“Screw the scotch. I’ve got you. You’re more potent than a barrel of any booze.” Dalton pushed her hair behind her ear. “And when I drink you down, you fill me up. You don’t leave me feeling empty.”
A weird booze analogy but she’d take it. He kept staring at her. “What?”
“I need you.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I need you to take me to the place where it’s only us. Where no one else can get in. Where nothin’ exists but you and me.”
“I can do that. I’d love to do that. But I have to be sure you won’t use the fact we made love on the day your dad died as another mark against yourself today.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She touched his face. Outlining his jaw. The wide-set cheekbones. The pillow of his lips. “Okay.” Rory turned her head so his mouth connected with her cheek. She didn’t have to say anything, he just seemed to know that she needed the connection of his lips on her skin.
He trailed soft kisses down the side of her jaw, adjusting the angle on the way back up so he was kissing her neck. Then he retreated and his fingers were tugging and twisting her hair. “Bedroom.”
They undressed quietly, separately.
Dalton wrapped his arms around her and lowered them onto the bed. He held onto her for the longest time. She wondered what he was thinking about, if he was already regretting this, but she didn’t want to break the moment. Then he stretched his body on top of hers. “I love you. So f**king much.”
Rory ran her fingers though his hair. “I know. So please let me be what you need.”
His stormy blue eyes bored into hers. “You are everything I need.”
Then Dalton kissed her so sweetly, with such surety that Rory finally believed him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dalton decided it’d been smart for Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Carson to hold the family get together after the burial at their place. That way he, Brandt and Tell and their families could leave when everything got to be too much.
He was wound as tight as a top. Shocking to see so many people at the service. Although Dalton suspected the funeral attendees were there to support the living and not pay respect to the dead.
He’d kept his hand in Rory’s throughout the service. When the pastor went on for ten solid minutes about the good Christian man Casper had become. How he’d turned his life over to serving God. How he’d proven no one is ever too old to change. And the whole time, Dalton’s resentment built. His father hadn’t apologized or asked for forgiveness from the family he’d wronged over the years. He’d added to his list of horrors he’d inflicted on his sons after getting sober and finding Jesus.
Just when he decided he couldn’t sit through another minute, the sermon ended. The final hymn was sung. He did his duty alongside his brothers and cousins as a pallbearer. He suffered through the endless parade of parishioners who expressed condolences and spoke highly of Casper to the point Dalton wondered if he’d somehow ended up at the wrong funeral.
And even when he knew how wrong it was, he couldn’t keep the thoughts from taking over his head.
So needing a minute or ten, Dalton practically sprinted outside. He stared across the pasture, wondering what happened now. Knowing the numbness he felt wasn’t from the cold.
Rory wouldn’t chase him down to chat. His brothers might. But they were busy wrangling kids and talking to various family members.
So color him surprised when he heard footsteps. He turned to see his Uncle Charlie ambling toward him. “So this is where you wandered off to.”
“I needed some air.”
“Can’t say as I blame you. Hard to hold a conversation in there.”
“That many people makes me a little on edge…not that I don’t appreciate the family’s support.” Dalton sighed. “Been livin’ alone in the woods too long I guess.”
“I’d rather have it loud like that than if everyone was sitting around staring at each other not sayin’ a word.”
“True.” He figured his uncle had a specific reason for tracking him down.
“Any word on the elk farm permit?”
“Nope. Rory’s got a couple places left to inspect. And just because we’re together don’t mean she’s gonna pick my land for it.”
“I don’t envy her, havin’ to make that decision. Even if you are the best candidate folks around here will believe you were picked because of that relationship.”
“Other people’s opinions ain’t something either of us can control.”
“True. So much stuff in our lives is out of our control, ain’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Look, there’s something I hafta say to you.”
Dalton’s gut tightened. “About?”
“What Casper done to you. And I don’t want you getting pissed off at Ben.”
Shit. “When did he tell you?”
“A while back. He needed a couple of days to cool off before he brought it up with me. And lemme tell you, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen my even-tempered son that upset.”
Dalton said nothing.
“Suppressed rage ain’t really something me’n Vi have had to deal with when it comes to our sons, either when they were younger or now. Don’t know if that comes from me bein’ a lot more laid back than Carson, Cal or Casper. Or if it’s just plain dumb luck. Alls I know is if I’d heard a whisper of the beatings my brother doled out to you, I would’ve dealt with it.”
“Which is why I never told anyone.”
“Your mom never knew?”
Dalton shook his head. “Casper always knew exactly what to say to get me to fall in line. He said if I told her, he’d turn the strap on her, since it was her fault that I’d become a lazy mama’s boy.”
“How old were you when it started?”
“Seven. Old enough to take the punishment and old enough to keep quiet about it.” He shifted, leaning over the fence—not like he was trying to jump it and get away or anything, but it was damn tempting. “Mom had to go to work around that time, remember? Luke had gotten sick with pneumonia and the hospital bills were bad and we didn’t have health insurance. I know Dad got pissed off at Luke like it was his fault. Anyway, with Mom workin’ at the nursing home and Luke, Brandt and Tell doin’ most of the chores after school, it was just me’n Dad at home. Most the time he yelled at me. Or ignored me. It wasn’t like he beat me every week or every month. That’d be too predictable. He liked the element of surprise. His punishment tool of choice was a thin black strap. He never put the marks where anyone could see them.”