Page 50 of The Rogue

He sees Tessa sound asleep on the couch, and I wink at him.

“Dad, it worked. Must be the dolphin.”

I spread butter on toast and set it next to his banana. “Must be.”

“Are you going to work today?”

“Of course.”

“Can Tessa and I come? She’s been asking for a tour.”

“I’m going to be too busy for that, buddy, maybe some other—”

“Good morning.”

Her raspy voice cuts through the air, pulling my gaze. She steps into the kitchen tentatively. Her hair tousled, falling in waves around her shoulders, framing that freckled face. I try not to notice the way it glows in the soft morning light.

Quietly, she moves to the coffee pot, filling the mug I prepared for myself. I can’t look away as she takes a slow sip, humming softly.

“Morning.”

Looking me in the eyes for the first time since coming home last night, she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for letting me sleep in.”

“You’re welcome.”

She turns to Jackson with a warm, genuine smile. I can’t remember the last time he got one of those besides from immediate family.

“Thanks for Willy, Wiggles.”

“You named him? It sounds like mine. I love it.”

She laughs, and there’s appreciation in her eyes that makes me forget I’m mad at her.

“Jackson wanted to give you a tour of the ranch today,” I say stiffly, giving my son credit for his thoughtfulness. “Unfortunately, we’re all—”

“Really?” Her eyes go wide with excitement. “Oh, I won’t bother anyone. I don’t even need an official tour guide. Jackson could totally show me the ropes.”

I suck in a slow breath. “I can’t just have you walking around. Wouldn't be safe if the animals got loose. You two could get lost. What if it starts raining?”

“We won’t wander, will we, kid?”

Jackson cheers. “I know everything about the ranch. I hang out with Dad all the time when school's out.”

I sigh. “Fine.” I whip out my phone. “Roger will supervise.”

“Supervise?” Tess jerks.

I don’t need to explain myself. “Yes. I’ll see if Roger can give you a short tour and still stay close to the pasture.” I step out of the room to make the call and get ready to head out.

When I return minutes later, Tessa’s prepared a small plate for herself. Berries, cheese and a scrambled egg.

“Better appetite this morning?”

She frowns, looking at the plate as if she didn’t realize what she was doing. “Huh. Yeah, I’m kind of famished.”

The idea that the nightmares and nausea may be linked is sending my protective curiosity spiraling.

I hate that I don’t know what’s going on with her.

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