I close the door behind me, leaving her to settle in. But I know sleep won't come easy for either of us tonight.
In the living room, I pour three fingers of Jameson. But don't drink it. Just hold the glass, watching the amber liquid catch light from the stone fireplace. Thinking about Lucy choosing me when she could have had either of the others.
About whether I'm strong enough to be what she needs, or if I'm just setting us both up for the kind of heartbreak that changes you permanently.
The truth is, I want her.
But wanting someone and being good for them are two entirely different things.
What do I have to offer her? A half-finished house and a heart that's forgotten how to let someone past the walls.
But then I think about the way she thanked me for not trying to fix her, just for giving her space to exist as she is.
Maybe that's enough. Maybe that's what she needs right now.
I set the whiskey aside untouched and pull out my phone. Time to make some calls, set up the protection detail.
Colt and Beau will need to understand the rules. No pressure on Lucy. No using their time here to push their own agendas. She needs to heal, not navigate men's complicated feelings.
Though if I'm honest, that includes mine. Because Lucy Reid is under my roof now, under my protection. And the urge to keep her here, safe from whatever she's running from, is stronger than any professional duty I've ever felt.
She says no drugs, no illegal activity. I believe her.
But some part of me—the cop part, the part that's seen too much—stays on high alert anyway.
Waiting for the truth she's not ready to share.
Hoping like hell it won't destroy us both when it finally comes to light.
18
Colt
Gabriel's ranch sits peaceful in the morning sun as I roll up the gravel drive, Tyson panting like a lovesick fool in the passenger seat.
The damn dog's been moping around the clinic since Lucy got hurt, barely touching his food, just camping by the door like he's expecting her to walk back through it any second.
Mrs. Cross finally cornered me yesterday with her hands planted on her hips and that look that means I'm about to get my ass handed to me whether I like it or not.
"That dog needs your girl," she'd said, brooking no argument. "Fix it, Dr. Mercer."
So here I am, showing up at Gabriel's door with a hundred-pound Rottweiler who's got it bad for the same woman who's been scrambling my brains since day one.
The front door opens before I can even kill the engine, and there she is. Lucy emerges onto Gabriel's wraparoundporch, moving carefully but smiling, and something that's been wound tight in my chest finally loosens at seeing her on her feet.
"Tyson!" Pure joy rings in her voice as the dog launches himself out of the truck like he's been shot from a cannon.
I watch them reunite, Tyson pressing his whole massive body against her legs while his tail threatens to knock her over, Lucy burying her face in his fur like he's her lifeline to something good in this world.
"Easy there, boy," I call out, but I'm grinning like an idiot watching them. "You'd think you two hadn't seen each other in months instead of a few days."
Lucy looks up from Tyson's fur, and her smile hits me with the force of absolute certainty. I'm completely and utterly fucked.
"I missed you too, handsome."
"What about me? No greeting for the guy who drove him all the way out here?"
"Hi, Colt." The way she says my name, soft and warm like honey over biscuits, makes me want to hear it again. Preferably whispered against my ear while I'm doing things to her that would make a preacher blush.
