Page 15 of Curvy Girl and the Protector Cowboy

She glances at me, surprised by my perception. "No. Just Ricardo and his family. They were... welcoming, in their way. Gave me a place to belong."

"And when things started going bad with Ricardo—"

"Where could I go?" she finishes. "Back to my father who'd already rejected me? Out on my own with no support, no money?" She shakes her head. "I think that's why I tried so hard to believe Ricardo was still a good man. That his business was legitimate, that his temper was just stress, that he loved me in his way."

"Because the alternative was being completely alone," I say softly.

Her eyes fill suddenly with tears. "And now I am. Just Miguel and me against the world."

Her admission's vulnerability hits me right in the chest. Without thinking, I step closer, drawn by an instinct to comfort.

"You're not alone right now," I tell her. "And you don't have to be going forward."

A tear spills over, tracking down her cheek. She brushes it away quickly, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I never—" She takes a shaky breath. "I never talk about this with anyone."

"Sometimes it's easier with a stranger," I offer. "No history, no judgment."

"Is that what you are? A stranger?" She looks up at me, her expression unguarded for the first time since we met.

Before I can answer, another tear falls, and then another. Years of pent-up fear and loneliness seem to break through at once. Her shoulders shake with the effort of containing her emotion.

This time, I don't hesitate. I step forward and wrap my arms around her, half-expecting her to pull away. Instead, she leans into me, her face pressing against my chest as silent sobs wrack her body.

I hold her steady, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other secure around her waist. She fits against me perfectly, her warmth seeping through the thin material of her borrowed t-shirt.

"It's okay," I murmur into her hair. "You're safe here."

For several minutes, we stay like that—her tears gradually subsiding, my heart racing with the trust she's placing in me. I'm aware of her curves pressed against me, the scent of her hair, the way her fingers have curled into the fabric of my shirt. But this isn't about attraction. This is about offering sanctuary to someone who needs it.

Eventually, she draws back slightly, looking embarrassed. "I don't usually fall apart like that."

"You're entitled," I say, reluctantly letting my arms drop. "You've been carrying a lot."

She wipes her eyes, a hint of a genuine smile finally touching her lips. "Thank you. For listening. For not judging."

"Anytime." I mean it more than she probably realizes.

She tucks her hair behind her ear, still looking slightly embarrassed by her emotional release.

"I thought there weren't any good men left in the world," she admits quietly. "After everything with Ricardo and my father... I just assumed all men eventually show their true colors."

I chuckle softly. "Oh, I have my problems too. Just ask my brothers."

"Like what?" She seems genuinely curious.

"I get too focused on work sometimes," I confess. "Been driving everyone crazy since this ankle kept me from competing. And my competitive streak has ruined a few relationships over the years."

"How so?"

I lean against the wall beside the photos, considering how to explain. "I've always wanted to be the best at what I do. Some women found that admirable at first, then resented the time and energy it took. One girlfriend said I cared more about eight seconds on a bull than I did about our whole relationship."

"Was she right?" Luisa asks.

"Maybe," I admit. "Or maybe she just wasn't the right woman."

Something shifts in her expression—curiosity, perhaps.

---