Chapter 10 Nick
Nick
“Just take it easy,” I said as I helped Dante out of his black SUV. “It’s not a race.”
“Will you stop treating me like an old lady?” he growled. “I’m fine.”
“You fractured three ribs two days ago. You are not okay.”
I glared at him, adjusting my grip on his arm as we made our way toward the tiny house. “The doctor said bed rest for at least two weeks. Do you know what bed rest means?”
“It means lying in bed doing nothing while the ranch falls apart.”
“Angelo and I can handle it.”
“Angelo can barely count to ten,” Dante shot back, but he was leaning on me more than he probably wanted to admit. Each step made him wince, even though he was trying to hide it.
I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to point out that he was the one who’d brought Angelo along in the first place. We made it up the steps to the tiny house, and I fumbled with the door, keeping one hand on Dante to make sure he didn’t fall over.
Inside, everything looked exactly as we’d left it that morning. Had it really only been two days? It felt like a lifetime had passed since I’d watched that heifer charge, since I’d seen Dante hit the ground.
“Couch or bed?” I asked.
“Bed. If I’m going to be treated like an invalid, I might as well be comfortable.”
I helped him down the hallway, acutely aware of how close we were, how my hand was wrapped around his waist, how his body heat seeped through his shirt. When we reached the bedroom, I eased him down onto the mattress, watching as he tried not to grimace.
“Do you need anything? Water? Pain meds?”
“Nick.” He caught my wrist, his fingers warm against my skin. “Stop fussing. I’m not dying.”
“You could’ve died,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I’d intended. “Those ribs could’ve punctured a lung or—”
“But they didn’t.” His dark eyes held mine, and I saw something there that made my pulse quicken. “I’m fine. Banged up, but fine.”
I should’ve pulled away. Should’ve put some distance between us. But I couldn’t seem to make myself move.
“You’re an idiot,” I said quietly.
“So you keep telling me.” His thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist, and I felt the touch all the way down to my toes. “But you’re still here.”
“Someone has to make sure you don’t do something stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like trying to get up and work when you’re supposed to be resting.”
A slow smile spread across his face, the kind that made my chest tighten in that annoying way that was happening more and more lately. “Then I guess you’ll have to stay close. Keep an eye on me.”
My mouth went dry. We were treading into dangerous territory here, and he knew it. He was toying with me. I was doing everything in my power to hate him.
But God help me, it was not working as well as I planned.
“Fine,” I heard myself say. “But you do what I tell you. No arguments.”
His smile widened. “Yes, sir.”
The words sent heat flooding through me, and I jerked my hand away like I’d been burned. “I’ll get your medication.”
I fled to the kitchen before he could respond, my heart pounding like I’d just run a marathon.
What the hell was wrong with me? Two weeks ago, I would’ve been happy to let that cow trample him.
To strangle the fucking life out of him myself.
Now I was acting like some kind of worried spouse, fussing over him and feeling things I had no business feeling.
I grabbed the prescription bottle from the counter, filling a glass with water and trying to get my breathing under control. This was just gratitude. That’s all it was. He’d saved me from getting hurt, and I was returning the favor by making sure he recovered. Nothing more.
Keep telling yourself that, a voice in my head whispered.
I shoved the thought away and headed back to the bedroom, determined to keep things professional. Clinical. He was injured, I was helping him recover, end of story.
But when I walked back in and saw him lying there, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a strip of tanned skin above his jeans, all my resolve crumbled.
“Here,” I said, handing him the pills and water. “Take these and get some rest.”
He swallowed the medication, wincing as the movement pulled at his ribs. When he handed the glass back to me, our fingers brushed, and I felt that spark again.
“Will you stay?” he asked quietly. “Just until I fall asleep?”
I should’ve said no. Should’ve made an excuse about needing to check on the cattle or talk to Angelo. But instead, I found myself nodding.
“Yeah. I’ll stay.”
I pulled the chair from the corner and positioned it beside the bed, settling into it with a weariness that went bone deep. My own shoulder was still aching from where I’d hit the ground, but it seemed insignificant compared to Dante’s injuries.
He watched me through half-lidded eyes, the pain medication already starting to take effect. “You don’t have to sit in that uncomfortable chair.”
“Where else would I sit?”
“The bed’s big enough for two.” His voice was getting drowsier. “We’ve been sharing it for weeks now.”
He was right, but somehow this felt different. More intimate. Before, we’d maintained our careful distance, staying on opposite sides of the mattress like there was an invisible wall between us. Now he was asking me to sit close, to stay beside him.
