Page 46 of Live for Me

Harmony Langston was one of the nicest souls I’d ever have the pleasure of meeting. She had a light inside her that was…everlasting. I could see it in her eyes that she’d been through pain, but she didn’t let that change her. I respected and envied that.

Her soul was still gentle.

Mine was frail,broken.

The pretty strumming stopped from behind me. “Good morning,” a raspy voice filled my ears.

I turned to find Mason’s wife rising from her spot on the couch, a bunch of discarded, balled up pieces of paper scattered all over the coffee table. She smiled at me. It was a soft smile; the kind of smile you give to someone you want to help. I said nothing as she set her guitar on the stand in the corner beside the fireplace and grabbed her empty coffee mug from the table.

“Would you like some breakfast?” she asked softly, walking into the kitchen, careful not to crowd me. She went to the sink and set down her mug. I took a second to study her and the way she flowed through the space. Her hair was a deep auburn, the color reminding me of a fire in the dead of winter. It was also wild, waves and coils trailing down the length of her back. It stuck out every which way on the top of her head. She had a blue head band in this morning to keep some of the curls out of her face. She was dressed in loose jeans and a flowy, cream tank with scalloped ends and lace detailing that stood out against the freckles dotted across her skin.

In a different life, I would’ve asked if I could paint her.

Harmony was a piece of art that didn’t deserve to be overlooked.

She turned back to me, a stack of small plates in her hands, her blue eyes shining with something I couldn’t decipher. “You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to,” she softly told me. “I just know you didn’t eat much at dinner last night.”

“Kinda hard to enjoy a meal when I was brought here against my will.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, the harsh sound hanging in the air between us.

She said nothing, staring at me with her kind-blue eyes that were nothing like Beau’s.Thank God.

I looked away from her, finding the window above the kitchen sink, watching the grass sway back and forth with the gentle breeze for a few moments. I pushed my hand through my hair, feeling the waves from my braid I’d slept in last night as I pulled a chunk of it over my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “You have been nothing but kind to me. You offered your home to me when you didn’t have to. I appreciate that and all you’ve done for me, Harmony. Truly.”

“You don’t have to apologize for your anger, Abbie,” she returned, her rasp gentle.

I blinked.

“You’re allowed to be angry and express your feelings. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but I heard what my husband said to you this morning.”

I jerked back, Mason’s threat ringing loud and clear in my head. A shard of glass formed in my throat, the pain forcing me to keep my mouth shut as I stared at her.

She rolled her eyes, setting the plates down on the counter before pulling out a small spatula. “I’m sorry he said that to you. He had no right, and frankly, what happened between you and Beau isn’t his business, or anyone else’s on this ranch,” she explained, putting a biscuit on each plate and then scooping out the fruit next. Once the plates were made, she slid one over to me. “Whether you and Beau work your history out or not should be no one’s concern, and I’m going to remind Mason of that when he gets back later.”

I tried to picture her scolding the world’s top bull rider, the man who craved reckless danger and got off on it. A part of me wished I could be here to witness that, but Dave would be here soon. I needed to get to the main gate, and I felt like Harmony would be the one to let me do that.

“Thank you for breakfast,” I murmured, moving to the island and taking the plate.

She smiled at me before she turned and grabbed something out of the cabinet beside the stove. A second later, she was holding out a jar of honey to me. “Don’t thank me until you’ve taken a bite with a little honey on your biscuit.”

My eyes flicked down to my steaming biscuit and then to the honey. “That sounds good, actually.”

I pulled the biscuit apart, revealing a thick and fluffy center, drizzling some of the golden honey on top. Harmony did the same, and we both took our first bites together.

A buttery, sweet flavor exploded across my tongue, and I let out a groan, my eyes rolling back. “My God,” I whispered, licking my lips. “Those taste just like—”

“Jigs’ biscuits?” she guessed, a warm smile teasing her lips.

I nodded, taking another bite. “Exactly like his.”

Color tinted her cheeks, and pride flashed in her eyes. “I’m really glad to hear that, especially from someone who knows his biscuits. The twins have never had them, Mason doesn’t remember, and Denver is always busy.”

I took a third bite, savoring the flavor and nostalgia. Jigs used to make biscuits and gravy for the entire bunkhouse every Sunday morning before he left for church. By six in the morning, he would be covered in flour, and by nine, he was dressed in a brown suit, his church hat sitting on top of his head.

He went to church every single Sunday, without fail.

“How did you manage to get the recipe?” I found myself asking, moving on to the fruit.

Harmony bit her bottom lip, looking sheepish. “I—uh—might have stolen it…from his recipe box.”

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