Page 29 of Wicked Cowboy

“How does forever sound?”

“Perfect.”

I pull the big door open. Afternoon pours in, warm and gold, catching her hair. She steps into the sun without fear, and whenshe looks back over her shoulder, it’s not a question that I’ll be following right behind her. We cross the yard together, making our way hand in hand toward her friends.

Chapter eleven

Frankie

I don’t go to the retreat. I give the girls each a hug and send them on their way. I want to be here, on the ranch, and with Rhett. I know everything is happening at a speedy rate, but it all feels right.

We drive into the city and pack up some of my things. We can get the rest later. We’ve talked the whole drive, and back, about nothing and everything.

Rhett kills the truck’s engine. The silence that follows hums. He looks over, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the otherloosely at his side. His thumb drums once against the denim on his thigh, a soft, restless sound.

“You sure you’re staying?” he asks.

I smile. “I’m sure.”

“Good.”

We climb out of the truck, and the gravel crunches under our boots. Inside, the house is quiet except for the distant murmur of Martha and Luke’s laughter somewhere down the hall. Rhett closes the door behind us, and the air changes, it’s charged, gentle, expectant.

He starts to say something, but I stop him. I step closer, close enough that the scent of him fills every breath. When I slide my hands against his chest, his heart kicks under my palms, hard and sure.

“Frankie,” he says, a warning that sounds too much like a wish.

“I know,” I whisper. “Me too.”

That’s all it takes. He tilts my chin up, and then his mouth is on mine, slow, sure, unhurried like he means to memorize every second. The kiss starts soft, almost careful, then deepens until the space between us disappears. My fingers find his collar, holding on like I can’t get enough.

It feels inevitable, like the first time we laughed, the first time he said my name, the first time I saw the man behind the quiet.

He finally pulls back and presses his forehead to mine. “Tell me what you want,” he says, voice low, rough with restraint.

“This,” I whisper. “Just this. You.”

The world narrows to the sound of our breathing. He traces a line down my cheek, then takes my hand and leads me upstairs, every step deliberate, like he’s afraid to break whatever this moment is.

In his room, the light is soft. He pauses, searching my face as if waiting for doubt. He won’t find any.

What follows is less a rush and more a surrender. The slow kind, where laughter and touches blur together, where everything he does saysI see you,and everything I answer saysI’m not going anywhere.When he kisses me again, it feels like the world exhales.

Later, he pulls me against him, arm draped over my waist, fingers tracing idle circles at the edge of my ribs. He murmurs into my hair, half-asleep, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Good trouble,” I say, smiling into the quiet.

“Best kind,” he replies, and the words drift into a sigh.

I stay awake a while longer, watching the shadows slide across the ceiling. The man beside me has spent years fixing fences, building walls, trying to keep everything he loves from slipping through.

Chapter twelve

Rhett

Morning light finds its way through the curtains. I don’t remember ever sleeping this late.

Frankie’s still asleep, curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other resting against my chest. Her hair’s a wild halo against the pillow, and every few minutes she lets out a sigh.