Page 86 of His Tenth Dance

“Come on,” he barked at Tuck. “Let’s go.”

Tucker followed him silently back to the truck, and they tailed the ambulance down the side of the barn. But when it came time to turn right toward the highway, Tucker turned left toward the house.

“Where are you going?” Tarr growled.

“You don’t have a shirt on, brother,” Tucker said. “And you’re covered in blood. Let’s take five minutes and get you cleaned up before we go. It’s not going to make a difference.”

Something snapped back into place inside Tarr. He looked over at his best friend, everything in the world now different.

“You’re right,” he said, suddenly relaxing. He looked down at his hands and closed his eyes against the dried blood there. “Did you see all those scars on Briar’s side?”

“No,” Tucker said. “Did she have a lot of scars?”

“Almost looked like she’d been burned.” Tarr tried to picture them again. “But not quite. Burn scars are almost wavy. This was more like…single, straight slashes.”

“Healed, though, right?” Tuck asked, looking over. “Not coyote claw marks?”

“No.” Tarr shook his head, wondering how a person could get scars like that. He looked out the windshield as Tuck came to a stop in front of the mansion. “These were old wounds,” he said quietly, the realization hitting hard.

Briar carried many more wounds than Tarr had even imagined, and he wanted to know the story behind all of them. Physical. Mental. Emotional.

Everything. He wanted to know everything about her.

He vowed to himself, right then and there, that he would be at Briar’s side for every step of her recovery.

After all,shehad calledhim.

And Tarr, once again, felt like God had kicked down one of Briar’s walls and allowed Tarr into her life…whether she liked it or not.

twenty-eight

Kristie paused outside the Community Arts Building and put a hand against Mission’s chest, gently pushing him aside so other fairgoers could enter and exit through the double doors.

“What’s going on?” he asked, genuine surprise in his tone and expression.

Her heartbeat thrashed against the cage of her ribs. “What if I don’t have a ribbon?” she whispered.

“Don’t worry, kitten.” Mission took her face in both of his hands. “You’re going to have one.”

“But what if I don’t?” she asked again. She felt wholly unprepared for this moment, despite their earlier conversation on the topic.

“Kris, it would be impossible for you not to,” Mission said. “But let’s say you don’t. That’s fine. We’ll leave, and we’ll go to lunch. We’ll enjoy the rest of our day off together. Because a ribbon doesn’t make you a good chef, and a ribbon doesn’t make you a good person. Having a ribbon or not having a ribbon isn’t going to change how I feel about you.”

Kristie nodded, glancing over her shoulder toward the glass door. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Mission echoed. “You’re still going to make that chocolate cake for my birthday, and we’re still going to have a great day together.”

He slid one hand over her shoulder and down her back, pulling her closer. “In fact,” he murmured. “I’m kind of praying youwon’thave a ribbon, so then you’ll be upset, and maybe I’ll get to hold you in my spare bedroom again.”

She whipped her gaze back to his and searched his face—only to find teasing in his expression. “You’re not helping,” she said.

He grinned and leaned closer. “Yes, I am.”

She tried to slip out of his arms, but he dropped the second one and kept her close. “Seriously, Kris. Take a minute, and just think about what I said.”

She closed her eyes and drew a breath.

Having a ribbon doesn’t make you a good chef. You won’t be a better person if you have one. And it won’t change how I feel about you.

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