Chapter Three #2
"Now you try." He retrieved the rope and handed it to Addison.
For the next twenty minutes, I watched him work with her.
He demonstrated each step slowly, correcting Addison's grip on the rope, repositioning her feet.
His instructions were clear and direct—weight distribution, wrist rotation, the exact moment to release.
Addison was athletic and absorbed the proper technique quickly.
By the end, she'd managed to rope the dummy at ten feet, and her face was flushed with pride.
"That's it exactly," Rhodes told her. "Keep practicing while I work with Presley."
He turned to me, held out a rope. "Your turn."
I took it, tried to mimic what I'd seen him do. The loop collapsed. The rope tangled around my wrist.
Well, heck.
"Here." He moved behind me.
His chest pressed against my back. His hands came to rest on my hips, shifting my weight. One arm circled around, his fingers wrapping over mine to correct my grip on the rope, guiding it into position overhead.
"Relax," he murmured at my ear. "Trust the rope."
Relax. Right. With his body aligned against mine, solid and warm. With his hands on my hips. With his breath stirring my hair.
"Try again."
I tried to focus. On the lasso in my hands. On the distance to my target. On anything except the feel of him—his chest against my back, his fingers tightening on my hips, his hand guiding mine through the motion.
"That's better." His voice had dropped lower. "Feel the rhythm?"
What I felt had nothing to do with roping.
"Miss Presley?" Addison called from across the arena. "Can you watch this? I think I'm getting it!"
Rhodes stepped back. I turned to watch Addison, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
For the next hour, we worked. Addison's confidence grew with each successful throw. I, on the other hand, was terrible. Worse than terrible. I dropped the line twice, tangled it around my ankles once, and didn't hit the dummy a single time.
I'd built a career on confidence—teaching girls to walk into any room and own it. But out here in the arena with dirt under my boots and rope in my hands? I was completely out of my depth.
I glanced down at my boots—adorable when I'd put them on this morning, now caked with what I was pretty sure wasn't mud. And my manicure? The tough fibers of the lasso had already snagged two nails. Pageant coaching had never been this hazardous to my appearance.
It wasn't that I couldn't learn. I'd learned complicated choreography, memorized entire interview prep guides, mastered the art of walking in four-inch heels on a slick runway.
But every time Rhodes moved close to correct my form, I forgot what he'd just told me. Lost track of which hand did what. Stared blankly when he repeated an instruction.
"What did I just say?" he asked after my third failed attempt in a row.
"Um." I blinked at him. "Something about... the loop?"
His mouth quirked. "Right. The loop."
He knew exactly what he was doing to me. And he was enjoying it.
"You'll get it," he said, though I caught the amusement in his eyes. "Just takes practice."
By the time we loaded back into the truck, the sun was setting, painting the Texas sky in warm hues of orange and gold.
"You're ready," Rhodes told Addison as we drove back toward town. "Keep practicing this week, and you'll do great at the competition."
"I can't thank you enough." She gave him her address—just off Sycamore Street.
He pulled up in front of her house. Addison waved, disappeared inside.
The moment she was gone, silence filled the cab.
Rhodes shifted into drive but didn't move. "You okay?"
"Fine." My voice came out breathier than I intended. "Just... long day."
His gaze held mine. Those blue-gray eyes seeing everything.
Then he nodded, pulled away from the curb.
Neither of us spoke on the drive home.
BY THE TIME WE GOT back, it was nearly eight o'clock.
"I'm starving," I said, dropping my purse on the counter. "Grilled cheese and tomato soup?"
"Sounds perfect."
I pulled out bread, cheese, butter. Rhodes set the table without being asked.
We were just sitting down when the doorbell rang.
Rhodes went completely still. "Stay here."
His hand moved to his weapon. He approached the door with measured steps—trained, ready, dangerous if he needed to be.
I stayed in the kitchen, heart pounding.
He checked the peephole, then glanced back at me. "Blonde woman, forties. You know her?"
My stomach dropped. "That's probably Vanessa Clarke. Addison's mother."
Rhodes's expression shifted—alert, then went neutral. He opened the door.
"Can I help you?" His tone was careful, polite.
"I need to speak with Presley." Vanessa's voice was tight. "Now."
Rhodes stepped aside. I moved to the doorway.
Vanessa swept into my living room—perfectly styled hair, chic workout clothes, eyes blazing.
"What's going on?" I kept my voice calm.
"What's going on?" Her voice rose. "What's going on is that my daughter just told me she's throwing away months of work—my work—to rope in front of hundreds of people!"
"I know this is upsetting—"
"Upsetting?" She laughed, sharp and bitter.
"I spent months choreographing that routine, Presley.
Months! Addison's been dancing at my studio since she was three years old.
She has talent. Real talent. We've put in hours every single night for the past two months.
With that routine, she could actually win Teen Star Texas.
" Her hands clenched into fists. "And now she wants to throw it all away for some cowboy hobby? "
"Addie wants to do something that's hers—"
"It was fine as a hobby!" Vanessa's voice cracked.
"I didn't mind her playing around with roping on the weekends.
But replacing MY choreography? Everything we've built together?
This is your influence. Your coaching. You convinced her to choose that over what I created for her. You're poisoning her against me."
