Page 4 of Take Me, Tex

Too beautiful.

The morning light streaming through the windows catches in her hair, picking out threads of gold and copper I didn't notice last night. Her face is soft in sleep, lips slightly parted, and I can see the faint smudge of ink still on her cheek. She looks younger like this, vulnerable in a way that makes something protective and possessive rise in my chest.

I look away before I do something stupid.

I busy myself with making coffee instead, the familiar ritual grounding me. The beans are a dark roast I get from a shop in town, and the smell as they brew is rich and comforting. I can hear the coffee maker gurgling, the sound mixing with the soft rush of wind through the trees outside and Whiskey's contented sighs from the couch.

Try not to imagine what she'd look like waking up in my bed instead of on my couch.

Don't go there, Tex.

When she finally stirs, making a soft sound that goes straight to my gut, I'm already halfway through making breakfast. Six eggs crackle in a cast iron pan that's older than I am, and bacon sizzles on the griddle. She rubs sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand, her movements slow and graceful, and mumbles something that sounds like "mmm, books."

Did she mean bacon?

Holy hell, even her sleepy mumbles are adorable.

She stumbles over to the kitchen area, her bare feet silent on the wood floor, and I try not to notice how my shirt falls to mid-thigh on her smaller frame, or how the morning light makes her skin glow like honey.

"Morning," she says, her voice husky with sleep. "I dreamed I was rescued by a rugged woodland king.”

“Someone reads too many novels,” I say, handing her a mug of coffee that's still steaming. Our fingers brush again as she takes it, and I feel that same electric jolt from last night.

Her eyes widen in mock horror. “Impossible.”

I chuckle. “I took a look at your van, and it should be easy to fix, so long as the parts store has what I need. They open at eight, so I'll call then.”

"Thanks again. Seriously." She cradles the mug with both hands like it's a precious thing and gives me a sleepy smile that hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. Her eyes are still soft with sleep, but there's something else there… a warmth that makes my chest tight. "When the van broke down, I thought I’d be spending the night in the middle of the woods. I didn't expect a warm place to sleep, much less wake up to coffee and bacon."

The bacon pops and hisses in the pan, and I flip it with more force than necessary. "Sit. Eat."

Whiskey thumps her tail approvingly from her spot on the couch, and I catch Nora smiling at the dog like they're sharing some private joke.

At eight sharp, I call the auto shop down in Cedar Hollow. The phone crackles with static, and I have to shout to be heard over the poor connection. It takes three different transfers and a lot of frustrated waiting, but I finally get a guy named Keith on the line.

He sounds exhausted, slightly annoyed, and like he's already had too much coffee.

"Fan relay switch?" he repeats, like I asked for something cursed or impossible to find. "Gonna have to order that in."

"How long?" I ask.

"Monday morning delivery, if we're lucky. Could be Tuesday."

I hang up and brace myself before turning to Nora, who's now feeding Whiskey a bite of bacon under the table like she's been living here forever. The sight of her, comfortable and natural in my space, does something dangerous to my equilibrium.

She looks up, and I can see in her eyes that she's already read my expression. "Bad news?"

"Part won't be in 'til Monday or Tuesday."

"Oh." Her smile falters for half a second, and I catch a glimpse of disappointment that she quickly covers. "Okay. That's... okay. I can just hike back to the ranger station and catch a ride from there."

I shake my head, the idea of her walking those dangerous mountain roads alone making something cold settle in my stomach. "Not happening."

Her eyebrows lift. "Why not?"

"I'm not sending you off alone with no backup.” The thought of something happening to her—a twisted ankle, a wrong turn, worse—makes my jaw clench.

She frowns, and I can see her hackles rising slightly. "So what, I'm just stuck here?"

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