Page 83 of Just My Fake Husband

Can I do this? The “philandering gambler” side of me can’t.

But that isn’t the real me. I know.

When she emerges, ruddy faced and in a cloud of soap-scented steam, she’s in that bathrobe again. If I could paint, if I had any artistic ability at all, I’d paint her in that thing.

I tug her close and lead her to the sofa, which I’ve covered with a clean sheet. “Lie down and I’ll apply calamine.”

“Calamine?”

“Elianna dropped it off. And I should try to remove the stingers, too.”

She reclines and I’m on my knees on the floor next to her, using tweezers and sponging her skin with cotton balls soaked in chalky pink liquid.

“I can’t believe you risked life and limb to help me,” she says.

“Of course I helped you.” I gently roll up one of her sleeves and start dabbing that arm.

“It was foolish, Gabriel. Cattle stampedes are a real thing.”

“I’m an expert cattle weaver inner and outer.”

She laughs. “Don’t you know that a thousand people die every year in the US from cow stampedes?”

I glower. “No, they don’t.”

“Okay, so they don’t.” She beams. “But still, those cowboys were mad. If there hadn’t been so much mooing, they probably would have chewed us out.”

“The mooing was pretty loud.”

“It got annoying.” She smiles, and I reach over to grab a lock of hair and move it out of her way.

Pressing a pink-soaked cotton ball on a welt on her collarbone, I thank her for letting me do this.

She gives a strangulated moan. “I’m sorry you have to.” She tries to sit up halfway, but I stop her.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Of course I don’t mind. Are you kidding me? “It’s nice that you’re being taken care of, instead of being the one who takes care of everyone.”

“I don’t take care of everyone.”

“River. I’ve seen you with your sister, and your sister’s dog, and everybody at Tate.”

She scoffs, but then her face pulls into a frown. “I’ve been with the company a long time. I’m sorta the mama.”

I take her in for a moment before I shake my head. “Mamas need help sometimes.” I gently lift one of her legs and inspect it for more welts. “Did I miss any stings?”

She sits up. “Probably. But I can get those areas myself.”

My mind stalls on “those areas.” I love all her areas. But I don’t say that. I hope someday, in time, I can. That I could tell her how much she means to me.

I have to stand and back away from her because this is getting more and more difficult to keep the boundaries we’ve set. I busy myself in the kitchen with feeding treats to the dog so she doesn’t keep trying to jump up on River.

How am I not going to mess this up? She’s too beautiful. She’s too . . . River. There is no one like her.

Am I going to be able to make this work?

Chapter 29

River

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