Page 86 of Risking it for the Cowboy

“Sterile zone, Thad!” she called, and hurried down the controlled rows to the door.

T.R. held his hands up as she barged into the decontamination zone, filtration fan droning, and closed the air-tight door. He took in her sterile jump suit, blue disposable bonnet, and gloves. She must have left the gate open when she’d dragged the hose around the house to water the back flowerpots.

“Don’t shoot. Forgot,” he said as he took a jumpsuit off the wall and fished his legs in.

It was then that she saw a thick folder in his hand. “What’s all that?”

“Wanted to show you.” He hitched his chin at the door. “You done?”

She shook her head. “Three more data points to enter. Then I’ll be. Summer school releases today, and I have to get Daisy soon.”

“Okay.”

He took a blue hairnet from the box bracketed to the greenhouse, stretched on his booties over his shitkickers, and followed her back inside.

She returned to her specimen, measuring it, tapping in the information into her pad, moving on to the last two, but he was making her nervous, and she side-eyed him. Except his folder was hanging at his side as he held … her notebook?

“You’re … right,” he muttered, lifting his eyes to hers.

She shoved to her feet and hurried over to him. “Oh, those are just, you know, some thoughts that I had, they’re probably nothing—”

“Naw, if you hammer on the banjo right at Bo’s one-two, that syncopation will be perfect.” His eyes lifted to hers.

Awed. Not angered. Not insecure that she’d upstage him.

He pulled out his phone and strode back toward the decontamination room with it in hand. She dashed after him. “It’s nothing, Thad, just something I woke up thinking about—”

The door snapped shut. She pulled it open to see the folder he’d brought discarded on the shoe bench, the roar of the fan loud, only to see him aiming his phone at her notes, tapping a picture, and had he just hit Send?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Whoa, who are you sending that to? It’s not finished. It’s…”

T.R. held it out of her reach as she stretched for it, enjoying the feel of her jolting against him. As expected, a second later, his phone rang. He answered, cranking the volume, grinning down at her as Jack said through the cell, “It’s perfect. She’s what we’ve been looking for.”

“Yup. Want me to ask her?” His eyes held hers as she perched her fists on her hips, this touch of sass from her intriguing.

“Ask me what?” she frowned.

“Yup,” Jack said. T.R. grinned harder. “Lemme text Bo.”

“What are you scheming, Trouble?” she demanded, managing to snatch her notes back. T.R. ignored her. “Come on, guys.”

“Oh, she’s begging me now, man.” T.R. winked at her, his words for his buddy.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning back to her tunnel to slip through the door, but he stopped her. The musical notations were genius. It wasn’t just her notes about the syncopated lead-in. It was the brilliant little twists she’d scribbled all over the margins, making him crave these glimpses into her uninhibited heart when her guard was down.

Her pulse fluttered in her neck. Her jade gems went wide. But she didn’t flinch. Yearning filled her face. And apprehension. He muted his phone and wrapped her in all his sterile-suited arms as his phone languished on mute and Jack cleared his throat.

“We wanna put a headshot of you up on our social.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And a bio. Jack’s post gained a ton of traction last night and it looks like the radio station in town picked it up.” He pressed a kiss to her nose.

She bit her lip like she did when she was thinking hard on what to say.

“Sure would like to show you off,” he whispered, and felt her relax into him in return.

That was it.

She’d been torn down so much, she didn’t know how to take it when someone built her up. Like he didn’t know how to accept her money. Accept the way in which she looked at him like some knight in shining armor when his armor was tarnished with bad deeds.