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The reviews are in...

Burning Season is "hot, heartwarming, and unforgettable"!

More rave reviews from its first readers...

"In so many ways, this book is a love letter: to ranch life, to the landscape of Nebraska, and to friends who are close enough to be family and to family, in all it’s messy glory, itself. And, of course, to romantic love so strong and so unlikely that it seems like fate must have had a hand in it. A memorable & moving read."

"I couldn't recommend this book and the whole series enough. I know I will be coming back to it over and over again."

"Even better than the first two books in the series."

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Website | Rachel's Party Barn on Facebook | Instagram | Discord

Books by Rachel Ember

Long Winter | Signs of Spring | Burning Season | As the Tallgrass Grows

Jaywalking | Sleepwalker

***

NIGHT & DAY

an ongoing contemporary romance novel exclusively available to mailing list subscribers

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

The next three days were a blur. Taking care of Isabel all day was more of an adjustment than Ty had anticipated. The routine of her care was easy enough to fall into, but he'd forgotten the constancy of being responsible for an infant, around the clock. He was absurdly grateful for the hours off that Jonathan had more or less forced him to accept, but they weren’t exactly restful, considering he spent them rushing back home to check on Sam.

That's where he was now, peering blearily down at her homework. He hadn't realized his eyes had fallen closed until Sam sighed and slid the paper that had been in front of him back into its folder. Then he blinked and frowned at her.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm putting this back in my bag before I lose it. It's fine, I told you like a hundred times. This stupid stuff is easy."

She was talking about the advanced algebra that she walked over to the high school to take with a class of seniors, because she'd tested out of all of the offerings at the middle school. He gave her a smile that was equal parts irritated and proud.

She narrowed her eyes and fixed him with a critical look that wasn’t just her usual, teenage exasperation. "I know that you check my stuff just to make sure I've done it in the first place."

"Well, yeah," Ty said, wondering where this was going. He couldn't remember the last time he'd found an error in her homework. Honestly, the subject matter of her classes was getting increasingly advanced. The algebra, for example, was just numbers and symbols to him. All he was doing was making sure she'd completed it. Sam had a very relaxed attitude toward academics that he was nervously hoping she'd outgrow. But luckily if she bothered to participate, she did well. It was Ty's task to make sure that she bothered.

"And I know that you do that because I've been a major slacker, back when I was younger."

A whole three months younger, he didn't point out, just arched an eyebrow. "Mhm."

"So, like, you don't need to worry about that anymore. I get it. You shouldn't have to look over my shoulder to make sure I do my school stuff. I need to take some responsibility for my own future."

Ty tilted his head. "Has Emily been lecturing you?" Sam shrugged, averting her eyes, and Ty smiled ruefully. That last phrase had definitely sounded like a quote, and like what he’d overheard before when his oldest and youngest sisters argued.

Sam pushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped the headband she was wearing, which was adorned with plastic skulls. "I dunno. Maybe a little."

"I'm a little offended that her lectures are apparently so much more effective than mine," Ty teased.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Yeah, you're kind of a softie."

He chuckled and watched her pack up her homework, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "Fine," he said after a few moments, "I'll take your word for it that you have everything under control. But if I hear that things are slipping, I’m going to go back to checking everything."

"Okay, deal," she said, zipping up her backpack and then resting her arms on the table. "There's another thing."

"Okay," he replied guardedly. "What?"

"You, taking the bus here every day!".

"Why?”

“Because, you should be staying over there.”

“Why? Jonathan gave me the time off. It's not like I'm sneaking away."

"That time is for you to, like, rest, or relax, or whatever! And instead you're spending it on a bus. It’s dumb. And you look awful." She sank back in her chair and gestured at him. "I mean, honestly. Terrible."

"Okay, I get it." Ty held up a hand to keep any further threats to what was left of his vanity at bay. "I have to check on you, Sam, obviously. I'm not just going to let you go feral, like the Crates' kids."

