Page 5 of Take Me, Tex

I bristle at her words.

"I'll take you back to town if you want.” I force my voice to stay level and reasonable. "No one is holding you hostage.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Or you can stay,” I say, my voice sounding harsher than I intended.

The morning air stirs through the open windows, carrying the scent of warming earth and pine sap, and I watch her consider her options. There's a beat of silence where I can hear my own heartbeat, the distant call of a hawk, and the soft sound of her breathing.

Then she asks, "And what happens if I stay?"

The question hangs in the air between us like a challenge, and I don't answer right away. Instead, I let my eyes sweep over her, taking in the way the morning light catches in her hair, the soft curve of her shoulder where my shirt has slipped, and the way her hands are wrapped around that coffee mug like she's trying to warm herself from the inside out.

Her bare shoulder, her lips slightly parted like she's already imagining the answer.

What happens if she stays?

I touch the brim of my coffee mug to my lip, using it to hide the thoughts that threaten to slip out—thoughts about what I'd like to do with two more days, thoughts about the way she fits in my space like she belongs here, thoughts about the soft sounds she might make if I kissed her the way I've been wanting to since the moment I saw her.

"We spend the weekend together," I say finally.

But my tone saysmore. Sayseverything.

And I think she hears it, because her cheeks flush pink like sunrise, and she doesn't look away.

Chapter 4

Nora

Ishouldgo.

Any sensible woman would accept the ride back to town, thank this man for his hospitality, and get as far away from this dangerous chemistry as possible. I should call my supervisor, explain the situation, arrange for someone else to cover my route on Monday.

But when Tex looks at me like that—all quiet intensity and unspoken promise, his gray eyes dark with something that makes my skin feel too tight—I don't want to be sensible.

I want to stay.

The morning air through the windows carries the scent of pine and possibility, and I can feel my pulse thrumming in my throat like a trapped bird.

"It's only two days," I say, pretending I'm still deciding when we both know I made up my mind the moment he saidstay. "And you're sure I'm not a burden?"

He just raises one dark brow, and the gesture is so perfectly him—economical, confident, with just a hint of amusement—that I feel something flutter in my chest.

"Whiskey likes you."

I glance over at the dog, who is now dozing on the couch. "Ah, the ultimate seal of approval."

"She doesn't like many people."

There's something in his voice; a note of sincerity that makes me look at him more carefully. His face is serious, and I realize he's not just being polite. This matters to him.

"Smart girl," I say softly.

Tex doesn't say anything, but there's a glint in his eyes that makes my heart skip like a stone across water.

We spend the morning outside, where the mountain air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of warming earth and the distant sound of running water. Tex wants to make sure I don't get bored, which is laughable, considering I'm a librarian with a backpack full of books and an endless capacity for entertaining myself.

But he insists on teaching me how to filter water using a sock, some charcoal, and a soda bottle, which is both ridiculous and fascinating. His hands are sure and competent as he demonstrates, and I find myself watching the way his fingers move, the way he handles each component with practiced ease.

---