Page 132 of Dust Storm

I swallowed. “It excludes me from this one.”

“Because I have kids.”

“Yes.”

Christian did the one thing I never expected. He laughed. “Cass—” he reached across the table and laid his hand over mine “—I’m not looking for someone to be a mom. I’m looking for someone to bemypartner.” He sipped his wine and took pause. “A prerequisite for that is that they’re trustworthy around my kids, but the girls aren’t babies anymore. In a few years, Bree will be driving even though that makes me physically ill. Gracie’s not far behind. And if you’ll let me pat myself on the back, I thinkI’m doing okay raising them. I’m not perfect, but I try. And they know that. I’m not looking for someone to take that over.”

I looked down at my plate, not really feeling all that hungry anymore.

“You expected me to move here. To live here,” I said, holding tight to those last threads of my arguments. “What if I expected you to move to New York?”

“I would do that if it was in everyone’s best interest,” he said without a moment of hesitation. “But it’s not, and I think you know that. Whether or not you want to admit it, you’re at peace here.”

I scoffed. “Voluntarily riding Dottie does not make me at peace.”

“No, but asking for CJ’s help does. And my momma’s. You’re not hiding anymore.” He tipped his head to the side, debating it. “Well. Except from me.”

I knew he was prodding me to tell him more, but I wanted to know just how much he was privy to.

“You know how I am when you force me to play Russian roulette with a shotgun. I’ll shoot, and I won’t even blink.”

Christian licked his lips and his voice turned to a growl. “Something going on with CJ?”

“No,” I clipped. “He caught me sneaking out of the office to hide in the barn until the coast was clear to get back to your house, and told me to tack up Dottie. I didn’t know how, so he taught me. I figured a general knowledge of horse care would be good if I’m going to talk up the equine program during the groundbreaking. We’ve been going on a ride every afternoon. He’s not as nice as you are.”

Christian chuckled. “You and Carson are two of the most blunt people I know. You’re peas in a pod.”

“He keeps the rest of the guys busy for a half hour so I can shower in the bunkhouse and not be bothered.”

“You think I’d bother you if you showered at home?”

That wasn’t it. Not entirely, anyway.

I trailed my finger along the rim of my wine glass. “I think I would have bothered you.”

“I want you to,” he admitted. “Cass…” Christian sat back, took his hat off, and ran a hand through his hair. “I want you to stay.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. For years, that was all I wanted to hear.

Stay.

Be here with me.

Don’t go.

But all Tripp ever told me was to go. To leave.

“You have a place here.”

“I already put my notice in. Mike knows I’m coming back to New York.”

Christian shook his head. “I don’t accept.”

I reared back. “Excuse me?”

Christian chuckled. “You think you’re stubborn? Princess, I deal with bulls, mules, and my kids. Two can play that game. I’ll call New York and tell them you’re not done here.” He drained his wine and dropped the glass back on the table. “And if that doesn’t work, I believe you know how adept Griffiths are at kidnapping.”

I pressed my fingertips to the edge of the table. “I am not a rancher. I’m not a stay-at-home wife—er—a stay-at-ranch wife.”

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