BOONE
BOONE
“She’s gonna lose her mind,” Hudson mutters, watching me like I’m about to set the kitchen on fire.
I glance over from the stove, lifting a brow. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”
He shrugs, flipping a baseball card between his fingers. “She’s just not used to people doing nice stuff for her, I guess.”
That much I already knew. I’d seen it in the way she carried herself earlier, that tightness in her shoulders, the kind that comes from too many years of doing everything on your own.
She’d looked tired as hell, and I figured the last thing she’d want after her run was to stand in this kitchen making dinner. So I beat her to it.
Not a big deal. Just chicken and dumplings. I’d done more for people I cared about with a whole lot less of a reason.
I shrug. “Maybe she should be.”
Hudson tilts his head, watching me like I’m a puzzle he hasn’t figured out yet. “So…you can cook?”
I glance back at the pot, giving it a slow stir. “Not bad at it.”
He smirks. “Huh. I just figured cowboys survived off beef jerky and coffee.”
I snort. “Right. And we sleep under the stars and wrestle cattle for fun.”
Hudson grins. “Do you?”
I chuckle, shaking my head, and check the biscuits in the oven. He turns back to his homework, mumbling under his breath as he reads. His pace is slow, careful. Already better than mine was at his age.
I lean against the counter, arms crossed, and glance around the house while I wait.
It’s small but solid. Feels like a place that’s been lived in.
Comfortable. There’s a stack of mail on the entry table, a basket of laundry half-folded on the couch, a pile of shoes kicked off near the door.
Pictures fill the walls—Lark holding a baby Hudson, his tiny fist wrapped around her finger.
The two of them at a baseball game, both grinning wide.
Christmas mornings, birthdays, snapshots of a life that’s been moving forward without me.
And she wasn’t kidding about the books.
Shoved onto two shelves, stacked in every possible direction, like she ran out of space but refused to stop adding to the collection. Some look well-worn, dog-eared and creased at the spines. I wonder which ones she reads over and over. Which ones she’d tell me to start with if I asked.
Hudson sighs, snapping his textbook shut. “I’m calling it. My brain’s officially fried.”
“Yeah? You push through the whole twenty minutes already?”
“More like twenty-five,” he grumbles. “Felt like an hour.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling.”
He looks up at me, squinting. “Wait—you do?”
I nod. “Reading’s never been easy for me either.”
Hudson tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to decide if I’m screwing with him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I cross my arms. “Used to take me twice as long to get through a book as everyone else. Sometimes longer.”
He leans back in his chair, considering that. “Huh. Guess it turned out okay for you, though.”
I smirk. “Yeah, well, I don’t have to read aloud in front of a class anymore, so that helps.”
Hudson snickers. “Fair.” Then he jerks his chin toward the stove. “Think it’s done?”
I grab a spoon, cut into a dumpling, watching the steam curl up. Perfect.
“Yeah,” I say, setting the spoon aside. “Go grab some bowls.”
Right on cue, the front door swings open, and Lark steps inside, kicking it shut behind her.
I lose my damn train of thought.
She’s in leggings that fit her like a glove, hugging every inch of her, and a black sports bra that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Her hair’s wild, golden strands slipping loose from where she had it tied up, sticking to her flushed skin.
She yanks out the ponytail holder, shakes her hair loose, and hell if that doesn’t make my brain short-circuit completely.
Then she bends over to untie her shoes, and I swear to God—
I force myself to look away, busying my hands with the towel slung over my shoulder.
But it’s pointless. My gaze drags right back, landing on the dip of her back, the sweat dripping down the smooth line of her spine, the curve of her ass—the same ass that guys used to talk about in locker rooms and around town.
I was the only one who ever got to touch it.
She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, breathes deep, and looks up.
And then there it is.
That moment. The one where I wonder if there’ll ever come a day when she walks into a room and I don’t think she’s the most beautiful thing in it.
I think I already know the answer.
She pushes some loose hair out of her face. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
Then she steps toward the stove, eyes widening when she sees what’s simmering. “Wait…did you make dinner? You didn’t have to do that.”
I shrug, reaching for a bowl and filling it up before handing it to her. “You seemed tired today. Figured you could use a break.”
She stares at the food, then at me, her lips parting like she doesn’t know what to do with this. It’s such a small thing, cooking dinner, but I can see it in her face—she’s not used to anyone taking something off her plate.
