset about what his brother had done to me.”
Knox glanced at Tate, but the man showed nothing of remorse for nearly breaking the man’s fingers. His mouth tightened.
“Just say it, Tate.”
“Vince Russell is dead. His body was found this morning in the Bronx River.”
Kelsey stilled. “Really?”
“Really, Kels. It’s over.”
She looked at Knox, her eyes shiny, her breath starting to shudder.
“C’mere,” he said softly and reached for her, pulling her close, her body shaking against him. “You’re all right. You’re going to be all right.” Then he looked up at Tate. “It’s time for you to leave, bro.”
Tate closed the door behind him.
And Knox held Kelsey to himself as she dissolved into wracking, relieved sobs against his chest.
10
The morning dawned bold and bright, the sky striated with lavender and gold, the clouds over the snowcapped blue mountains tufted pink, just like every other day in Montana.
But today wasn’t every other day. And neither had been yesterday, or the day before.
Today, Kelsey woke with her nightmares declared dead, the strings that held her to fear snipped.
She lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Four days after the news of Russell’s death, Kelsey should be happy.
And not just with the news of Russell’s death, but she could still feel Knox’s arms wrapped around her last night, taste him on her lips, smell the cottony, cowboy redolence of him on her skin.
They had a routine, of sorts. She and Glo spent the days helping his mother as she prepared for her birthday weekend. Yesterday, they’d made pies. The day before, enough cookies to feed a couple hockey teams. They spent two afternoons prepping the garden, replanting the pots and window boxes, and even feeding the baby goats, which Glo had developed a particular craziness for.
In the evenings, while Glo and Tate squared off with a board game, she snuck into the den with Knox. He would turn on an old episode ofBonanzaorGunsmoke, neither of them interested in watching.
They would talk about the day, her life on a farm in Minnesota before the tragedy, and his growing-up years on the ranch. And somewhere in there she’d end up on the sofa in his arms, tucked tight against the curve of his body, her head on his bicep.
He took his time kissing her, his fingers wrapped between hers. Warm, lingering, deep kisses, the kind that confirmed that she was, indeed, safe.
No running necessary.
And then, when she thought she might lose her mind, he’d tuck her back against him, drape one muscled arm over her, his breathing in sync with hers until she fell off to sleep, his whiskers against her skin stirring up a desire in her that she hadn’t ever thought possible.
In fact, with Knox, she began to tiptoe into the realm of too much glorious, unexpected possibility.
She could blame him for this crazy thinking. He’d started it last night when he’d helped her onto the back of his horse, where she could put her arms around his trim waist, cuddling up close to that wide back, and trotted her out to the perch overlooking the waterfall.
The sunset had glinted copper off the distant rush of water, the sky mottled with amber and gold. They’d dismounted and walked out to the benches. There, they’d sat, her back against his chest. He’d tucked her into his embrace and just let her listen.
Listen to the rush of the wind, the rise of cicadas into the evening, listen to her heartbeat slowing, her own thoughts unwinding.
“There’s a little cave behind the falls,” Knox said in her ear, his late-afternoon whiskers brushing her neck. “It always reminds me of that scene inThe Last of the Mohicanswhen the hero, Hawkeye, is being chased by the Huron warriors. He and Cora, the heroine, are trapped on this ledge behind the falls. He tells her he’ll rescue her and dives over the edge.”