"Mom and Dad are here!" Sam protested, and then immediately sighed and went on at Ty's incredulous look in response. "Okay, yes, I know they're like having nobody here."

"Worse than nobody," Ty muttered, glancing at the kitchen ceiling, which happened to be directly below their parents’ room. Not that he'd heard or seen any signs of life from there in the past few days, but that was to be expected, considering he was only around in daylight hours. And honestly, he hadn't gone looking. After shoving an envelope of cash under their door for his "rent," still pissed off that he'd agreed to pay it, he'd avoided even walking past their door on the off chance he ran into one of them.

"But," Sam went on, "I know how to take care of myself. And when you were working three jobs all last year, we were barely here at the same time, anyway. It wasn't that much different than now."

That comment didn't exactly make Ty feel better...only worse about a period of time when he hadn't been there for Sam like he'd wanted to be. But the only shifts he'd been able to get at the diner at first had been the afternoon shifts, which had meant that he'd been gone when Sam got home from school and lucky if he was back home before she went to bed.

"I'm going to take care of my own shit," Sam said, quietly fervent, and then hastily corrected herself when Ty's eyes shot to hers and narrowed. She’d definitely been listening to Emily. "My own stuff. And you need to focus on yours, okay? That's the deal."

"How old are you, again?"

For a second, she flashed a smile back that was all sweet, loving Sam, without the overlay of preteen attitude that he was still adjusting to. Then the warm expression transitioned back into a cool smirk, and she winked. "I know, I'm very wise."

"Right," Ty agreed, laughing softly. "Okay. We'll try it your way, for a couple of days. Just remember, if something happens—"

"Go to Quik Trip. Call you. I remember."

"Okay." Ty nodded, feeling much less steady on the inside than he was trying to seem on the outside. "Good."

***

At Jonathan’s, Ty left himself through the front door using the key Jonathan had given him, which still felt surreal, and was greeted with the smells of chicken, lemon, and garlic. Low music wafted from the kitchen along with the smell. Ty followed his ears and nose into the kitchen, where he'd come to learn that Jonathan spent the majority of his waking hours at home.

Jonathan hadn't seen him walk in, which allowed Ty a glimpse of him fully relaxed, leaning one hip against the counter and prodding the contents of a pan on the stove with a wooden spoon. A glass of wine dangled from his other hand, held in the loose cradle of his spread fingers. As usual, he'd changed when he got home from the office, and he was wearing a pair of jeans that were obviously a favorite, worn to the shape of his body, accentuating the curve of his ass and clinging to his lean thighs.

"Oh, hi," Jonathan said, noticing Ty and smiling. "Isabel fell asleep about an hour ago, so I thought maybe I could talk you into dinner? If you haven't eaten."

"Oh," Ty said, really hoping that Jonathan hadn't realized how intently focused Ty had been on his backside when he'd turned and seen him. He dug a knuckle into his eyes, which still felt faintly sore from tiredness despite a quick nap he'd stolen on the bus, and smoothed a hand self-consciously over his mussed hair. "Sure, if you really don't mind."

Jonathan's smile broadened, making Ty's heart swell in his chest, and he ducked his head to hide his answering blush as he crossed the room to the round table where they sat together briefly in the mornings, times that Ty had come to cherish. Now, the table was fully set with neatly arranged silverware and cloth napkins. He glanced up at Jonathan after noticing the two place settings, and got a rueful smile in return.

"I was pretty sure I could talk you into it. Sorry if I presumed." He started to reach for the cabinet that held the glasses, then paused. "Wine?"

Ty nodded, sitting straight and self-conscious in his chair while Jonathan walked over to pour, the smell of him commingling with the aroma of the cooking food. Ty swallowed hard and kept his focus on the ruby liquid arcing into the glass, with the slightest splash against the bowl of the wine glass.

