Chapter 21 #2
But wanting it doesn't make it easy. My whole life has been built around the careful balance of responsibility. And here I am, toppling it over because of one cowboy with steady hands and a mouth that makes me forget who I am.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, and there's a carefulness in his tone, like he's not sure he wants the answer.
The truth is, I'm thinking about how this changes everything. But looking into his eyes, still dark with satisfaction and maybe affection, I can't bring myself to voice any of that.
"I'm thinking I should probably get dressed. Emma will be asking for me soon," I say instead, which isn't entirely a lie. The rational part of my brain is screaming at me to put distance between us before I lose what's left of my objectivity.
When I finally pull myself from his bed, the sunlight is already high. I try to protest when he grabs his keys, but he just shakes his head.
"I'm not letting you walk out of here and try to figure out a ride," he says, matter-of-fact. "I drove you here. I'm going to drive you back."
I could argue, but I don't. The truth is, I like the sound of him saying it as if it's already decided.
The drive is quiet, the kind of quiet that isn't empty. Gravel crunches beneath the tires, the windows cracked enough to let in the morning air. His hand rests on the console, close enough to brush mine, and I have to keep reminding myself not to reach. Not here. Not where anyone could see.
When he pulls up to Candy and North's ranch, he doesn't put the truck in park right away. He looks at me instead, steady as the land itself. "You sure you're ready for this?"
I try for lightness. "It's just Candy's place."
"Not what I meant." His eyes hold mine, and the weight of what he's really asking makes my chest ache.
I swallow hard and nod, even though the truth is messier than a simple yes. "I'll be fine. Thank you for... for last night. For this morning. For the ride."
His mouth curves just a little, like he knows I'm stumbling over words on purpose. "Anytime, Sunshine."
He studies me for another beat, then shifts the truck into park. Before I can reach for the handle, he's already out, boots crunching against the gravel. My breath catches as he rounds the hood and comes to my side.
He opens the door with a quiet click and holds out his hand. "Come on, Sunshine."
The morning light cuts across his shoulders, and for one suspended second, I can't make myself move. I know I should just step down, pretend this is nothing. But when I put my hand in his, the strength of his grip anchors me in a way I didn't realize I needed.
My boots hit the dirt, and I'm standing closer to him than I should be. He doesn't let go right away. His thumb brushes once against my knuckles, rough and careful, before he finally releases me.
"Go on," he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. "I'll watch until you're inside."
Emma's laugh carries from the barn, bright and unbothered. I glance back once, just once, and he's still there behind the wheel. Hat low, eyes on me, like he's making sure I don't fall even now.
I find Emma in the barn with North, her tiny hands helping scoop feed into a bucket. She looks up when she sees me and waves so hard she nearly spills everything. "Mama! Look, I'm helping!"
"I see that," I say, pride and fear warring in my chest. She looks so at home here, it almost hurts.
When she's rinsing her hands at the pump, I crouch beside her. "Did you have fun last night with Candy?"
She nods, serious. "We painted our nails and ate popcorn, and Candy let me stay up until ten."
"That's very late," I say, smoothing her hair back.
She giggles. "I'm not even tired."
"Okay, well, I'm going to go inside and talk to Candy. You want to stay here and help North a bit more?" I ask, glancing over Emma's head. I see North nod, knowing I need to talk to her, so he will keep Emma busy.
"Yes!" Emma says, bouncing off toward North.
Inside, Candy meets me at the door with a knowing look before I even open my mouth. "Alright, spill it. You've got that look."
I blink at her. "What look?"
"The one that says you didn't get much sleep, but you're not mad about it." Her grin is sly.
My face heats instantly. I press my palms to my cheeks and shake my head. "Candy..."
"Don't Candy me. Tell me."
The words come out before I can stop them. "I stayed with him last night."
Her eyebrows shoot up, but her voice stays gentle. "And?"
"And it wasn't just one night," I whisper.
"At least not for me. I keep telling myself it should be simple, but it's not.
I woke up next to him, and I feel—God, Candy, I feel like I've finally stopped running.
And then the guilt slams in, because Emma deserves stability, and here I am sneaking around like a teenager. "
Candy pushes off the counter and comes closer, laying a steadying hand on my arm. "You think Emma didn't see the way he caught her at the rodeo? The way he watched her like she was already his to protect? That girl of yours isn't blind, Kassi. She knows."
My throat tightens. "But my job—if anyone at the company finds out, if word gets back to the wrong person, I could lose everything. And then what? How do I put food on the table if I walk away?"
"That's what you're afraid of?" she asks softly. "Not Asher. Not Emma. Just the paycheck."
I nod, blinking hard. "It's all I know. It's the only way I've managed so far."
Candy squeezes my arm, firm enough that it sinks in.
"It doesn't have to be the only way. My assistant at the library left to take care of her parents.
The position's open. You're more than qualified.
It comes with the cabin behind the library, utilities included.
It's a pay cut, yeah. But it's safe. It's honest. And it's yours if you want it. "
I stare at her, stunned. "Candy..."
"Don't answer now," she says, pressing a small slip of paper into my hand. "That's the code to the cabin door. Go look at it. Feel it. See if it could be home for you and Emma."
My chest aches with the possibility. "You'd give me that?"
"I'd be giving myself the best damn assistant I could ask for," she says firmly. "Think about it. Go look at the cabin. It's empty."
The weight in my chest loosens, just a little. A new kind of fear slips in—fear of hope. Of what it would mean to step toward something that isn't just survival.
"Thank you," I whisper, the words almost breaking apart.
She smiles, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "Don't thank me yet. Go look. Then decide. And Kassi?"
"What?"
Her eyes soften. "You deserve a life that isn't all weight and guilt. You deserve to be happy."