What the hell am I doing? But the woman needs something to do with her hands. And maybe I need to give her back a piece of herself. No matter how small.
It’s what I’d want.
A nauseating flutter grips my stomach. Dust, blood, the roar of the crowd. Fifteen hundred pounds of muscle coming down hard, pressing me into the grit of the arena. More than tendons wrecked, muscles smashed. A whole life shattered. Another me now relegated to shadow.
“Mav? You still there?”
Stop thinking, Holt. Stop feeling.
“Yeah.”
“Like I said. You let me know when you’re ready for a break, and I’ll take over. Pretty damn quiet here since the debrief.”
I joined the meeting on my phone. Learned more than I care to think about.
“That Edwin guy’s a piece of work…”
I grunt. Already courtesy called the Ranch, demanding Mia’s return. Said the matter could be resolved without the courts …ifwe turn her back over. But Grayson won’t budge.
I don’t want to think about what this could cost.
“Makes you wonder who she needs saving from.”
He laughs, tense and forced. “You just said the quiet part out loud.”
Not my place. Probably. But maybe I don’t care.
“Grayson won’t cave to that kind of shit.”
“Figured as much,” I say, “but he probably should. Don’t like the thought of Lone Star Security going up against music moguls over all of this.”
“You mean, over one pretty lady.”
I exhale. “One asset.”
He chuckles. Deep voices rumble in the background, and Jack says something. “Got to go.”
I shouldn’t have asked him to get the gift. Now, I’ll never hear the end of it.
But it’s worth every risk—the fear of looking unprofessional. The threat of rumors about the girl. When I enter the cabin, I find her on the couch, singing and hooking fuzzy strips of fiber into a small circle.
I cock my head, taking in the scene. The beauty frowns with concentration, graceful fingers flying. No longer performing. No longer playing a part. It puts an ache behind my ribs.
Lavender and blueberry waft toward me from the big ceramic mug beside her. The tisane’s fragrance twists and twirls with her perfume—all plums, roses, andneed.
Twenty-one. Too young for a thirty-five-year-old retired bull rider. She’s got her whole life ahead of her. Mine’s already in the rearview.
“Thought it would be harder. That I wouldn’t remember how, but my fingers knew.” She looks up, a fragile smile greeting me. “For the life of me, I can’t figure something out, though.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, hanging my hat on the hook by the door and stabbing my fingers through the hair plastered to my forehead. Still hotter than hell out there.
“How you found the time to get this?”
I shrug. “Colleague owed me a favor.”
Her lips press into a firm line, eyes going misty. “And how … youknew?”
“You needed something in your hands. Something sturdy. Something grounding. Then, while researching your case, I came across an oldGood Morning USAclip.”