“I’m fine here,” I said, even as my body protested the hard wooden seat.
“Suit yourself.” His eyes drifted closed, and I thought that was the end of it. But then he spoke again, his words slurring slightly. “Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Something in my chest squeezed tight again. Dammit. “Don’t mention it.”
“I mean it.” He turned his head slightly, cracking one eye open to look at me. “I know you didn’t want any of this. But you could’ve left me at the hospital. Could’ve told Angelo to handle it. You didn’t have to—”
“Just get some rest, Dante.”
He was quiet for a moment, and I thought maybe he’d finally given up. “I care about you, you know. It’s not just business anymore. I’m not sure if it ever was to begin with.”
My heart stuttered in my chest. The medication was making him loose-tongued, saying things he probably wouldn’t say otherwise. I should’ve ignored it, written it off as drug-induced rambling.
But I couldn’t.
“You don’t mean that,” I said softly.
“Yeah, I do,” he replied. “My father wanted me to marry your sister. To force her to have children with me.”
My gut twisted at the thought.
“But when I saw your picture,” Dante grinned, his eyes still closed. “You looking so handsome in your hat and boots. I knew right then that I’d do whatever it took to make you mine.” He paused. “To… To make you like me.”
His lips curved into a small smile, and within seconds, his breathing had evened out into sleep.
I sat there watching him, this man who’d turned my entire world upside down.
His face looked different when he slept—younger, more vulnerable.
The hard edges that usually defined him had softened, and I could almost see the person he might’ve been if he’d grown up somewhere else, become someone else.
His words had more effect on me than I wanted to admit.
My pulse had picked up, and my stomach was filled with this strange fluttering sensation.
I remembered it from high school, this lingering sensation of a crush developing, of catching the gaze of someone you liked.
But this one was different. It had a different color, a different shape. And I found it strangely intoxicating.
I stood up carefully, intending to head to the living room and give him space. But as I turned to leave, his hand shot out, catching my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip for someone half-asleep.
“Don’t go,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed. “Stay.”
“Dante, I—”
“Please.”
That one word, spoken so quietly I almost didn’t hear it, broke something inside me. I looked down at his hand wrapped around my wrist, at the way his fingers trembled slightly, at the vulnerability he’d probably hate himself for showing when he woke up.
“Fuck it,” I muttered under my breath.
I kicked off my boots and carefully lowered myself onto the bed beside him, staying on top of the covers. Dante’s hand slid from my wrist to my hand, his fingers threading through mine. Even in sleep, he held on like I was the only thing keeping him anchored.
I stared at the ceiling, my heart pounding so hard I was sure it would wake him. This was dangerous. This was exactly what I’d sworn I wouldn’t do. But lying here beside him, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I’d told myself I was doing this because he’d asked, because he was injured and vulnerable.
But that was a lie. I was doing this because some traitorous part of me wanted to be here, wanted to feel his hand in mine, wanted to pretend just for a moment that this arrangement between us was something more than a business deal.
His breathing deepened, the pain medication pulling him under completely. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, careful and shallow to protect his ribs. The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden light across his face.
I should’ve been out checking the cattle, making sure Angelo hadn’t fucked something up, planning the next round of vaccinations. Instead, I was lying here like some lovesick fool, holding hands with a man who’d bought me like property.
Except that wasn’t quite fair anymore, was it?
He hadn’t forced himself on me like I’d feared.
He’d given me space, respected the boundaries I’d set even when the contract said he didn’t have to.
He’d learned the ranch, gotten his hands dirty, tried to fit into this world that was so foreign to him.
And then he’d thrown himself in front of a charging heifer without a second thought.
That wasn’t the action of a monster. That was something else entirely.
My thumb brushed across his knuckles without me meaning to, tracing the scars there. His hands were getting rougher from the ranch work, calluses forming where soft skin used to be. He was changing, becoming something that belonged here in ways I hadn’t expected.
And God help me, I was changing too.
I closed my eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with me. Just a few minutes, I told myself. I’d rest for a few minutes, make sure he was settled, then I’d get up and handle the evening chores.
But his hand was warm in mine, and the bed was soft, and I was so damn tired of fighting this thing between us that I didn’t fully understand.
Just a few minutes.
I let myself drift, the sound of Dante’s breathing lulling me toward sleep. Tomorrow I could go back to keeping my distance, to maintaining the walls I’d built. Tomorrow I could remember all the reasons why this was a bad idea.
But right now, with his fingers tangled with mine and the Montana sun warming the room, I let myself have this one small thing.
I let myself stay.