Fireside by Susan Wiggs (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

thousand more kisses, and laughter between the gasps and sighs of pleasure, and Kim let herself get lost in him, in a place that felt safe and fulfilling, a place she never wanted to leave.

She didn’t let herself think about what would happen afterward. Maybe one day the memories would be as sharp and painful as a physical ache, but right here, right now, she wanted it all, his kisses and his laughter and the long, heated hours in bed with him. Regrets might come later, but for now, he was everything she’d ever wanted.

Over the next few days, Kim somehow managed to stumble through work, but she lived for the night, when she could be alone with Bo, and they could explore the searing passion that only seemed to grow stronger each time they were together. After everyone in the house was asleep, he would come to her room, and the secret, dark hours belonged to them. Sexual satisfaction was one thing, but this was something more, a singular sensation of emotion she’d never felt before, not with this intensity, this certainty. One night, when the house was completely quiet, she lay with her head on his bare chest and listened to the beating of his heart, and a sense of utter clarity took hold. The feelings swept over her in a wave.

“Hey now,” he said, no doubt feeling the damp heat of her tears. “What’s the matter?”

“Everything,” she said. She thought about not telling him, but could think of no reason to hold back, not anymore. “Bo, I love you.”

He didn’t move a muscle, but she felt his heart trip into overdrive. “I’m glad you said it.”

“It’s not…the first time,” she felt compelled to admit.

“Not for me, either. I reckon we’ve both had plenty of practice.”

She laughed. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

“What I’m saying is, I don’t mind if it’s not your first time. What I hope, what I’m asking you, Miss Kimberly van Dorn, is that I want it to be your last time.”

His words were so unexpected that her eyes filled with tears. “You mean that, don’t you?”

“Hell, yeah, I mean it. You know, I first fell a little bit in love with you when I saw you at the airport, before I even knew your name. Just the sight of you hit me hard.”

“What do you mean, you fell a little bit in love?”

“Come on, Red. You know what that feels like.”

“No, I don’t. Describe it to me.”

“You just want to hear me talk about love.”

“Guilty as charged. I want to hear you talk about it as though it means something.”

“It means everything. So listen, because I’m not so good at all this emotional stuff.”

“I think you’re better at it than you know.”

“Okay. When I first saw you, it was like I went blind to everything else. You were all I saw. I started trying to find things that match the color of your eyes—like a leaf or a watermelon-flavored Jelly Belly. Don’t laugh—you said you wanted to know.”

“I’m not laughing. And I do want to know. Bo—”

His phone rang—Sophie’s ring tone. It must be love, Kim thought. I’ve memorized his ring tones.

He put her aside and sat up, already groping for his clothes.

She glanced at the time displayed on the glowing digital clock on the nightstand. This could not be good. She flicked on a lamp.

“Yeah, Sophie,” he said. “What is it?”

Kim saw his bare back stiffen as though he’d been stabbed. He turned to her as he rang off. His face had gone completely pale.

“It’s Yolanda,” he said. “She’s been deported.”

Twenty-Three

It was even worse than they’d feared. Rumors were rampant in the detention center, and Yolanda had heard that her detention in the U.S. could last for years. She’d panicked and opted for immediate voluntary deportation. She believed that would allow her to apply for reentry. By the time her lawyer in Texas discovered what she’d done, she was already gone.

Lacking documentation for Mexican citizenship, Yolanda was placed in a detention center on the other side of the border. Now she had to wait until her case could be reviewed by the Instituto Nacional de Migración. There was no option for re-entry, not now.

Bo broke the news to AJ as gently as he could. The two of them were in a field near the house, building a snowman. It was totally unlike Bo to voluntarily subject himself to the cold like this, but he did it for AJ’s sake. After the snowboarding, AJ had developed an insatiable appetite for new adventures, particularly those that took place outdoors, in the snow, in subzero temperatures.

Bo explained about the new development as they rolled a boulder-sized snowball around the field. “I’m so sorry, buddy,” he said.

“How can she be deported and still be in detention?” he asked, ramming his shoulder into the ever-growing snowball, like a football player with a practice dummy.

“It’s only until they find her birth records, and those of her parents,” Bo said. It was more complicated than that, but he didn’t want to throw too much at AJ all at once.

“Can I call her? I really need to talk to her.”

“The center only has a few public pay phones. You have to have a calling card. The problem is, the cards have to be purchased at a store.”

AJ’s face turned hard. “And they won’t let her go to the store because she’s a detainee.”

“It sucks, I know. The advocate in Texas is doing everything he can to reverse the deportation.” According to a report from Sophie’s associate, women had to wait days for an open phone. There was no privacy while they made their calls and they had to scream to be heard. Bo didn’t tell AJ any of this, knowing it would only upset him more.

The snowball was nearly too big to roll. They positioned themselves side by side, shoving their hands under it to give it one final turn.