Page 80 of Risking it for the Cowboy

And then, he pulled out her version of Hunter’s banjo solo from his back pocket, holding it up. He’d stolen it from her yesterday?

“You wanna run through this, darlin’, so we can coordinate backup harmonies?” he continued.

Her throat felt suddenly too thick to talk. Her eyes were misting, and thankfully, as the smoke from the fire blew across their faces, she blinked at the sting and laughed, coughing, blaming it for the twist of emotion.

“I, uh, don’t know what to say.” She forced another laugh, noting Daisy and one of Jack’s boys now drifting asleep in their huddle while the other capitalized on having the tablet to himself. “I’ll go start cleaning up. I think my fingers need a break. It’s been a while, and they’re gonna be chapped since I forgot my finger picks.”

She set aside the banjo and pushed to her Birks, padding up the stairs to where the food, condiments, and drinks lay strewn across the picnic table. She swept up a bucket of—now water, what had started as ice for the kids’ sodas—and one of the trays of BBQ, when Thad arrived beside her and crooked his fingers at her, a crease of concern cooling his edge of excitement.

“Hand ’em here.”

“My arms aren’t broken, Trouble,” she said.

“Never said they were, Flower girl. Gimmie. You ain’t here to work.”

She bypassed him instead, but he reached around her and plucked them out of her grip, opening his back door with his elbow while kicking out his foot to hold the screen door open, all while balancing the bucket and tray like a circus act so she could go first. Such a Southern boy, contorting himself into a pretzel to hold the door rather than let her just open it herself. She picked up the two other trays and wedged the packet of napkins under her arm instead, going inside.

The simplistic grandeur of the cabin’s rustic charm overwhelmed, tall, soaring stone fireplace touching the vaulted ceiling.

“Like a postcard,” she breathed.

Like the cutout collages she’d once made as a girl, and her heart squeezed like it had been doing ever since she’d lain eyes on it today.

“A Christmas wreath would look so pretty there…” She cleared her throat, but the pain lodged there wouldn’t be swallowed away.

Her heart might feel so full, but her nerves were on edge, about future exploits, about current entrapments, and being … so stuck, and yet, this yearning tugging on her every nerve was leaving an ache pitted in her belly. Because reality was waiting for her at the restraining order hearing, or with the next broken-down thing at her old house that would need her plumber’s wrench or a box of screws. A trap she could never crawl out from beneath.

To belong to a place like this … to trust a man like Thaddeus.

She bypassed the leather couch, begging to be cuddled into, with two throws woven with horse silhouettes on either armrest, balancing the trays on one arm like a waitress and swiping up a bottle that had been left on the coffee table hewn of knotty pine. Rounding past the bathroom beneath the stairs leading to his loft, where a sink made of copper perched atop a weathered barrel bearing a vintage whiskey stamp, she entered the kitchen and set everything down on his island.

She set to work, feeling his silent presence, but scraped remnants into the trash and stacked the platters and spatulas in the sink, running the hot water and pouring in a squeeze of dish soap—

Hands came around her from behind and settled on hers in the suds. “Talk to me, Charlie,” Thad said.

“I’m fine,” Charlie said, scrubbing a platter. “Do you have something to save the extra burgers and beans in? Like a Tupperware or something—”

“Hey.”

The platter was extricated from her grip and dropped in the sink with a splash. The faucet flipped off.

His hands, wet, turned her around and tipped her chin up. “You just ran away spooked. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bull,” he said, pressing her an inch. “We ask you to join our group and learn your song, and you bolt like a princess from the ball.”

She shook her head. “No, like a beauty queen who knows how it feels to fall and scrape her knees.”

He studied her, quiet. She didn’t know how to explain the twist in her heart.

Summoning a chuckle, she said, “I’m excited. I am, it’s just a lot. I have to get Daisy home, that’s all, and it isn’t fair for us to leave a mess, and she had such a…” Her lungs abandoned her, because her tears weren’t going to stay dammed where they belonged. “Such a good time, I’m happy to clean up and—”

“If she had a good time, then why are you crying?” he growled, swiping a thumb under her eye.

God, she was such a wreck and whether he saw it or not, his life was so put together. He was turning out to be so good, despite whatever he said about himself, and she was the one bringing nothing but added trouble to his life.

“Is this because of Jack’s post?”