Chapter Five
At ten in the morning on a Sunday, things were blessedly quiet. She loved the rustic feel of the therapy lodge, but she especially loved this south-facing space. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, warming the reading nook where Willow spread out her work.
Looking at the vendor contracts, budget spreadsheets on her laptop screen and countless folders stuffed with invoices for ranch supplies, she issued a sigh. There never seemed to be enough time to finish it all—or enough time to stare at her favorite view. But duty called.
Sundays were her secret weapon. It was the only time when she could catch up on the administrative tasks that never seemed to decrease during the week without interruptions or someone needing her to solve their problems.
Just her, the numbers…and silence.
She should be focusing on the invoices she was cross-referencing, but her mind kept drifting back to the day before. To the moment when Decker had grabbed her hand and hauled her straight to her brothers.
The rational part of her brain—the part that had been managing her family’s chaos for years—should be irritated. After all, she was a grown woman capable of handling her own situations without being dragged around like a wayward child.
The high-handed way he’d grasped her hand, the way he wouldn’t take no for an answer…
Threatened to toss her over his shoulder…
When Decker wrapped his long, rough fingers around her hand, when his voice dropped to that low, commanding tone that brooked no argument, something ignited low in her belly.
Something that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the way his shoulders had squared with purpose and his jaw set with determination.
She’d seen his protective side before—hovering nearby when she climbed ladders, scanning the street when they went to town, always positioning himself between her and potential trouble.
But yesterday had been different. He hadn’t asked permission or waited for her consent.
He took charge.
And the traitorous reaction that memory sent spiraling through her core made her shift uncomfortably in her chair.
She pressed her palms against her cheeks, feeling the warmth there. This was ridiculous. She was sitting in a library on a Sunday morning getting flustered over a man’s caveman routine like some romance novel heroine.
She had work to do.
Responsibilities to manage.
A ranch to help run.
The last thing she needed was to develop some kind of alpha male fantasy about Decker Jansen.
Except…
The way he’d looked at Carson with that steady, unblinking stare said more than words ever could. The protective tension radiated from every line of his body, not to mention the command in his voice when he’d told her the conversation with her brothers wasn’t optional.
She traced the edge of her mug, the coffee gone cold. She’d always been attracted to confidence, which typically equaled bravado and bad boys.
But this had been something deeper. Something that made her feel simultaneously cherished and claimed in a way that should have set her feminist sensibilities on fire.
Instead, it left her lying awake half the night, replaying the feel of his calloused fingers around hers and wondering what it would be like if he used that same commanding tone in other…more private situations.
Heat pooled low in her belly at the thought, and she squeezed her thighs together under the table.
“Focus, Willow,” she muttered, forcing her attention back to the spreadsheet on her screen.
But even as she updated numbers, she couldn’t shake the memory of how safe she’d felt with Decker’s hand anchoring her to his side. How protected.
The soft sound of footsteps in the hallway made her look up, and her entire body seemed to home in on the sound of that familiar, measured pace.
She knew that walk, could picture it in her head—purposeful strides with command over the muscled machine that was his body.
Decker was coming.
She tried to steady her breathing, but he appeared in the doorway, his stare landing on hers for a scorching beat before he tore it away. He took in her laptop and paperwork, a disapproving frown puckering one brow.
“Working on a Sunday?”
The flat tone put her hackles up. “I’m just catching up on a few things. The vendor contracts won’t review themselves and—”
“Rest is not a luxury. It’s required for sustainable growth,” he interrupted, crossing his arms.
Her brain blanked to the words as she totally zoomed in on the bulge of his biceps. The man looked about to burst the seams of his shirt by just…standing there.
“Pretty sure that’s a direct quote from the book you bought at Felicity’s.”
A flush crept up her throat. She had bought a book about rest and renewal, thinking she might actually read it someday. If she ever got time. But the fact that he’d noticed, and apparently knew the content, was both embarrassing and oddly touching.
He stepped farther into the nook, swallowing up any inch of space. “I thought you were going to start working on self-care.”
She bit down on her lip and stared at the spreadsheet until the numbers danced across the pages. When she glanced up again, Decker wasn’t looking at her exactly.
