Chapter 2
two
Briar Prescott stared at the cowboy standing on her front porch, waves of shock cascading through her. Tarr Olson had rendered her mute like this several times in the past couple of months, but not for the same reason.
Right now, she’d label him belligerent.
No, that’s you, she thought.
Tarr glared back at her, unyielding—and that wasn’t usually a word she used when thinking about him. Which, honestly, Briar couldn’t get this man out of her head on the best of days, and now she’d have to see his dark-haired, dark-eyed good-looks glaring at her as she tried to fall asleep.
He stood there, all calm confidence and quiet steel, like he hadn’t just threatened to bodily carry her—in her pajamas—to his truck.
And, oh, she believed he would.
He’d told her several times that he wouldn’t leave her alone while she needed him, and he’d come back over and over, even after she’d treated him badly. After she’d told him to leave her alone. After she’d rejected his offer to take her to dinner.
Wiggins sat at his feet, tongue hanging out in a dumb, happy pant, as if he was also just thrilled about the idea of her getting dragged to Thanksgiving dinner in flannel and stars.
She blinked, her brain still trying to catch up. Of all the nerve.
“You can’t just show up and boss me around,” she managed to say, clutching the doorframe like it could anchor her.
“I’m not leaving you home on Thanksgiving. I just can’t do it.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you are—and I just don’t care to let you boss me around anymore.” Electricity zipped between them, the energy striking her straight in the heart even as her jaw dropped open.
Tarr deflated, those broad shoulders holding up that sexy black leather jacket sinking.
“Briar, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s Thanksgiving.
No one should be alone today, and I just…
God wouldn’t let me drive away while you were still here.
” He reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers along hers.
“Please, go change your clothes and brush your teeth. We’re down to eight minutes. ”
Him and his timers.
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
She hated how those words hit her right in the soft and quiet parts of her heart, which sat far too close to the place she didn’t let anyone touch. Not anymore, at least.
But if there was someone she wanted to let in, it was Tarr.
“I like being alone,” she lied.
Tarr arched one eyebrow and waited, steady as a fence post, the kind of cowboy who wasn’t going to budge until something gave.
And for once, it wasn’t going to be him.
Briar exhaled hard through her nose, turned, and stalked back into the house. “Come in and close the door, then. It’s not warm out there, cowboy.”
She stormed down the hall and slammed her bedroom door behind her.
Not because she was mad—well, she was mad—but mostly because she needed to breathe without the heady scent of Tarr’s cologne infecting her rational brain cells.
If she looked at him for one more second, she might do something foolish, like let him see her vulnerability.
Or that it meant a lot to her that he cared, that he wouldn’t give up on her, that he saw her.
In her bedroom, Briar turned in a full circle, trying to get her bearings. She really just wanted to go across the hall to her painting studio and use the good light coming in the west windows to create something amazing.
After that, she’d planned to bake off the homemade mac and cheese she’d gotten from Shelley, a woman Briar bought food from all year. She was a good cook and was trying to support a daughter on a highly competitive dance team.
Briar liked lemon zucchini bread she didn’t have to make, and chicken tamales, and Shelley’s mac and cheese couldn’t be beat.
“I was going to watch that romance with the sled dogs,” she grumped as she pulled off her pajama top and reached for a dark purple sweater. She sniffed it first, found it fresh enough, and pulled it over her head.
She wanted to leave her teeth unbrushed just to show Tarr that she didn’t have to do everything he said.
But in the end, Briar hated leaving the house with dirty teeth, and she scrubbed as fast as she could before sitting down on the bench beside her bedroom door and pulling on a pair of cowgirl boots.
She sighed as she stood up, her anger blown out. She now wore real clothes, and her very-near future held sitting at a table full of people who actually liked each other. People who had families.
People who weren’t broken.
Because she still felt broken, though she looked pretty normal on the outside.
It had been almost three months since the coyote attack. Twelve weeks since she’d woken up in a hospital bed with Tarr Olson sitting in the corner, watching her like she was something fragile and precious at the same time.
He’d never left, not really. He was there the next day. And the next. And every day after that.
He brought all the foods she liked. Medicine. Wiggins. Movies. Her favorite soda pop.
Himself.
And Briar, who had lived so long with no one to rely on but herself, had let him in. Not all the way, but more than she’d ever meant to.
