Page 67 of 11 Cowboys

He answers on the third ring, sounding distracted as he drawls my name. “Grace?”

“I’m extending the ranch piece,” I say. “I want to stay longer.”

There’s a pause. A soft sigh. “Fine. Don’t let it go off the rails.”

I hang up and type a quick email to my assistant: change my flights, extend the rental car, cancel the staff meeting.

The second I hit send, a weight lifts off my chest. My shoulders drop. My breath comes easier.

I’ve bought myself enough time.

Enough for what, though?

I shower, hoping the water will wash some sense into my head or some stupidity down the drain, but as I emerge and dress in my nightwear, loneliness crashes over me. Distant laughter filters up from downstairs, and the disconnection I feel is magnified. I glance at my reflection in the darkened window, at my damp hair and flushed cheeks.

Beau nudges my knee with his nose, tail wagging. I scratch behind his ear and whisper,“I guess I’m staying, buddy. For now.”

He makes a soft, high sound in response, then lumbers over to the door.

I stare at it for a full ten seconds before I move. The house feels impossibly big, every creak and whisper of wood unfamiliar enough to remind me I don’t belong. But then I think of Nash’s steady hands and calm voice and of the way I hadn’t wanted to pull away. I pad barefoot down the hall and stop in front of his door. My pulse stutters.What the hellam I even doing?

Before I lose my nerve, I lift my hand and knock.

The door opens almost immediately. Nash fills the frame, bare-chested, worn flannel pajama pants slung low on his hips, his hair damp and messy, maybe from a rough towel-dry. His eyes flick over me once, slowly, darkening as they take in the thin cotton of my tank and the bare stretch of my legs.

“Grace,” he says, voice low and rough.

I swallow hard. “I, um... I needed to tell you. I’m staying. I called the office. Changed my flight.”

His face softens, breaking into the wide smile he seems to reserve for the animals and kids in this place. He caught the sun today, and more freckles dusk his nose and cheeks like glitter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought myself some time, you know, to do justice to the article.”

His hand reaches out for mine, strong fingers curling around my wrist, thumb brushing lightly over my pulse point, easing me toward him slowly like he’s giving me time to object. “Justice to the article?” He pushes the door shut behind me, smiling like he knows exactly what I mean.

His eyes hold mine, soft and warm like he sees every lie I tell myself, every secret hope and need I press close to my chest like playing cards. His focus is singular and intense, like I’m the only thing he wants to look at for the rest of his life.

My breath catches as he pulls me gently closer, our bodies almost touching. His voice drops into a soft rumble.

“Let me show you what it could be like if you stayed for good.”

I barely nod before his mouth is on mine, hungry and certain. The kiss steals the air from my lungs. There’s nothing soft about it now; this is need, pure and raw. His hands slide up my sides under the loose fabric of my cami, fingers skimming my ribcage, and the gasp that escapes me is shocked and desperate sounding.

Nash pulls back, giving him enough space to look me in the eye. His pupils are blown dark, his breath uneven. “This what you want?” he rasps.

“Yeah.”

He groans softly, dipping his head back down, and claims my mouth again. His thumbs stroke lazy circles over my skin as the kiss deepens. I arch into him as he pushes the hem of my cami up higher. His mouth leaves a hot trail from the corner of my jaw to my collarbone, and I shiver under the heat of him, the anticipation curling low in my stomach.

His voice roughens. “I’ve thought about this every damn night since you showed up.”

I don’t have the breath to answer, especially when he drags his fingers down my spine, and his lips brush over the curve of my breast. I tangle my hands in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.

A sharp knock at the door makes us both jump like we’ve been caught with our hands in the cookie jar. We freeze, breathing hard, hearts racing. Nash curses under his breath and leans his forehead against my shoulder.

The knock comes again. This time a voice, low and unbothered, asks, “Nash? You decent?”

Cody.