Page 6 of Curvy Girl and the Protector Cowboy

"Thank you," I manage, tightening my grip on Miguel.

A little girl, perhaps a year older than Miguel, peeks around a man's legs, curious.

"Why is she wearing a princess dress?" she stage-whispers.

"Lucy," the man—Vincent, I guess—says quietly. "Remember what we said about questions?"

"Sorry," Lucy whispers, but her eyes remain fixed on my torn dress with undisguised fascination.

"This way," Cole says, gesturing toward the stairs.

I follow him up, aware of the dirt I'm tracking on the clean wooden floors. The guest room is simple but comfortable—a double bed with a navy comforter, plain wooden furniture, and a small desk beneath a window overlooking the ranch.

"Bathroom's there," Cole points across the hall. "Lock's right here." He demonstrates the deadbolt on the bedroom door. "Kitchen's always open if you get hungry. No one will come up unless you want them to."

I nod, too exhausted for words. Miguel stirs slightly as I lay him on the bed but doesn't wake.

"Thank you," I say finally, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, still in my ruined wedding dress.

Cole pauses at the doorway.

"Luisa," he says, and I tense at the sound of my name on his lips. "Whatever you're running from—you're safe here tonight."

Something in his quiet certainty breaks through my carefully constructed walls. My eyes burn with tears I refuse to shed.

"You don't know that," I whisper. "You don't know what I've done."

Cole stares me for a long moment. "Maybe not," he concedes. "But I know what running looks like. My brother Aaron... when he came back from overseas, he had that same look in his eyes."

I don't know how to respond to that, so I say nothing.

"Get some rest," he says finally.” He steps back into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.

I turn the deadbolt with trembling fingers, then sink onto the edge of the bed. Miguel sleeps on, one hand curled into a fist beneath his chin. In sleep, the resemblance to his father is even stronger—the same dark lashes, the same full mouth.

There’s a pile of clothes on the dresser: sweatpants, a T-shirt, thick socks—simple items that represent normalcy I haven't known in months.

I should stay awake, vigilant. I should plan our next move, figure out how to get to the bus station in the morning, decide where to go next.

Instead, I slip off my ruined wedding dress, pull on the borrowed clothes, and curl protectively around my son. Just five minutes, I tell myself. Five minutes to rest before I make a plan.

As sleep claims me, my last conscious thought is of Cole's words: "You're safe here tonight."

I know better than to believe him. Safety is an illusion I gave up long ago. But for tonight, with Miguel's steady breathing beside me and a locked door between us and the world, I let myself pretend.

Chapter 3

I wake to the rooster crowing sound, same as every morning for the past few years. The clock on my nightstand reads 5:17 AM—too early for most, but standard operating hours on a ranch.

My ankle throbs dully as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, a reminder of yesterday's overexertion.

Yesterday. The woman. Luisa.

I pause halfway through pulling on my jeans, listening for any sound from the guest room across the hall. Nothing but silence. Is she still asleep? Or already gone, slipping away in the night like a ghost?

For some reason, the thought of her leaving without a word sits uneasily in my chest. Not that I have any claim on her—she's a stranger with her own troubles. But that kid, Miguel, with his solemn eyes and chocolate-smeared smile, deserved at least a decent night's sleep and a proper breakfast.

I finish dressing quietly, careful not to let my bedroom door creak as I step into the hallway. The guest room door remains firmly closed, the house still except for the distant sounds of Jackson in the kitchen. He's always first up, getting coffee started for the rest of us.

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