Page 88 of Distress Signal

We’d get there eventually. For now, I was giving her space and time, exactly like I’d promised last night.

Once she was settled in, I said, “So as much as I hate to leave you, I need to get to work.”

My phone had been blowing up all morning, ranch hands and my foreman demanding to know where I was. I’d already spent too much time away from my duties, and there was a pregnant mare who needed my attention today. West and Ihadagreed to take the plane out again today, but it could wait until later. I shot him a quick text saying so.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got a meeting with Aspen this morning anyway.”

“Great. I’m glad you won’t be alone.”

“See you later?” she asked.

I nodded. “It might be late. West and I have to take care of something this evening.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeated. Before I thought better of it, I stepped forward, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and left.

twenty-five

. . .

FINN

Up to that point,the only women I’d ever lived with were my mother and Aria, and I was worried how adapting to having Reagan in my space would go.

I shouldn’t have been worried.

Living with Reagan was as easy as breathing, like we’d been cohabitating for years instead of a few weeks.

Easyif you completely ignored the unspent sexual energy that pulsed in every one of our interactions.

Both of us were busy, though, so we usually only came together for dinner and rotting on the couch for a few hours before bed. While I was at work, I’d usually see her car up at the big house, Aspen’s parked right alongside it, likely working on wedding details together. The two of them had grown close during Reagan’s time here, and I was grateful she had a friend to keep her company when I had to be at work. Mama and Aria also absolutely adored her; she folded into my family so easily, it was difficult to remember a time when she hadn’t been around.

Everyone looked at and talked about us like a couple, and I supposed from the outside looking in, we sure seemed like one.

But she hadn’t made a move in the physical sense, thoughwe’d grown so much closer emotionally over meals and glasses of bourbon before bed. There was no doubt in my mind this woman wasitfor me, and I wanted to show her that, hoping she felt the same way.

The opportunity presented itself perfectly almost two weeks after she’d moved in with me. There hadn’t been any movement on Lainey’s case, though I knew Reagan called Lane regularly for updates. Trey was taking his sweet ass time going through the old security footage from the Swallow, and honestly, I was getting as impatient as Reagan. Waiting for some tangible lead we could follow to her sister’s whereabouts was painful.

West and I had gone up in the plane four more times, clearing half of the area we were currently focused on, and managed to locate five properties that had potential to be the one from Reagan’s dream.

Every day, every time her hopes were dashed by my big brothers, it grew harder and harder to keep those clandestine trips to myself. I wanted so badly to tell her, but I didn’t want to get her hopes up more only to disappoint her.

The sounds of cooking greeted me when I walked into the house after work that night. Once I’d shed my boots and hat, I found Reagan in the kitchen, barefoot, long golden legs on display in a pair of tiny white shorts. Her tank’s thin spaghetti straps exposed the gentle, tan slopes of her shoulders, the lines of her collarbones, the long column of her neck.

She had yet to notice my presence, likely because of the music blasting from the surround sound, so I leaned against the wall and watched her.

I loved the easy way she moved around my home. She seemed to know exactly where everything was, not having to dig or open multiple cupboards before locating what she needed. Iwantedher to think of this place as hers too. I wanted it to beours.

When she bent over to pull a tray of what I quickly realized was lasagna from the oven, the sight of her ass had meunintentionally clearing my throat, fighting off a groan at the perfect peach shape, ripe andright therefor the taking.

The tray of lasagna clattered to the stovetop as she whirled on me, hand to her chest.

“Sorry,” I said with a grimace, loud enough to be heard over the dulcet tones of Hozier crooning about how someone was too sweet for him. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Grabbing her phone off the counter, she turned the volume down.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I was a little distracted.”