Page 15 of A Rogue Cowboy's Kiss

He’d spent the last twenty years learning to listen to his instincts, his guides, and he’d thrown himself into this situation without listening to Brody, without getting the green light from his guides.

He’d just run as fast as he could toward Bella in the very moment she would want him the absolute least.

Maybe she was right to cut him off.

If she really wanted nothing to do with the ranch anymore, with her past, what did he have to offer? All he had was their past. He had no idea what his future would be. Could be. Should be.

She wanted fun and laughter. He didn’t even know what that was anymore.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared across the ocean.

As he stood there, his hands began to burn.

His palms more specifically.

No.

No.

No.

He immediately turned away and began walking down the beach.

His hands kept burning.

Shit.

He hunched his shoulders, bent his head, and walked faster, like he was shoving his way through a thick sludge.

Before he knew it, he was running, sprinting down the beach, racing away from whatever was making his hands burn, from the future he didn’t have, from everything he was.

He kept running, harder, faster, an all-out-sprint. His legs burning, the ocean splashing up under his feet, his lungs aching.

He ran until he couldn’t breathe, until he finally dropped to his knees and shoved his hands into the wet sand. He knew he hadn’t run that far, but he’d run so fast that he’d burned himself out.

Maybe a mile. Or two. Three? He had no idea.

He let the cold, wet sand ease the burning in his hands, hoping it would stop.

Eventually it always did. Then the headache would come, but he could live with the headache.

He bowed his head. Waiting for it to ease.

“Falcon?”

He bolted to his feet, staggering to keep his balance. He spun around and saw Bella standing on the deck of a little house above the beach. She was wearing the same outfit that she’d been wearing at the party. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“This is the cottage I rented,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He almost started laughing to himself. Of course, he had to run toward her house and run out of gas right in front of it.

“Why were you down on your knees looking like you’re about to die?”

“I never look like I’m about to die.” He stood taller, trying to slow his breathing, but he’d run himself into the ground, so it was a little tricky.

She leaned on the railing. “It’s fate, you know.”

“What is?”

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