Jonathan finished pouring and stepped back into the kitchen, setting down the bottle and picking up one plate in each hand. It took less effort for Ty to stare at the table this time, presented with a plate of golden-yellow chicken breast drizzled with creamy sauce, and a dainty side of pasta, with a larger one of steamed broccoli.

"Wow, this looks amazing," Ty murmured, fighting the urge to pick up his fork and immediately dig in.

"It's chicken piccata. Have you had it?" Jonathan asked as he sat down across from Ty, and when Ty shook his head, he nodded pointedly at Ty's plate. "Well, go ahead. And there's more of everything, so I hope you're interested in seconds."

Ty didn't have to be told twice. He cut the tender meat easily with the side of his fork and tucked in. The sauce was a complex medley of lemon and a dozen other things that Ty couldn't have named, but the first bite made him moan.

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Good, then?"

His voice sounded a little strained, but Ty was too busy eating to worry about it. "Amazing," he corrected, Jonathan's chuckle in his ears as he took another eager bite.

"Good," Jonathan said, in a tone that Ty was beginning to recognize as one that meant he was smiling, though one of those smiles that was almost too small to detect. He tore his attention from his plate for the few moments it took to confirm he was right. Jonathan was looking down at his plate, one of the heavy strands of his dark hair had worked its way loose of the careful shape he styled it into in the mornings, and was drooping over his forehead.

Maybe it would have seemed uncomfortable, or even rude, to sit there in relative silence, pausing between eager bites to force himself to savor the food and sipping his wine, or to drink in the sight of Jonathan instead. But it didn't. Jonathan was easy to talk to and Ty loved to listen to him, too, but being quiet with him was a special pleasure that Ty hadn't shared with anyone else. His sisters talked constantly, and he had always thought of himself as something of a chatterbox too. But now he was second-guessing that. Maybe he had just talked a lot to keep up with them. Because sharing the quiet with Jonathan felt incredibly natural.

Ty refilled his plate just once, and drank just one glass of wine, but he still felt almost irresistibly sleepy when they were done. Which was frustrating, because he wanted to savor every second with Jonathan before he turned in for the night. They were standing side-by-side at the kitchen sink, Ty drying the dishes that Jonathan watched, when Ty yawned for the second time in ten seconds or so, and with a quiet chuckle, Jonathan turned off the water and dried his hands.

"You should go lie down," he said, his voice a soft lilt. "You're asleep on your feet."

It wasn't a total exaggeration. Ty's thoughts were beginning to go a little blurry, and not from the alcohol. He blinked but hadn't put together any words of protest before a jolt of energy erupted from the small of his back, where Jonathan had placed a gentle hand to guide him away from the sink and toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Ty had never been so conscious of a casual touch in his life. And it lingered, by some miracle, Jonathan's palm spread over his lower back, feeling like it was branding Ty's skin through the thin material of his shirt, until they'd walked all the way to the guest bedroom door.

And when Ty reached for the knob with a last glance up at Jonathan, his hand was still there. The expression on his face was a conflicted one, that was clear even in the dimmer light of the hallway. For a split second, Ty was sure that Jonathan's gentle hand would turn firm, and pull Ty to him, while he bent his head and— 

But instead, Jonathan blinked a couple of times, smiled, and withdrew his touch, taking a backward step at the same time. "Good night," he said, his eyes sliding away from Ty's. "Sleep well."

Watching the tall, graceful man walk away from him left Ty aching, and somehow even more tired than he'd been sitting at the kitchen table, in the wake of that little injection of euphoric energy from having Jonathan's hand on his back. He shook his head at himself as he stepped into the dark guest room. He'd had sexual experiences that were less intimate than the past hour with Jonathan, the quiet camaraderie, the taste of food he'd prepared, for Ty, still lingering on Ty's tongue while Jonathan walked him to his room.

He was glad he was as tired as he was, so he couldn't stay up obsessing about it. Instead he brushed his teeth, stripped down to his boxers, and fell asleep fast and hard to unclear dreams.