He looked at me for a second, then down at my hands. Red, itchy lines striped both palms.
Without warning, he reached out and took my hand. His fingers were rough and calloused, but his grip was careful as he turned my palm up to the light. His thumb hovered above the deepest groove.
“Should’ve given you gloves,” he said.
I pulled my hand back, skin still tingling where his fingers had been. "It's okay."
He didn’t answer. For a moment he just looked at me. I stood there a beat too long, fingers curling against my palm.
I made myself move.
"I'll get that video scheduled," I said, already turning.
I headed for the house. The sun was fully up now, burning away the last of the morning chill. In the mudroom, my sneakers left dark prints on the mat before I kicked them off, shoving them onto the shoe tray beside a pair of work boots.
I walked into the kitchen, dying for another cup of coffee. That's when I noticed my laptop was no longer on the table. Dammit. I'd left it sitting open like I owned the place, and someone had to put it away.
Before I could go looking for it, the back door swung open and Wren stepped inside, wearing old jeans and a faded flannel.
"There you are," she said. "I saw your bedroom door open but you weren't anywhere."
"I've been with Brock, up since five."
Wren's eyebrows went up. "Five. Of course he had you up at five." She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I'll take care of him."
"I don't think he's the type anyone takes care of."
"He's not, and it drives me crazy,” she said. “Colt and I keep tellin’ him we can handle things here so he can focus on the rodeos. I've turned down my own events to make sure of it. But he won't spend more than a few nights away from the ranch."
I frowned. On the flight, I’d read that he had made the NFR twice, one of them just last year. “So how is he still qualifying for Vegas?”
“The hard way. He runs himself ragged hitting a dozen small rodeos to scrape together the payout. Wrecks his body, but he’s always back by dawn to fix fences.” She shook her head. “Anyway. You eat yet?”
"I haven't."
She crossed the room to the fridge, pulled out a covered dish, and set it on the counter.
"There's leftover breakfast casserole. Bacon, eggs, some kind of cheese situation. It's good. Oh, and I moved your laptop to the living room. Hope you don't mind."
"No—sorry. I should've put it away."
"It's fine. You’ll soon learn that we're pretty laid-back here." She pushed the microwave buttons for me without asking, then leaned against the counter.
"Thanks for the jeans, by the way. I think I already got them dirty."
She waved a hand. "Don't worry about it."
"I'll go into town tomorrow and buy some clothes of my own."
“Can I come? I'd love to help you pick stuff out."
I smiled. "Sure. That'd be nice."
"I can't wait."
The microwave beeped. She took the dish and put it on the counter. "Okay, I gotta go. Colt's waiting on me to help unload the hay truck before he kills himself doing it alone."
"Thanks, Wren."
