Page 61 of Dust Storm

Bree rolled her eyes. “I’m a teenager, thank you very much.”

That was evident.

“Doesn’t your dad have a girlfriend or someone? Ask her. I have work to do.”

“Dad doesn’t date,” Gracie said. “Well, not exactly. He pretends like he doesn’t go on dates, but we know he does. We just never meet them.”

Interesting, but not surprising.

“Please,” Bree begged in a whisper. “I need something cute to wear to school and my dad thinks Levis and a button-up are the answer to everything.”

I turned back to the contact list I was working on. “Still no.”

“Fine,” Gracie said. “Will you be our evil stepmother?”

“Excuse me?” The rumbling voice came from the doorway. Christian stood with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows in his hairline.

Gracie shrugged. “I’m just saying. An evil stepmother is better than nothing. If we have an evil stepmother, it means we’ll get to go to a ball or kiss a prince or get magical powers. Do you have any poisoned apples? Or a cloak? Those are usually required.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You should be very concerned about the state of things if I’m the one feeding you.” I dismissed them with a flick of my wrist. “Be gone, peasants.”

They dashed through the living room and giggled all the way up the stairs.

Christian closed the door behind him. He looked filthy—covered in dirt and sweat. His hair was damp and dark. Loose strands framed his face and stuck to his skin.

“Your children are weird,” I said with my back to him.

He chuckled as he hung his hat. “Yeah, I know. That’s probably my fault.”

I felt—no—I smelled his presence as he loomed behind me.

“I know you like to lean into the whole grizzled cowboy thing, but please go take a shower before the paint starts peeling off the walls. You smell like cows.”

Christian laughed and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passed by. “You coming up to momma’s house for dinner?”

“No. I’ll be catching up on the twenty minutes your offspring stole from my workday, and then winding down with leftovers before Tripp calls.”

“Ah, the ever-elusive fiancé,” he teased as he did an uncanny imitation of aNational Geographicnarrator. “You gonna finally set a date or are you gonna spend a few more weeks staring at that ring like you want to throw it over a cliff?”

My stomach knotted as rage boiled up in my gut.How dare he?

“I’ll bring you a plate back,” Christian called as he disappeared into the bathroom.

As much as I tried to focus on the to-do list looming in front of me, I was distracted by the squeak of the shower and the ambient spray of water.

My thoughts drifted to the night I ran into him when he was coming out of the shower.

I could put up a good front. I could keep my face from cracking under the pressure of red carpets, press conferences, and crises. But Christian was a different story.

I wanted to hate being here. It wasn’t my cup of tea.

But I didn’t.

It dawned on me that I had never felt at peace around someone.

Tripp always put me on edge. I felt like I had to show up, keep up, and measure up.

My sex drive through my twenties was through the roof. I blamed its decline on turning thirty.Along with the weird hairs on my chin and my inability to bounce back from more than two cocktails.

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