Wiggins sat at his feet, tongue hanging out in a dumb, happy pant, as if he was also just thrilled about the idea of her getting dragged to Thanksgiving dinner in flannel and stars.
She blinked, her brain still trying to catch up. Of all the nerve.
“You can’t just show up and boss me around,” she managed to say, clutching the doorframe like it could anchor her.
“I’m not leaving you home on Thanksgiving. I just can’t do it.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you are—and I just don’t care to letyoubossmearound anymore.” Electricity zipped between them, the energy striking her straight in the heart even as her jaw dropped open.
Tarr deflated, those broad shoulders holding up that sexy black leather jacket sinking. “Briar, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’sThanksgiving. No one should be alone today, and I just…God wouldn’t let me drive away while you were still here.” He reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers along hers. “Please, go change your clothes and brush your teeth. We’re down to eight minutes.”
Him and his timers.
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
She hated how those words hit her right in the soft and quiet parts of her heart, which sat far too close to the place she didn’t let anyone touch. Not anymore, at least.
But if there was someone she wanted to let in, it was Tarr.
“I like being alone,” she lied.
Tarr arched one eyebrow and waited, steady as a fence post, the kind of cowboy who wasn’t going to budge until something gave.
And for once, it wasn’t going to be him.
Briar exhaled hard through her nose, turned, and stalked back into the house. “Come in and close the door, then. It’s not warm out there, cowboy.”
She stormed down the hall and slammed her bedroom door behind her. Not because she was mad—well, shewasmad—but mostly because she needed to breathe without the heady scent of Tarr’s cologne infecting her rational brain cells. If she looked at him for one more second, she might do something foolish, like let him see her vulnerability. Or that it meant a lot to her that he cared, that he wouldn’t give up on her, that hesawher.
In her bedroom, Briar turned in a full circle, trying to get her bearings. She really just wanted to go across the hall to her painting studio and use the good light coming in the west windows to create something amazing.
After that, she’d planned to bake off the homemade mac and cheese she’d gotten from Shelley, a woman Briar bought food from all year. She was a good cook and was trying to support a daughter on a highly competitive dance team.
Briar liked lemon zucchini bread she didn’t have to make, and chicken tamales, and Shelley’s mac and cheese couldn’t be beat.
“I was going to watch that romance with the sled dogs,” she grumped as she pulled off her pajama top and reached for a dark purple sweater. She sniffed it first, found it fresh enough, and pulled it over her head.
She wanted to leave her teeth unbrushed just to show Tarr that she didn’t have to do everything he said. But in the end, Briar hated leaving the house with dirty teeth, and she scrubbed as fast as she could before sitting down on the bench beside her bedroom door and pulling on a pair of cowgirl boots.
She sighed as she stood up, her anger blown out. She now wore real clothes, and her very-near future held sitting at a tablefull of people who actually liked each other. People who hadfamilies.
People who weren’t broken.
Because she still felt broken, though she looked pretty normal on the outside.
It had been almost three months since the coyote attack. Twelve weeks since she’d woken up in a hospital bed with Tarr Olson sitting in the corner, watching her like she was something fragile and precious at the same time.
He’d never left, not really. He was there the next day. And the next. And every day after that.
He brought all the foods she liked. Medicine. Wiggins. Movies. Her favorite soda pop.
Himself.
And Briar, who had lived so long with no one to rely on but herself, had let him in. Not all the way, but more than she’d ever meant to.
She’d cried in front of him. Clung to him when the pain got too sharp. Let him lift her into her own bed, help her with zippers, bring her ice packs, and distract her with dumb, cowboy-dad jokes and dog stories when she couldn’t sleep.
