But the book bothered her more.Black Beautywas a classic. It was also her favorite book of all time.
It was only a lucky guess.
“You need to tell Carson.”
Concern threaded through her belly like a cool, thin serpent.
“Decker, please.” She set the wreath where sunlight could make the berries glow. “Let me get through Layne’s shower. Then we can loop in Carson and the others, and they can make a federal case out of floral arrangements. For the next few hours, I need to be the person who has the answers.”
He exhaled, the sound not quite surrender, not quite agreement. “Fine.”
And when the last ribbon was tied and the first guest greeted at the door, when the noise rose enough to make a single rose feel like nothing at all, Willow told herself the tightness in Decker’s voice could also wait.
Later, she promised him in her head.Later we’ll deal with it.
* * * * *
Decker had learned to admire Willow’s stubborn streak—it was part of what made her shine in this family of big personalities. She shrugged off the rose left for her as if it were nothing more than a quirky small-town mystery.
And he let her do it because he understood what she wasn’t saying out loud.
She didn’t want to add one more thing to her brothers’ plates. Didn’t want to tarnish the joy of Layne’s baby shower with a single shadow.
He got that. He’d been doing the same damn thing with his own family since leaving the military—keeping his scars, nightmares and failures tucked away, pretending distance was easier for everyone than the weight of his broken pieces. That was how he’d ended up here on the ranch, trying to work his way back into some kind of whole.
But this wasn’t the same as battling ghosts in your own head. The honey he could pass off as an innocent gift, but the book had been a subject she loved.
And a long-stemmed red rose came with a different kind of weight.
The fact that Willow’s secret admirer wanted to keep their identity hidden felt like a threat to Decker.
Worse, Willow seemed determined to shrug it all off. And that chilled him.
Because while he respected her choice not to stir up panic, he couldn’t ignore the knot tightening in his gut.
The baby shower was in full swing, the chatter and laughter filling the hall that sometimes felt too heavy from the shadows that clung to the veterans who frequented it.
Layne was the center of it all, radiant and pretty, always smiling as she moved between the small group of guests. But it was Willow he tracked carefully.
She hurried around, organizing everything from the food placement on the buffet to a streamer that came loose from the gift table. And goddamn if he could get the feel of that sweater dress she wore out of his mind.
He curled his fingers, trapping in the sensation he felt when he grabbed her waist and lifted her off the ladder before she broke her neck teetering on the rungs in high heels.
And the deep blue of her dress set off her gray eyes, making them warmer, brighter.
At one point, he felt as though she delved into his soul when their gazes locked.
He told himself he was imagining something that wasn’t there. His mind played tricks because his feelings—which he stuffed down deep inside—refused to stay buried.
As she moved toward the drink table, he saw that the punchbowl was empty. In quick steps, he pushed off the wall where he stood out of the way and intercepted her.
“I got it.”
She looked up into his eyes. Awareness gripped his gut as he drank in her face, the dainty point of her chin, those full, ripe lips she nibbled on whenever she was worried.
“The sherbet is in the freezer and the soda—”
“I got it.” His voice came out as a gentle rumble.
