Timber’s Girl (Reaper’s Wolves Mountain MC #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

LINDY

The next day comes too soon. After Gideon spent—minutes, hours?—with his bearded face buried in my pussy, waking up is a major letdown, even if my phone’s clock says it’s technically the afternoon.

I haven’t slept so well in ages.

But the sun peering through the window refuses to let me return to blissful dreams of Gideon, so I roll to my side with a groan.

“Hey, sleepyhead. You’re finally awake.” Gideon readjusts the arm wrapped around my waist.

“Mhmm… Someone put me in an orgasm-induced coma last night,” I joke.

“Sounds intense.” He strokes my wild hair, the curls a tangly mess. “But you’re okay? No regrets?”

“Not one,” I say honestly. My stomach grumbles, voicing its distress after missing breakfast. “Except for skipping a meal, apparently. Want some lunch?”

“Sure, what are you craving? I can whip something up.”

Hopping out of bed, I stretch my arms toward the ceiling, enjoying the way Gideon’s eyes drop appreciatively from my face, breasts, and pussy before moving up again. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this. You relax while I get things going.”

“You cooked for me last time. I don’t expect—”

“Cooking is my love language.” Bending over, I kiss his cheek like he usually does to me then traipse out of the room toward the kitchen after snagging an oversized sleepshirt.

It’s been awhile since I’ve regularly cooked for another person. I forgot how much it meant to me to be able to care for someone in such a simple way.

Something else Dean ruined with his snide remarks.

This chicken is too salty.

You should have let this bake longer.

Feeling an itch of uneasiness despite the earlier peace, I boil a pot of water before stirring in the noodles for macaroni and cheese. Comfort food is exactly what I need right now.

As I stand over the stove, two strong arms wrap around me from behind, and I freeze, even though I recognize Gideon’s presence.

"It's just me." He nuzzles the side of my neck and squeezes me a little tighter to him.

"I know.” A forced sham of a laugh bubbles out. “You startled me." I turn my head to see him better. His eyes are bright, and the corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s holding back a smile.

He’s happy.

And I love seeing that. Knowing I’m the cause of it.

But there’s still that uncomfortable itch.

Searing pain.

With a shout of surprise, I rip my hand back from the overflowing pot in front of me. Hot water splashes over the sides, and Gideon quickly twists the dial to lower the heat and grabs my hand.

I shiver at the gentle touch but let him lead me to the sink where he runs water over the burn. The sting abates a little but returns once I remove my hand.

"Damn, I shouldn't have distracted you,” he says. “Keep your hand here. I'll check to see if you have something for burns."

“Medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Two minutes later, Gideon strides into the kitchen with a bottle of aloe vera meant for sunburns. After drying my hand with a dishtowel, he rubs the gel on the back of my hand. The wound isn't very big, but it hurts like hell. “Is that better? Lindy?”

His voice sounds muted. Another shiver skitters down my spine. Why am I cold? That doesn’t make sense.

“Lindy? What’s wrong?” He reaches for my cheek, and I involuntarily flinch in my seat at the dining table.

Oh, god. What was that? Gideon wasn’t going to hurt me. He’d never hurt me.

Logically, I know that’s true. But my body isn't running on logic right now. Between the reminder of Dean’s insults and the blast of pain from my cooking, they triggered a trauma response—something I don’t want Gideon to see. It’s not his fault, and I don’t want him shouldering the blame for my brain’s issues.

“Lindy?”

Swallowing the icepicks in my throat, I manage a few words. “I need a minute, please.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Inhale. Exhale. Slow, even breaths. Licking my lips, I shake my head. “No, you don’t need to leave. I just need time and space to calm down.”

Gideon nods, concern a heavy mask on his face. “Okay, baby.”

He grabs the wooden spoon I was using and stirs the macaroni, watching the noodles until they’re done. Straining them at the sink, he mixes the final ingredients in then fills two bowls, setting them on the table.

“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling marginally better.

I like that Gideon wants to take care of me. By being my guardian shadow. By making me lunch. By respecting my boundaries, listening to what I need and abiding by it.

“Does anything ever rocket you back to your past with your uncle?”

Understanding washes over his worried expression. “Cans of Michelob. It was his drink of choice.”

My chin dips in acknowledgment. “Dean always had something to say at every meal. At first, I was open to suggestions, but then it became obvious that nothing I did would please him.”

“He's an asshole.”

I fork a bite of mac and cheese into my mouth. “True. I'm sorry I flinched earlier. That wasn't about you.” I slide my hand across the table in a peace offering, which Gideon promptly accepts.

“Thank you for explaining, but you don't have to apologize. Just continue to let me know what you need, and we'll be good, okay?”

Breathing easier for the first time in the last hour, I consciously lower my hunched shoulders and sit straighter.

“Okay.”

He smooths his thumb over my uninjured hand, and we sit quietly eating the rest of our lunches, before Gideon voices a question.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me? Of any of the MC members?”

It’s a fair question and one I’ve asked myself numerous times. Dean was an abusive asshole and law enforcement. The Reaper’s Wolves guys are all ex-military, so on the surface, there’s not much difference between them.

They are men familiar with violence.

Yet, I’ve never truly felt fear on the compound.

Maybe it’s because Caroline vouched for the guys. Maybe Dean was so bad that I didn’t have any fear left over to worry about the Reaper’s Wolves.

“Lindy?”

“Sorry… I’m still processing my thoughts,” I say then shrug. “Honestly, there are several reasons why, but the main one is compartmentalization. Dean is one man who hurt me. He’s in a very specific box. When I look at you or Snow or any of the other guys, there’s a distinction. You’re not in the box.”

I think I hear him mutter ‘Thank fuck’ under his breath, and his palpable relief makes me smile.

Gideon has never been in the same category as Dean.

He’s got his own very special category in my heart.