Page 68 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

Mike's hands slid into her hair, angled her head, and deepened the kiss. She made a sound low in her throat, half sob, half surrender, and pressed closer, fisting her hands in his shirt like she could hold him there through sheer force of will.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Mike pressed his forehead to hers. "If I ask you to come back to my room tonight, are you gonna think I'm taking advantage?"

"If you don't ask me to come back to your room tonight, I'm going to think you've lost your mind." Her voice was rough, raw. "I don't want to be alone, Mike. Not tonight. I want to be with you.”

"We don't have to. . .I'm not asking for—" He stopped, scrubbed a hand over his face. "Christ, I'm bad at this."

She almost laughed. "You're doing fine."

"I want you," he said bluntly. "Have wanted you since you showed up covered in dust and told me my biscuits needed work. But I also just … I want to hold you. Keep you close. Make sure you're safe."

"Then do that." She kissed him again, softer this time. A promise. "Hold me. Keep me close. And we'll figure out the rest as we go."

His thumb traced her bottom lip, his eyes dark and warm and full of things he hadn't said yet. "You're something else, Liv Ramsey."

"Olivia Langford," she corrected quietly. "If we're doing this, really doing this, we ought to be honest."

"Olivia." He tested it, rolled it around like he was tasting wine. "It suits you. Elegant. Strong. A little bit fancy."

"I'm not fancy."

"You make cinnamon knots that could make angels weep and steal tastes of filling when you think I'm not looking." He kissed her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. "That's plenty fancy in my book."

She laughed, soft and surprised. "Come on. Let's get inside before I change my mind about the whole being brave thing."

"Not a chance." He stood, pulled her up with him. "I'll make you tea and we can sit on the couch and pretend the world isn't trying to kill us for a few hours."

"That sounds perfect."

And it was.

The motion sensors went off at two-forty-three a.m.

Mike's phone buzzed on the nightstand, just a vibration, and he was awake instantly, years of military training kicking in.

Three alerts. East fence line near the cattle guard. South pasture by the creek. North access road.

Multiple locations. Coordinated.

He was moving before his brain fully caught up, pulling on jeans and boots, grabbing his phone, careful not to wake Liv who was sleeping soundly in his bed. In the hallway he met Kenny, already dressed, rifle in hand.

"Lyle's checking south, Joe's got north," Kenny said quietly. "You take east with me."

They moved through the dark house like ghosts, silent, efficient, lethal if necessary.

Outside, the ranch was quiet. Too quiet. Even the dogs weren't barking.

Mike's gut twisted.

They reached the east fence line in under five minutes. The motion sensor was still blinking, indicating it had been triggered. But there was no one there.

Just a single white peony, laid carefully on the fence post.

The flower was fresh. Dewy. Someone had cut it recently, maybe hours ago, maybe minutes. The stem had been trimmed at an angle, professional, like something you'd get from an expensive florist.

Or a funeral home.

Mike's flashlight swept the area. No footprints in the soft dirt. Whoever left it had been careful, deliberate. They'd walked on the gravel access road where tracks wouldn't show.