Her fingers tighten around the bowl. “Chicken and dumplings. My favorite.”
“I know.”
Hudson, already halfway through his own bowl, looks up. “Hey, I helped.”
I ruffle his hair. “Did his reading too. Homework’s done.”
Lark’s head jerks toward Hudson like she just heard something impossible. She blinks, looking from him to me, lips parting in surprise. Like the thought of her house running without her hadn’t even crossed her mind.
I clear my throat. “I don’t mind doing this more often. Maybe a couple times a week if you’re okay with it.”
Her eyes flick to mine, cautious. “Boone, I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve got a whole ranch to run.”
“I’ve also got a kid now,” I say simply. “Sometimes the ranch can wait. It won’t fall apart without me. Been running just fine for twelve years.”
She doesn’t argue, but I can see the wheels turning.
I tilt my head at her. “Gives you a chance to run. Read. Do whatever you want.”
Hudson, still chewing, pipes up like it’s just a fact. “Yeah, Dad says people should do nice things for you more.”
Everything stops.
The second the word leaves his mouth, Lark freezes, her face going pink. My whole body locks up, heartbeat slamming against my ribs. Hudson, suddenly realizing what he just said, stares hard at his bowl, shoving another bite in his mouth like maybe we won’t notice.
But I do.
I kneel down beside his chair, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, bud,” I say, voice steady. “You know, I like that you called me that.”
Hudson glances up at me. “You…you really don’t mind?”
I shake my head, my chest going tight in a way I don’t try to fight. “No, not at all. I think it’s the best thing I’ve been called in my life.”
Hudson watches me for a second longer, like he’s making sure I mean it. Then, softer, “Do cowboys hug?”
I bark out a laugh and Lark does too, shaking her head .
“Hell yeah, we do,” I say, grabbing him and pulling him in. “Best damn hugs around.”
Hudson doesn’t hesitate—he throws his arms around my neck, holding on tight. I squeeze him just as hard, my throat thick, my heart full in a way I didn’t even realize was missing until now.
I glance over at Lark. She’s standing by the counter, her bowl forgotten, her arms crossed like she’s holding herself together. Her eyes are glassy, and before she can stop herself, she swipes a quick tear away with the heel of her hand.
My chest pulls tight.
I turn back to Hudson, raising my brows. “You know what else cowboys are the best at?”
He pauses mid-bite. “What?”
I glance at Lark as I say it. “Dancing.”
Her eyes go big. “Oh. No, no, no.”
Hudson snickers, already catching on.
I start walking toward her, grinning. “Come on now, sweetheart. You wouldn’t leave a cowboy hangin’, would you?”
She throws her hands up, backpedaling. “Boone, I just ran six miles. I’m sweaty and I smell disgusting.”
“That’s just how I like my dance partners.”
She gapes at me. “Are you insane? Like seriously, are you well?”
I keep walking toward her as I pull my phone out of my pocket, scrolling through my playlist, and the second the first notes of Vienna by Billy Joel start playing, she glares at me.
Her glare is instant. “That is low. You know I’m a sucker for Billy.”
I smirk. “Figured I’d stock the odds in my favor.”
Her mouth opens—probably to tell me off—but before she can, I grab her wrist and yank her into me. Her body stumbles into mine, warm and flushed, her chest pressing against me for half a second before she huffs and sets her hands on my shoulders.
I settle my palms on her waist, pulling her in just enough that I can feel her against me. Just enough to make my heart rate kick up, to remind me that my hands have been all over this woman before, that I know exactly what she sounds like when I touch her the way I want to now.
She’s still shaking her head. “You’re such a caveman, you know that?”
I chuckle, leading us into an easy sway. “Never heard you complain about that before.”
Her eyes flick up, lashes golden against her cheeks, but she doesn’t say anything.
Instead, she looks down at our feet, like if she just ignores the fact that my hands are on her, that my fingers are pressing into her waist a little tighter than they probably need to be, she can pretend this isn’t happening.
I, however, am fully aware.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus on the music, on the slow sway of our bodies, but it’s a losing battle.
Sweat glistens at the hollow of her throat, a single drop slipping down the curve of her collarbone, disappearing beneath the tight band of her sports bra.
My mouth waters, aching to follow that trail with my tongue, to taste the salt of her skin, to remind myself of the way she used to whimper when I kissed her there.