I force a smile. “So, yeah. I get what it feels like when the life you planned turns into something else.”
Phern studies me for a long beat. Her eyes are sharper than Sam’s, more analytical. It’s clear she’s used to reading people.
“You still a reporter?”
The question feels pointed, and I know what she’s really asking: Are you here for Sam? Or are you here for a story?
I meet her gaze. “Yes. But not in the way you think.”
And for once, she doesn’t press. She just nods once, then scoops the eggs onto a plate.
“Grab the coffee, would you?”
I do. It’s not exactly friendship. But maybe it’s a start.
We’re both seated at the table, coffee in hand, when Sam walks in.
My lips part without thinking. Good. God.
He’s wearing jeans that hug his thighs and ass in a way that should be illegal this early in the morning, especially since I know what’s under that denim. His black button-up hugs his muscles in his arms, and the top two buttons are undone just enough to show the tan skin of his chest. His hair is combed back, still damp from the cold shower, I assume.
And then he looks at me.
That slow, confident smile spreads across his face like he knowsexactlywhat I’m thinking. Because he does.
“Smells good in here,” he says casually, walking over like he’s not a walking sin in denim and confidence.
Phern rolls her eyes, grabbing a fork. “Well, this is a change. Usually you’re a grump until you’ve had coffee.”
Sam grabs a mug and winks at me. “Found something else to wake me up.”
Phern groans, holding up a hand. “Gross. Say no more.”
He chuckles, pouring his coffee like he didn’t just drop a bomb at the breakfast table. I lower my gaze to my plate, but I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. Not to mention the heat pulsing low in my belly and maybe between my legs.
Sam sits beside me, his knee brushing mine under the table. He doesn’t move it. Neither do I. And when I glance at him, that smirk is still there. Yeah. I’m in trouble.
Phern is completely oblivious to the simmering tension between me and Sam, or she’s just choosing to ignore it altogether. Honestly, hard to tell with her.
She stabs her eggs and says, “Liam called. He tried to get across the bridge, but the water’s still too deep.”
My heart jumps. “He didn’t happen to see my car, did he?”
Phern shakes her head, reaching for her coffee. “Didn’t mention it.”
“Darlin’,” Sam says, his voice gentle, “that car is long gone by now.”
I sigh, pushing my eggs around my plate. “I figured. Just wishful thinking, I guess.”
I picture it. My poor Prius floating somewhere in the Wyoming wilderness, full of everything I thought I needed, slowly becoming part of the landscape.
Sam shifts his attention back to Phern. “Did Liam say how his place is doing?”
“No major damage,” she says. “But he lost two heifers.”
“Damn,” Sam mutters, shaking his head.
Then he turns to me. “Liam’s our cousin. His ranch backs up to ours, to the south. His land's a little lower, so he gets the worst of the run-off when the creek floods.”
