Tate (Lighthouse Security Investigations #6) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,1
of her needs, having concentrated more on his own. She fell forward, her breasts tightly pressed against his chest, and he flipped her so that she was once again on her back. She continued to cling to him, her eyes now open and pinned straight to his. He lifted one of her legs so that he could drive his cock deeper.
Finally, he shuddered as his orgasm sent shockwaves throughout his body. Continuing to pump until every last drop was drained, he barely managed to fall to the side, pulling her close as he dragged aching breaths deep into his lungs.
The only thought in his mind had been to forget, but as she held his gaze, memories came rushing back. The three of them racing around the ranch as kids. The first time he’d looked at her as a woman one summer when she pranced around the swimming hole in a bikini. The promises he and Nathan made when they joined the Navy. Especially the last promise… the one that said he’d take care of Nora.
As they dressed, he held her close, kissing her forehead. He wanted to ask if she was okay, but one look at her still-grief-stricken face and he knew the loss of her brother was almost more than she could bear. If he could take away her pain, he would have. His SEAL training had prepared him for everything—except how to make this better for her.
2
Ten Years Later
They’re missing it all.
Casting his gaze upon the other occupants in the business class section of the plane, Tate did not see one other person looking out their window. Snoozing. Reading. Working on their computers. Ordering their next drink. But no one was paying attention to the ever-changing vista below.
He shifted in his seat, glad his long legs had extra room, then leaned over to stare out his window and continue his perusal of the ground from his 30,000 feet elevation.
Flat plains and rolling hills. Green grass and scrub brush. Thick forests and craggy peaks. The occasional city could be seen in the distance, but below, houses and barns nestled amongst acres of wheat on farms or at the edge of massive cattle ranches. Roads weaved between small towns, the thread that connected everyone below.
The man across from him flipped up the visor on his window, leaned over and peered down, then immediately turned back to his computer, his expression never changing, dismissing the view below.
But for Tate, the wide-open spaces below settled deep inside, bringing back memories of home. The place where he was born and raised, taught love of family and love of the land. Where he was taught pride in hard work and the reward of good fun.
Home was saddling his favorite horse and riding the ranch, keeping an eye on the cattle that grazed in the pastures near the base of the hills. Home was also hours spent on the massive tractor, plowing, planting, and then harvesting the hay. Home was learning how to hunt and fish with his granddad.
Home was Sunday mornings, sitting in the family pew of the little white church in the nearby town, listening to the preacher and singing hymns. It was a Sunday dinner that his grandma, mom, and sister prepared that would feed the whole family, some of the farmhands that lived nearby, and anyone from church that his dad recognized needed a good meal and good company.
Home was the county fair each summer where his mom’s apple pie almost always took home the blue ribbon and everyone was begging for grandma’s apple butter recipe.
Home was where he grew into his large hands and feet, finally filling out the gangly body of his early-teen years. Reaching six feet, five inches, he’d packed on muscle with his mom’s good cooking and the hard, daily ranch work.
Home was high school baseball games, where he knew everyone in the stands and they cheered for each kid like they were their own. Home was long bus rides to get to school, but he didn’t mind because he could stare out the window at the land all around with his friends at his side.
He scrubbed his hand over his chin, smiling as more memories flooded his mind. Home was also tearing up dirt roads in pickup trucks as a teenager, the rougher the terrain, the better. Home was sneaking his first cigarette and beer behind the barn and hiking up the mountains behind the family ranch with his best friend, Nathan.