Crew huffs a laugh through his nose. “I thought I’d beat it,” he replies. “And for the record, I would have.”
Renata shakes her head, marveling at how even now, his stubbornness is on display. His unrelenting conviction that he’d mapped it all out in his head, that his planwasgoing to work. His refusal to be anything less than exceptionally reliable. “You can’t try to outsmart Murphy’s Law, son,” Renata says, reaching out to pat his chest. With a knowing look, Crew nods sullenly, as though this is a battle he’s been waging for a while. “Dad’scoming out to get me,” Renata says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “The guys unloaded all the supplies.”
“Good,” Crew says.
“You need to rest,” his mother adds, brooking no argument with her statement.
“I’m fine, Mom,” Crew grumbles. His hold on Grace tightens just slightly.
“I can see that,” Renata counters, giving him a quick scan from his toes to the top of his head. “But my statement still stands.” She looks to Grace, and that sparkle in her eye has returned as she leans in and, conspiratorially, says, “Make sure he stays off his feet, will you?”
From the corner of her eye, Grace can see Crew turn to look at her. “Of course,” Grace replies resolutely. She glances up at Crew and says, “We’ll take it easy.”
There’s a tug at the corner of Crew’s mouth at her implication. He’ll comply now, if it means they can do so together.
“Good,” Renata says. She squeezes Grace’s shoulder on her way past, walking into the fray of the ranch hands.
Crew and Grace stay behind, and he slides his arm away from her neck so he can turn to face her fully. She hates that she already misses the warmth that enveloped her within his hold—hates that she feels unrooted now, like she could float away without him to tether her to the earth. “Take it easy, huh?” he asks, smirking.
Pursing her lips, Grace looks up at him, craning her neck back to keep his eyes locked with her own. “Yeah,” she says, rocking back on her heels. “You know how to play rummy?”
Crew’s eyes narrow. “You want to play cards?”
Grace cocks her head. “Do you understand what the wordrestmeans?”
“Well, yeah,” he replies, then clears his throat. “I just thought—”
“Thought we’d go hang out in your tent andnotrest?”
He looks…caught. Smug. A little too confident. Grace tiptoes up until their mouths are level. With hers inches from his, she says, “Seems ill-advised. What if you overdid it?”
“That was my plan,” he says, low and rumbling, his words laced with a heady promise.
Grace smiles. “Soon,” she declares.
He lets out a little sigh, a defeated expression crossing his face. “Okay, but,” he adds, leaning forward. His hand finds her jaw, tilting her head upward farther. His thumb strokes the bone there, caressing all the way back toward her ear. “I still want to take you somewhere later.”
“Does this journey require any strenuous activity on your part?”
A real, genuine smile blooms on his face, and it’s a beautiful sight. A lovely, warm balm to the horror of the afternoon. He’s here—he’s real—he’s okay.
He’s with her.
Crew shakes his head. “Shouldn’t be too taxing.”
“All right,” Grace agrees. “But for now, let’s go.” She nods toward his tent. “I’ll grab the deck, you go settle in.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, still smiling.
They part ways then, and with every step she takes from him, a longing deep in her chest becomes more potent than ever before.
It doesn’t make any sense—frankly, none of this does—butshe misses him the second she isn’t standing within arm’s reach of him.
She misses him even knowing she’ll see him in mere minutes.
She misses his eyes, his mouth, his touch—in the very fabric of her soul.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
