He sank in with a long, ragged groan, lowering himself until the water reached his chin, his head resting back against the smooth limestone ledge.
I set my phone aside, kicked off my boots, and stripped down. The freezing air bit my skin for the few seconds it took me to grab my flip-flops and slip into the hot water with him.
The wind howled above the canyon, but down here it was warm and quiet. I waded over and settled on the underwater ledge behind him. He leaned back between my legs, resting his head against my collarbone.
“You’re tense,” I murmured, pressing my thumbs into the tight muscles of his neck and shoulders.
“Hate feeling fragile,” he grumbled, but he melted into my touch as the heat soaked into him.
“I know it’s hard,” I said, working my thumbs along his shoulder blades. “But you’re doing great. Let me take care of you.”
His wet hand rose from the water, catching my wrist. He pulled my palm forward and pressed it flat against his chest. His thumb stroked my knuckles.
“I want to be the one taking care ofyou,” he said quietly.
“You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore. Let me help.”
He let out a slow, heavy breath. The last of the tension finally drained from his body.
“I’m trying,” he said, voice low and rough.
I kissed his temple, steam curling around us. “I know. Vegas is six weeks away. You’ll be ready.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, tightening his grip on my hand. “I will be.”
thirty-two
. . .
BROCK
The axe bit through the pine log with a sharpcrack.
The wood split clean down the center, the two halves tumbling into the dirt. I hooked the toe of my boot under another log, flipped it onto the chopping block, and brought the axe down again.
Crack.
I let the momentum carry the swing, waiting for the familiar spike of pain in my shoulder. It didn’t come. Just the smooth stretch of a muscle that had finally healed.
I buried the axe head into the chopping block and let out a long breath that clouded in the freezing November air. Rolled my shoulder once. Perfect.
“Look at you playin’ lumberjack! Try not to pull a muscle.”
The roar of the John Deere echoed across the yard. I looked up. Colt was hanging off the side of the cab, grinning like an idiot as our newly hired day-worker, Miller, steered the big tractor.
I grabbed a chunk of split pine and lobbed it at them. It bounced off the rear tire. Colt flipped me the bird, laughing as they rolled out of sight.
“You’re really out here chopping wood in a T-shirt when it’s thirty degrees? Keep it up, cowboy, and I might start selling tickets.”
I turned to see Sienna leaning against the porch railing, two steaming mugs in her hands. She was swimming in my oversized denim coat, sleeves rolled up twice so her fingers could peek out. The wind whipped her dark hair across her face, but she didn’t bother brushing it away.
Her gaze drifted slowly down my chest. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a second, then the corner of her mouth curved up.
I peeled off my work gloves and slapped them against my thigh. “Get down here and say that again.”
She smiled, stepping carefully down the frosty stairs. When she reached me, she handed me one of the mugs.
“You’re in a suspiciously good mood.”