She’d cried in front of him. Clung to him when the pain got too sharp. Let him lift her into her own bed, help her with zippers, bring her ice packs, and distract her with dumb, cowboy-dad jokes and dog stories when she couldn’t sleep.
Tarr Olson had become her person—and she hated how easily it had happened. How much she wanted to reach for him sometimes, even when she didn’t need the help. How, when something happened, he was the first person she wanted to call and tell.
She joined him out in the living room, where he barely glanced up from his phone. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She watched him as he stood, his demeanor much calmer and slower than she’d expected for him demanding she spend the holiday with him.
Because he didn’t want her to be alone.
Because he cared, even though he’d literally said he didn’t care what she thought or wanted.
“Let’s go, sweetheart.” The smirk on Tarr’s face—half-satisfied, half-something else entirely—made her want to punch him and kiss him in equal measure.
She had no idea what to do with that, so she simply said, “Okay,” dumbly, and let him put his hand on the small of her back and guide her out of her own home with pure magic sparkling down her spine from his touch.
The Hammond Family Farm looked like something from a greeting card. Soft white lights hung along the wraparound porch. A festive wooden turkey welcomed everyone to the farmhouse. Laughter spilled out the front door as they approached, because someone had already opened it.
Tucker, of course. Briar would recognize his loud laugh anywhere.
Briar hesitated at the bottom step, and Tarr automatically slowed with her, though Tuck said, “Hey, you guys made it,” with his smile as wide as a mile.
Tarr took her hand and dang near pulled her up the steps, laughing as he did. “Hey, brother.” He released her to hug Tuck, and Briar put a smile on her face and did the same.
Wiggins bounded into the house like he belonged there, but Briar let the two cowboys go ahead of her before she followed.
Inside, the warmth hit her like a hug. So did Bobbie Jo, immediately wrapping Briar in an embrace that nearly knocked her sideways. “I’m so glad you came,” Bobbie Jo said, grinning. “We’re just putting out the place cards right now.”
She led her down a hallway, past a formal living room, and into the back of the house. An ornate table had been set with candles, autumn leaves, and more soft lights. Two of Molly’s teenagers squabbled over who should sit where while Molly and Hunter bustled around in the kitchen together.
Things this busy and loud usually overwhelmed her, but today, it didn’t. Deacon nodded at her with a warm smile, and Jane and Cord waved from the couch where they were trying to wrangle their son into a bib. But oh, Clint wasn’t having any of it, which made Briar smile at the adorable baby.
A table positioned against the wall groaned under the weight of the food. Turkey. Rolls. Three kinds of potatoes. Even as she watched, Molly set down a bowl of salad on the end and turned to ask, “Baby, where’s that butter?”
“It’s on the table, Momma,” Lisa said. “The turkeys? Daddy said to put them on the table.”
“They’re on the table,” Hunter said, his grin infectious. He trained it on Briar, wiped his hands on his apron and came toward her. “Howdy, Briar.”
“Hey,” she said, almost cowed by his height and presence. “Thank you so much for having me.”
“I’m glad Tarr convinced you to come.” Hunter shook her hand and turned as his younger kids started to argue over where their older siblings had placed them at the table.
Tarr came to her side and nodded to another woman in the living room. “That’s Alaska Whitby,” he said, his voice low enough to be meant just for her. “She’s a riding instructor here at the farm and didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Another stray, Briar thought, but it comforted her that she wasn’t the only one there. She also noted how Tarr had found out who she was and come to tell her, knowing that she wouldn’t like sitting down to a meal with someone she didn’t know.
She remained on the sidelines, Tarr’s steadiness at her side. She’d forgotten what this felt like. People passing plates. Joking. Teasing. Talking over each other. The scrape of chairs, the clink of silverware, the scent of hot, baked bread.
“We’re ready!” Hunter yelled as he pulled a tray out of the oven. “Molly’s finishing up with the gravy, so it’s time to sit down.”
“Everyone has a place card with their name on it at their spot,” Ryder, Hunter’s oldest, said. “You can trade places if the other person is cool with it.” He exchanged a look with his daddy, who smiled at him like Ryder was made of gold.
What would that feel like?
Briar hadn’t had anyone look at her like that in so long.