Wiggins barked happily and disappeared, only to reappear a couple of seconds later. Briar wouldn’t be happy about that, but Tarr had already knocked.
It took a good ten seconds for Briar to pull open the door, and Wiggins came wagging out to greet him.
“Hey, buddy.” Tarr crouched down and scrubbed Wiggins’s head and jowls, stroking his hands along his neck and down his back.
“I said I wasn’t coming.”
Tarr looked up at Briar, her blue eyes captivating him the moment his met hers. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
“I don’t even like cranberry sauce.”
“Good thing there are dozens of other things to eat, then.” He straightened and took in her bright purple pajamas, this pair one he’d seen before. Yellow and blue stars covered them, but none of their shine had spread to Briar’s expression.
Tarr leaned a shoulder against the frame and smiled. “Happy Thanksgiving to you too.”
She’d left her hair down today, her curls loose and wild around her face, like she’d just pulled it out of a bun and hadn’t planned on seeing anyone. His chest tightened, and not just because of how good she looked like that.
“I’m not going,” she said again, softer this time.
Tarr didn’t move. “Yeah, you are.”
“No, I’m?—”
“Briar.” He straightened, folding his arms. “You’re not staying home alone on Thanksgiving. That’s ridiculous. So you can go change and get ready yourself.” He pulled his phone outof his pocket, his heartbeat positively pounding at him as he casually checked the time. “We have about ten minutes before we need to leave.”
He only moved his eyes as he looked at her again. He swallowed, about to throw gasoline on a live flame, what with her glare kicking up a notch like that.
“So you can go get ready, or I’m going to carry you to my truck wearing those pajamas. Your choice.”
She blinked, clearly stunned. So maybe being more like Tuck would play in Tarr’s favor. Or maybe Tarr just hadn’t spoken to Briar like this since she’d been injured, and she didn’t know what to do with it.
Wiggins sat at his feet, both of them facing Briar as they waited for her answer. He panted, closing his eyes halfway as if that would keep Briar’s irritation at a minimum.
Oh, to be a dog.
Tarr’s nerves ran freely through his body, especially when Briar opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Glared.
But he didn’t flinch. In fact, he found himself smoothly folding his arms. “I’ll wait right here.”
two
Briar Prescott stared at the cowboy standing on her front porch, waves of shock cascading through her. Tarr Olson had rendered her mute like this several times in the past couple of months, but not for the same reason.
Right now, she’d label him belligerent.
No, that’s you, she thought.
Tarr glared back at her, unyielding—and that wasn’t usually a word she used when thinking about him. Which, honestly, Briar couldn’t get this man out of her head on the best of days, and now she’d have to see his dark-haired, dark-eyed good-looks glaring at her as she tried to fall asleep.
He stood there, all calm confidence and quiet steel, like he hadn’t just threatened to bodily carry her—in her pajamas—to his truck.
And, oh, she believed he would.
He’d told her several times that he wouldn’t leave her alone while she needed him, and he’d come back over and over, even after she’d treated him badly. After she’d told him to leave her alone. After she’d rejected his offer to take her to dinner.
