Page 83 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

Just sleep. Deep and dreamless and safe.

She breathed in slowly, Mike's skin, coffee already brewing downstairs, the faint scent of hay and leather that clung to everything in this house. Testing the feeling. The tightness that had lived in her chest since Manhattan, that constant coiled-spring readiness to run, was gone. In its place, something lighter.

Peace.

She barely recognized it.

Mike stirred behind her, his arm tightening briefly before he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "You awake?"

"Yeah." Her voice came out rough with sleep and emotion. "I slept."

"I know. I checked on you about six times." He said it without apology, and she loved him for it. "You doing okay? I know I keep asking you that, but what happened last night was a lot."

She turned in his arms, found his face in the morning light. Stubble shadowing his jaw, hair sticking up in seventeen directions, eyes warm and concerned and so full of love it made her chest ache.

"I'm okay," she said, and meant it. "I'm really okay."

He cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "We don't have to rush anything today. You can stay up here, rest, take whatever time you need to find your balance."

"Mike." She caught his hand, held it. "I'm not hiding anymore. I want to be downstairs. With everyone. With you."

His smile started slow, then bloomed into something that transformed his whole face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The smell of coffee drifted stronger now, along with the sound of Charlotte's laughter and Heather's voice calling something about not feeding the cat people food. Normal morning sounds. Family sounds.

Home sounds.

The kitchen was full when they came downstairs, hand in hand.

Heather stood at the stove flipping pancakes, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, dressed in ranch clothes that had seen better days. “Y’all don’t get used to me doing this cooking. Mine and Lyle’s house is almost done and we’ll be moving out soon.”

“Duly chastised for sleeping in,” Mike said and Heather tossed a dishtowel at him.

The whole family was in the kitchen. Charlotte was concentrating on her coloring book, tongue poking out as she worked on what appeared to be a very purple horse. Liv was happy to see that the child didn’t appear traumatized from the events she’d been through last night. The little girl’s resilience was amazing.

Kenny leaned against the counter with his coffee, silent as always, but his eyes tracked everyone with the quiet alertness of a man who'd spent too many years in places where letting your guard down meant dying. Lyle braided a leather strap that looked strong enough to tether a sizeable bull, looking every inch the small-town veterinarian he'd become. Joe had his laptop open as always, fingers flying across the keys, probably managing seventeen things at once with that terrifying efficiency he brought to everything.

"Did you have good dreams, Liv?" Charlotte asked, looking up from her purple horse.

Liv's throat tightened. Charlotte had asked her that question almost every morning since Liv had arrived, always with the same hopeful concern.

"Yeah, baby," Liv said softly. "I did."

Charlotte's face lit up. "Good. Uncle Mike's bed is magic."

Lyle choked on his coffee. Kenny's mouth twitched in what might've been a smile. Mike's face had gone three shades past tomato and was approaching beet territory.

"Charlotte Rose." Mike started.

"What?" Charlotte looked up, genuinely confused by the sputtering adults. "It's true. Miss Liv told Aunt Heather she couldn't sleep good because of the bad dreams, and then she slept in your bed and now she's not tired. That's magic." She returned to her purple horse. "Love's magic too. Uncle Lyle told me that."

"Out of the mouths of babes," Arletta murmured from the doorway, hiding her smile behind her coffee mug as she entered with a breakfast casserole.

Joe didn't bother hiding his. "Kid's got a point. Mike's bed does seem to have...therapeutic properties."

"Joe, I swear—" Mike warned.