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His smell, the feel of his hard body against mine.

This cowboy who could probably chase away a literal monster, simply sitting here trying to chase away my fears.

I don’t know how long it takes for the panic to subside. I never really do. It always feels like hours. And sometimes it is. All I know is that I become very accustomed to the sound of Cruz’s beating heart as my mind slowly drifts off tosleep.

Chapter 8

Cruz

I blink, squinting my eyes as the morning sun blinds me. I turn my head away and then wince at the immediate stiffness in my neck.

What the hell did I—

And then I take in everything at once. The front porch of a cabin, my back against the wall … and Addison Thatcher asleep in my arms. My legs are stretched out on either side of her, and she’s curled against my chest, my arms wrapped loosely around her waist.

I stare down at her in utter shock, memories of last night crashing into me like a truck. I’d been in my cabin—the closest one to hers—and I’d heard heryell. At first, I thought I’d imagined it, but when she screamed a second time, I figured I should check on her. In all honesty, I’d assumed she was screaming about a mouse or something, but when I’d found her curled up on her front porch, I feared the worst—some kind of emergency medical episode.

But when she claimed she didn’t need an ambulance and I took in her state that felt all too familiar, I knew what was happening. So I held her through it. Talked her through it. Let her hold my hand. God, she’s got a strong grip. When she’d fallen asleep, I truly had planned on eventually waking her up and getting her back inside the cabin. But in an effort to let her rest, I guess I must have drifted off too.

And here we are.

I can’t see her face, but by the way her shoulder is slowly rising and falling, I can tell she’s still asleep. Almost involuntarily, I duck my chin, inhaling the scent of her hair—lavender something. In my arms, she feels so soft and … small. The image of her last night, shaking, whimpering—it claws at my gut unlike anything else has ever before. Never in my life had I wanted to save someone from something so badly.

And never had I felt more useless.

Addison shifts in my arms, pulling me from my thoughts. She makes the tiniest, most obnoxiously adorable grunting sound, and then a sharp intake of breath. And then she cranes her neck up, and our eyes meet.

I see my own panic mirrored in her gaze, then shock, indecision, and finally … anger.

She’s angry. Of course.

She sits up quickly, putting space between us, and the parts of my body previously touching her suddenly feel cold in her absence.

“What …” she starts but seemingly remembers as she closes her mouth and swallows. She glares at me but doesn’t say anything. Honestly, I’m taking her silence as a good sign.

“Why didn’t you take me back inside?” she finally asks, and although she looks angry, her question is small, tired.

At first, my defenses rise, angry that she’s chosen to criticize me rather than see what I did for her. But I don’t know if it’s having seen her at her lowest last night, or just the lack of fight I see in her right now, but all my irritation fades.

Instead, I simply see someone who feels vulnerable and is trying to fight it the only way she knows how.

I take a deep breath, stretching my stiff limbs. “I fell asleep too. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Surprise skates across her face at my apology. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking around, then back at me. “I …” She swallows. “I didn’t mean for you to—” She gestures to where I’m sitting. “You didn’t have to stay.” She won’t look at me; instead, she’s fiddling with a loose thread on her jeans.

I stand, reaching down and offering my hand. She stares at it for a long moment.

“I don’t bite,” I say softly.

She takes my hand, and I pull her up. She’s a bit wobbly on her feet—whether it’s from sleeping on the porch or the aftereffects of her panic attack, I’m not sure. Maybe both. I find myself reaching out to place a steadying hand on her lower back as she heads toward her front door.

Once she’s over the threshold, I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans, shoot her a tight-lipped smile, and turn on my heel.

“Wait,” she calls after me.

I turn halfway back.

“Do you want to come in? Get some water, use the bathroom?” She shrugs. “We’ve been out there all night.”