Rhodes had moved onto the porch. Watching. Not interfering. Letting me handle it.
"Vanessa." I kept my voice gentle. "Addie didn't want to upset you. But she needs to find her own path. Be her own person."
"She is her own person! And I'm her mother. I know what's best for her."
"Do you? Because when she talks about the dance routine, she sounds exhausted. Anxious. But when she talks about roping?" I met her eyes. "She lights up. She's confident. She's happy."
"We should have stuck with Elite Pageant Coaching!
" Vanessa's voice turned shrill. "At least Blythe Tanner doesn't convince her students to throw away their futures.
We only switched to you because Addison begged me—said her friends liked you and you were different.
But you're not. You're worse. You're turning her against her own mother! "
"Addison’s future is whatever she chooses it to be. She’s almost an adult now."
"Someone should show you what it feels like to lose what you've built." Her eyes glittered dangerously. "To watch everything you've worked for get destroyed by someone who thinks they know better."
The threat hung in the air.
Rhodes shifted on the porch. He'd heard every word.
"I'm sorry you're hurting," I said quietly. "But I'm not going to apologize for supporting Addie in choosing what makes her happy."
"This isn't over." Vanessa turned on her heel, stormed past Rhodes down the steps.
We watched her SUV peel out of my driveway.
Rhodes came back inside, closed the door, locked it. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I pressed my hand to my chest. "She's just upset. She'll calm down."
"Maybe." His expression was unreadable. "Or maybe this isn't new."
"What do you mean?"
"How long has Addison been training with you?"
"This is her first year. They switched from Elite last spring."
"And Vanessa was okay with that?"
I thought back. "She never said anything directly. But there were comments here and there—little digs about my coaching style, my methods. I thought she was just a bit overly protective."
"Or resentful." Rhodes pulled out his phone. "I'm adding her to the suspect list. Mae needs to know about this."
Something cold settled in my stomach. "You think Vanessa could have sent the note? Thrown the brick?"
"It’s possible.” He typed quickly. "And someone angry about losing control of her daughter might want to scare you into closing."
Vanessa Clarke—Addie's mother—threatening me?
But the look in her eyes tonight...
And what if she really had thrown that brick? What if the woman who'd just stood in my living room screaming threats was the same person who'd been watching my house, trying to force me into closing Crown & Grace before she’d risk her daughter losing the Teen Star Texas title?
The thought made my skin crawl.
"Let's eat," Rhodes said, pocketing his phone. "Before it gets cold."
DINNER WAS QUIET. THE confrontation with Vanessa hung over us like storm clouds.
My mind kept circling back to Addie. The exhaustion in her eyes these past weeks.
The way she'd transformed this afternoon at Rhodes's ranch—flushed with pride after each successful throw, beaming when she finally roped that dummy at ten feet.
The spark that had been missing for months suddenly back in her eyes.
Was I doing the right thing? Supporting her against her mother's wishes?
What if this destroyed their relationship?
"Hey." Rhodes's voice pulled me back. "Where'd you go?"
"Just worrying. Hoping I didn't just make everything worse for Addie."
"You gave her permission to choose herself." His gaze was steady. "That's never the wrong thing."
The certainty in his voice settled something in my chest. He had a way of doing that—cutting through my spiral of doubt with simple truth.
After we cleaned up, I tried to focus on emails while Rhodes reviewed security footage on his laptop.
We settled into the living room—him on one end of the couch, me on the other.
I'd curled up against the armrest with my laptop balanced on my knees, while Rhodes sat at the opposite end with his computer open on the coffee table in front of him.
The soft glow of our screens was the only light in the room aside from the lamp I'd switched on in the corner.
Outside, the evening had gone full dark, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of settling wood and the tap of keys.
Normal. Domestic.
Except my mind wouldn't stay on the emails.
It kept drifting back to the ranch. Not to Addie's triumphant glow, but to what came after. Rhodes’ body pressed against mine in the arena dust. His hands on my hips, adjusting my stance.
His voice at my ear—low, deliberate. The way he'd known exactly what he was doing to me. The way he'd seemed amused by it.
I glanced at him over my laptop screen. He was focused on his computer, jaw set, those blue-gray eyes scanning footage with the same intensity he brought to everything.
The energy crackling between us now had nothing to do with Vanessa Clarke.
At ten o'clock, we went through the awkward dance of getting ready for bed.
I showered, changed into satiny pajama pants and a buttery tank top, came out to find him already in bed on his side.
I climbed in, maintaining the careful distance. Stay on your side. No touching. The rules we'd agreed to.
But the space between us felt smaller tonight.
I lay on my side facing away from him, staring into the darkness. The sound of his breathing filled the quiet. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight.
I wanted to turn over. Close that gap. Find out if he was as awake as I was.
With Landon, I'd trusted too fast. Opened up before I really knew him. And when things went south, I'd been blindsided.
I'd known Rhodes just a few days. Watching him move through my space, feeling the pull of attraction every time he got close. It wasn’t enough time to know if what I was feeling was real or if I was making the same mistake all over again.
The smart thing was to keep my distance. Wait. See who he was when he wasn’t being my bodyguard.
But lying here in the dark, wanting him this badly? Smart wasn't winning.