She came around the corner in a sundress the color of warm honey, her hair loose and still slightly damp, looking gorgeous without any effort.
I took one measured sip of coffee and glanced back out the window.
“You’re already dressed,” she said, heading to the coffeemaker to pour herself a cup.
“Been up since five.”
Lucy glanced at me over her shoulder. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Enough.”
That wasn’t entirely true.
Somewhere around three in the morning, I’d given up on sleep entirely and done a quiet perimeter check of the house and grounds instead. Anything to put distance between us, so I didn’t crawl back into her bed again.
I set my mug down and looked at her. “I need you to cancel today.”
She leaned against the counter, her expression shifting. “I can’t.”
“Youcan. You call the studio, you reschedule.”
“Bronson,” she said my name quietly. “I haven’t written a new song in almost a year. Not since I walked in on…”
Pain ran across her face.
After a few steadying breaths, she continued, “But three weeks ago, I got my magic back. I finally have a song worth taking into a studio, and Ineedthis. I just want something to feel normal again.”
Cal had filled me in on enough of Lucy’s situation that I could fill in the blank.
Lucy Lee had walked in on her husband in bed with another woman. She’d promptly left him, although the divorce process was dragging out.
I didn’t push her for details. The guy was an idiot and deserved to lose her.
And for her sake, I hoped he wasn’t the one behind these attacks.
It was impossible not to see the quiet determination in her eyes.
Lucy was trying to remember who she’d been before Jimmy came along and decided it for her.
“All right,” I growled. “We go. But we do itmyway.”
“Thank you,” she gave me a tiny smile, and the relief that landed in her eyes made my chest tighten.
I pulled on the cap I’d set on the counter and watched her take in the rest of my appearance. Wrangler jeans, worn at the knees. My old Johnny Cash tee, faded black from too many washes. A pair of old cowboy boots on my feet that I’d had since high school.
“Why are you dressed like you’re going to a honky-tonk?”
“This is what your new boyfriend looks like,” I informed her. “Ben goes everywhere with you, and he doesn’t look like he’s running a security detail.”
She smiled into her coffee. “Ben,” she said, trying the name out.
“That’s me.”
“Nobody’s going to believe you’re a civilian,Ben.”
“They don’t need to believe I’m a civilian. They just need to believe you’re mine.”
My eyes raked over her. “Andnobodytouches what’s mine.”
