It sparks something deep inside me, something I thought I had buried years ago in the ashes of my old pack. A need toprotect. A need to possess. A need to build a world around this woman and keep her safe from everything that hurts her.
I carefully extricate my arm from under her head. She mumbles a protest, her hand reaching blindly for me, but I tuck the quilt around her.
“Shh,” I whisper. “Sleep.”
She settles back into the pillow, a small sigh escaping her lips.
I slip out of the bed. I grab my boots and tiptoe to the door. I look back at her one last time. The morning light catches the curve of her shoulder, the messy tangle of her hair on the pillow.
I want to crawl back in. I want to wrap her up and never let her face the world again.
But I can’t. Not yet.
I pull the door shut and head out into the crisp morning air. The cold is a shock, but it helps clear the fog of sleep and the lingering haze of desire.
I walk to the barn. The mud has dried into a hard, cracked crust. The ground is uneven under my boots.
I find Boone and Knox near the corral. They’re drinking coffee, leaning against the fence. The mood is subdued.
“Morning,” Knox says. He looks tired. There are dark circles under his eyes.
“Morning,” I say. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot they have set up on a bale of hay.
“How is she?” Boone asks. He doesn’t look at me. He’s staring at the horses in the pasture.
“She’s sleeping,” I say. “She had a fever last night. It seems to have broken, but she was... restless.”
“Restless?” Knox asks, raising an eyebrow.
“She was having urges,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Heat symptoms. She’s not in full-blown heat yet, but she’s close. The tequila probably masked it, but her biology is catching up.”
Knox whistles. “That explains a lot.”
Boone turns to me. “You stayed with her.”
“I stayed,” I say.
“Did you...” Knox trails off, a smirk playing on his lips.
“I helped her,” I confess. “She was in pain. I helped her. That’s it.”
“Uh-huh,” Knox says.
I take a sip of coffee. The hot liquid burns my throat.
“I like her,” I say.
The words hang in the air. I’ve said it to myself, silently, a thousand times. But saying it out loud to them makes it real.
Boone looks at me. He doesn’t look surprised. He just nods. “No shit.”
I frown. “You don’t seem shocked.”
“Because we aren’t blind, Rhett,” Boone says. “We’ve all seen it. We’ve all felt it. You’re the one who’s been holding back.”
“I’m trying to be practical,” I argue. “She’s the owner. She’s the client. And she’s still fighting us.”
“She’s scared,” Knox says. “She’s not fighting us. She’s fighting herself.”
