My scar is still mostly covered, but since the cat’s out of the bag, I feel okay letting some of the edges show.
I do feel lighter as I head down the heavy log staircase of the lodge. I take a steadying breath and prepare to face the day, but it’s as if the wind is knocked out of me when I see him.
He’s leaning against the side of his truck like he stepped off the cover of a ranch-themed romance novel. Duke Faraday in all his crisp T-shirt-clad confidence. His arms are crossed, forearms flexed in a way that makes me feel instantly ridiculous for noticing. A soft breeze lifts the ends of his hair beneath his hat, and that infuriatingly perfect jaw ticks when he spots me.
Oh no.
My heart skids in my chest.
The sense of peace I’d just reclaimed? Gone. Sprinted off into the woods.
Of course he would look freshly showered and rugged and devastating after the spectacular meltdown I had last night. I probably still have puffy eyes and a pillow crease across my cheek.
His eyes trail over me, slow and unreadable, in a “he notices everything and it makes my skin tingle” kind of way.
“You look better,” he says, his voice gentler than usual.
“I’m still recovering from public water humiliation and the emotional collapse that followed, but thanks.”
“Emotional collapse?” His eyes are large and searching my face now.
I kick at an invisible rock. “It’s fine. I’m good.”
“I’m happy to see you left the turtleneck behind.”
I smile. “Yes, well, I figure …” my voice trails off. “Thank you. I … I didn’t get to thank you for everything yesterday.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up, and he opens the door to his truck. “You can thank me later. Get in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get in the truck, Trouble.”
“And where do you think we’re going?”
He closes the gap between us and the energy coming off him threatens to unravel me. “This has gone on long enough.”
“What has?”
“We’re going to town to get you some new clothes so you don’t almost die again on my watch.”
I want to fire off a retort, but I remind myself of how my pride has gotten me in trouble the past few days. I blow out a long breath and climb into the cab. Jameson snorts from the back seat, and I’m happy to see him. When Duke gets in and the door shuts with a satisfyingthunk.
“Oh, uh, I was supposed to meet Leo and Allie,” I say. “I don’t want them to think I’m still sulking in my room.”
“Caught them on my way in and let them know what we’re doing.”
“I don’t have my purse, my wallet?—”
“I’m buying.”
My shoulders stiffen. “Out of the question. I’m perfectly capable of buying my own clothes.”
“Me offering to buy you some new duds doesn’t imply you’re not capable.”
He reaches for the truck’s console, maybe to adjust the air or tap something on the dash, but his arm brushes my thigh.
His hand pauses. Just for a second. My breath hitches, heat blooming in the exact spot he touched me. He doesn’t pull away immediately, clears his throat and finishes whatever he was doing, like nothing happened.
