Page 8 of Her Protective Cowboy

When I return to the guest room, Melody is exactly where I left her—perched on the edge of the bed, looking a little lost.

I hold out the duffel bag, and our fingers brush as she takes them. Sparks shoot up my arm at the contact.

“I really appreciate this, Wyatt.” Melody’s voice is soft, sincere. “You’re being so kind to me, considering...”

I smirk at her. “Considering you stole my truck?”

She flushes and ducks her head. “Yeah. Considering that.”

I chuckle. “Water under the bridge, sweetheart. You just get some rest.”

“I will. Goodnight, Wyatt.”

“Night, Melody.”

I force myself to walk out and shut the door behind me with a quiet click. Leaning my forehead against the wood, I exhale slowly.

Get her out of your system, cowboy, I scold myself. She’ll be gone before you know it.

Shaking my head, I head for the living room, where I find my brother Brody lounging on the couch. He takes one look at my face and smirks.

“Well, well. Never thought I’d see the day.” Brody chuckles, putting his boots up on the coffee table.

“What day?”

“The day Wyatt Clayton brings a woman home to the main house.”

I scowl at him. “Fuck off.”

“So, what’s the story with the wedding dress?”

I give him the cliff-notes version—the arranged marriage, her leaving her fiancé at the alter, her stealing my truck to try and get away.

Brody lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Girl’s got guts, I’ll give her that.” He cocks his head. “She staying long?”

“Just till Monday. Her aunt’s coming to get her.”

“Mm.” Brody gives me a knowing look. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course I’m okay with that.” I glare at him. “I just met her.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying. I know that look in your eye, brother. You’ve got it bad.”

I don’t bother denying it. Brody knows me too well. The truth is, the thought of Melody leaving already has my gut twisting. I can’t explain this fierce protectiveness, this desire. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

And that scares the hell out of me.

Because come Monday, Melody Sinclair is going to walk out of my life. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Movement catches my eye, and I glance up to see Melody hovering in the doorway, wearing nothing but my old flannel shirt.

It hangs to her mid-thigh, revealing miles of smooth, shapely legs. My breath snags in my throat.

Fuck.

The sight of her in my clothes does something to me. Knowing she’s got nothing on underneath but bare skin. I shift on the couch, my jeans suddenly way too tight.

“Um, sorry to interrupt...” Melody’s cheeks are deliciously flushed, like she’s embarrassed to be standing there half-dressed. “I was just wondering where I could find some extra blankets?”

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