He was staring at her mouth.
A dark, sensual shiver started low in her stomach.
“I am.” Her voice came out as a husky rasp that made his gaze dart back to hers. “This is self-care. Getting caught up so I don’t feel behind all week.”
“That’s work-care. Different thing entirely.” He pulled out a chair across the desk from her and sat, those deep brown eyes studying her with a disquieting intensity. “What does Willow want?”
The question didn’t just throw her, it hurled her into another hemisphere. “What do you mean?”
“Simple question. What does Willow want? Not what does the ranch need, or what do your brothers need, or what does the therapy program need. What do you want?”
She opened her mouth to answer and found she didn’t have one. The realization was more unsettling than she expected. No one had ever asked her a question like that, not in her whole life.
And she hadn’t asked herself either.
“I…” She trailed off, feeling foolish, pink climbing from her throat to her cheeks.
His gaze burrowed deeper into her. “Think about it,” he said gently. “Right now. What would make you happy?”
She tried to access some part of herself that had been buried under years of responsibility. What did she want? The question felt foreign, almost selfish.
She huffed a sigh. “This is silly.”
His stare dipped to her lips again. “Humor me.”
His tone—patient but insistent—made her stop and revisit the question.
What would make her happy right now? What did she crave that had nothing to do with business or family obligations?
“I missed breakfast.” She felt ridiculous for admitting it.
“I know it’s stupid, but I haven’t had a proper brioche french toast in forever.
Thick and custardy in the middle, with real vanilla…
” She groaned. “Chef only makes it one Sunday a month, and I’ve missed it three months in a row.
” She stopped, shaking her head. “See? Silly.”
“Not silly at all.” He stood abruptly, chair scraping across the hardwood. “Don’t go anywhere.”
She blinked, then he was gone, leaving her staring at the mounds of work in front of her. “Little danger of that,” she muttered to herself because he was already gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway with the same purposeful pace.
Willow sat there, completely bewildered. What just happened? She tried to refocus on her spreadsheet, but her concentration might as well be the mountain wind stirring the light dusting of snow outside the window.
She strained to hear something—anything going on in the lodge that might point to where Decker had gone.
After several minutes, she settled into her work again. But she didn’t make much progress when she heard him returning. This time his footsteps were accompanied by the soft clink of dishes.
He appeared in the doorway holding a tray that made her jaw drop.
“It’s ready.”
“What’s ready?” Even as she asked, the scent hit her—butter, vanilla, a hint of cinnamon. Her stomach issued a growl that Decker totally heard.
He set the tray down on the table beside her laptop and began gathering her files with careful efficiency. “Your french toast.”
She stared at the plate in shock. Thick slices of actual brioche were golden brown and dusted with powdered sugar. Fresh berries were arranged around the edges with a small pitcher of real maple syrup off to the side.
“You made bacon too! My favorite.”
“I pay attention.”
Her stomach tumbled for reasons other than physical hunger. She stared into his eyes. “I didn’t even know you could cook!”
“I may have raided Chef’s brioche stash. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
“Oh my god. You made a smoothie? With a cherry on top? Do I see blended strawberries in there?”
“You might.”
Shaking her head, she picked up her fork. The first bite was heaven, the bread perfectly custardy in the center just like she described, with a crispy exterior. She closed her eyes, savoring the vanilla on her tongue. An involuntary sound of pleasure burst out of her.
“Oh my god. What did you do to this french toast?”
A small smile teased at the corner of his mouth. “Secret trick.”
Leaning forward, she gave him a coy look. “Share?”
“It’s classified.”
“I thought I had clearance.” She batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated manner that made him chuckle. An honest-to-God chuckle from Decker Jansen that did dangerous things to her pulse.
“Clearance is a need-to-know basis only.”
“And I don’t need to know?”
“You need to eat.”
She picked up a blueberry and tossed it at him. To her shock, he ducked his head and caught it effortlessly in his mouth.
A laugh bubbled out, unexpected and totally carefree in a way she hadn’t felt for…well, a long time.
“Great catch.” She waved her fork at him.
He swallowed and arched a brow. “What can you do?”