She’s beautiful. Not just pretty—beautifulin a way that makes me want to build things. Shelves for her art supplies. A studio with south-facing windows. A life sturdy enough to hold whatever she needs.
Careful. You’ll scare her off.
“It’s beautiful here,” she says softly, eyes on the mountains.
“Gets old.”
“Liar.” She cuts me a look, mouth curving. “You love it. I’ve seen the way you watch those ridgelines when you think no one’s paying attention.”
“You watching me, Smudge?”
“Hard not to.” Easy, like it costs her nothing. “You take up a lot of space.”
My hands tighten on the wheel.Too much space. Always too much.
I grunt, not trusting my voice.
Her laugh is bright and sharp, making my whole body tighten. “Very articulate, Tank. Truly a poet.”
“Didn’t bring you along for conversation.”
“No? What’d you bring me for?”
Because I couldn’t stand leaving you behind. Because I feel empty without you. Because I’m in too deep to see daylight.
“Heavy lifting,” I say instead. “Need someone to carry the shopping bags.”
Her laugh rings out again, and I let myself smile where she can’t see it.
Main Street in Clover Canyon is three blocks of practical storefronts: a general store, a feed supply, the diner, a hardware shop run by the same family since 1952. Nothing fancy. Just a small town that minds its business until something interesting happens.
I pull into a parking spot and kill the engine.
“So what’s the protocol?” Jessie asks.
“For?”
“This.” She gestures vaguely at the street, the storefronts, the curious faces already clocking my truck through windows. “Are we telling people? About the… situation?”
The marriage. She means the marriage. The one that’s supposed to be a problem but feels more like a promise every time I think about it.
Part of me wants to walk into that general store with my hand on her back and let Mabel Hutchins draw whatever conclusions she wants. Let the whole damn town know that Jessie Henry is mine, paperwork be damned.
But that’s my want. Not hers.
“Your call,” I say, keeping my voice neutral as if I don’t have a preference that’s clawing at my chest. “We can keep it quiet if that’s what you want.”
“Doyouwant to keep it quiet?”
I turn to look at her fully. She’s watching me with those sharp green eyes, trying to read me.Good luck, Smudge. I’ve had years of practice keeping my face blank.
“What I want doesn’t matter.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “What matters is that you’re not stuck explaining a clerical error to everyone you meet for the next thirty days. Small towns talk. Once it’s out, you can’t put it back.”
“And when I leave?”
The words hit like a fist to the sternum.When.Not if.
“Then you leave clean.” I hold her gaze. “No gossip following you. No small-town rumors attached to your name. That’s what I want for you.”
