Lovelight Farms by B K Borison

Author:B K Borison [Borison, B.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK
Published: 2021-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

I wake up in the middle of the night with a body pinning me to the bed, Luka’s breathing steady and even against my neck. He’s always been a cuddler, shifting and rolling and moving in his sleep until he’s wrapped around me. The first time we ever shared a sleeping space we were camping together at the beach, the edges of the tent shaking in the heavy winds off the water, our sleeping bags in parallel, a lantern hanging in the corner. He had sheepishly tried to make a little wall between us with sweatshirts and a bag of tortilla chips, mumbling something about chronic cuddling. I had thought he was joking until I woke up with Luka’s thigh across my hips, his arms twisted around my torso, and the bag of tortilla chips wedged under my back.

I scratch my nails lightly down his forearm and smile when he nuzzles closer. It’s nice to have him here. It’s nice to wake up with him next to me.

Or on top of me.

I shift and yawn and peer at the clock on the corner of my dresser, Luka’s left arm wrapping tighter around my middle with the motion. It takes me a second to understand why I’m awake and then I hear it again, a metallic ping from my phone. I reach for it and Luka grunts, turning onto his side and burrowing under one of the seven thousand pillows against my headboard.

Every man I have ever dated has complained about the number of pillows I keep on my bed. But not Luka. Tonight before he collapsed into an exhausted heap, he muttered a quiet fuck yeah before smothering himself with a cozy chenille. He was asleep in less than thirty seconds.

I wince at the bright screen of my phone in my dark room, navigating to the camera app. The alarm system has gone off a couple of times in the middle of the night since I installed it. Once it was a family of deer grazing at the dried-out corn stalks stacked by the tractors. Another time it was Beckett, doing whatever it is he does out in the fields before the sun rises. The last time it was an inquisitive robin, nothing but a flash of her feathers as she pecked at the top of the camera, the whole thing shaking.

So I don’t know what I’m anticipating when I swipe to open the notification about movement on camera three, but it’s certainly not a hooded figure throwing rocks.

Awareness has me jolting up in bed, watching as the person abandons the rocks and looks at the ground by their feet for something else instead. I watch with my heart hammering as they find something long and thin—a rake, it looks like, left out of the barn—and reach up. The picture jolts, swims, and then goes dark.

“Luka.” I toss my phone and practically fall out of bed, looking for my sweatpants. They’re folded neatly over my desk chair. I try to hop into them, my hands shaking too badly for me to get a good grip on the waistband.

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