“What can you tell me about Gray?” she asks.
“Gray is Gray,” I say. “Former Secret Service. Stoic. Doesn’t sleep much. Lives for his daughter, Josie, and this company.”
Sierra’s face softens a fraction at the mention of a kid.
“He’ll want to meet you when we get back. He’ll ask a lot of questions. Might be a little intimidating.” I hold her gaze. “Don’t let him scare you.”
She nods slowly. “How old is his daughter?”
“Twelve,” I say. “Loves horses and pop music. Smarter than most adults I know.” A beat. “She’ll probably try to use you to get Wi-Fi password privileges extended past ten p.m.”
Sierra lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Good to know.”
Her gaze dips to her lap, then lifts again.
“And you, Knox?” she asks. “Do you have family in Valor Springs?”
The question hits a nerve.
For a beat, my mind flashes to my father’s face, red and lined, eyes bloodshot. My brother’s laugh, boyish and brave. The smell of whiskey and regret.
My jaw tightens.
“No,” I say, and that one syllable carries more weight than I mean it to. “My family’s gone.”
Sierra’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug, pushing the ache down into the place inside me where I’ve shoved every memory I don’t want to look at. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”
Mary arrives with our food, saving me from further questions. Two steaming plates land on the table. Thick burgers, cheese melted perfectly, fries golden and crisp.
Then she slides a frosty chocolate milkshake to Sierra, topped with whipped cream and a cherry.
Sierra’s face does something warm. A glimmer of happiness lights her eyes, bright and sudden.
It shouldn’t hit me the way it does.
It does anyway.
She takes a sip and a smear of whipped cream sticks to her upper lip.
She doesn’t notice.
I do.
It takes everything in me not to reach across the table and wipe it with my thumb, like I’ve got a right to touch her. She licks it off a second later, and my grip tightens around my beer glass for no damn reason.
We eat mostly in silence. Every so often, Sierra glances up at me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Her questions hang in the air between us. Mine do, too.
“I was meaning to ask,” she says, careful. “How much are… your services?”
I choke on a laugh. “Damn, darlin’,” I smirk, “you’re making it sound like I’m a prostitute.”
She blushes like I slapped her with the word.
I let the smirk fade.
“I had a debt to your father,” I say, and the truth sits heavy on my tongue. “He saved my life once. So now I’m repaying it to you. I’m going to protect you with my life. Trust my word on that.”
