Page 30 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
Straightening up, I smooth my palms over my jeans and force my spine tall. If I’m going down, I’m doing it with my head high.
The kitchen is abuzz with morning activity—the scrape of a chair, clink of a mug, laughter spilling through the air. For a moment, I just stand in the doorway, letting it wrap around me. I’m jealous. This could have been my life for the next two months; instead, I’m going back to the Atwood manor that lacks this kind of warmth. This family isn’t mine, but God, I wanted it to be, even if for just a couple of weeks.
I square my jaw. Time to face them.
“Good morning, Miss Atwood.” Beck’s dad, Hank Morgan, greets, being the first one to spot me.
I’m finally meeting the legend himself, and it’s a great honor—too bad it’s under the worst of circumstances.
“Mr. Morgan, good morning. It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” I smile politely, walking closer to shake his hand.
It’s firm, his palm calloused and rough, those of someone who enjoys working with his hands. Similar to his sons, he is tall, with broad shoulders, silver at the temples, but not the kind that makes you feel sorry for him. It’s the kind that makes you want to sit up straighter. That salt-and-pepper jawline could cut glass, and those storm-colored eyes are very compelling.
“Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you. Please sit,” he invites, his voice sweet and gruff at the same time, comparable to honey and oak—rich, deep, and slow.
I know I shouldn’t—I’m here to say goodbye, after all—but I cannot resist the subtle command in his tone.
“All good things, I hope?” I reply as I take a seat next to him.
“Of course. Coffee?” he asks, holding up the pot.
I nod, holding an empty mug toward him. “Yes, please.”
“Thank you so much for taking on the challenge that is our beloved Beck. I know he’s not easy to deal with, so we appreciate you trying. How’s that going so far?” he inquires, passing me the cream and sugar as well.
I turn the cream down and only add a cube of sugar into my mug.
His words hit me hard when I realize that I won’t even get a moment to enjoy breakfast with them.
Noticing my hesitation, Ella reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “Is everything okay? You look tired.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I respond with a tight smile, keeping my voice steady. “Figured I should get the hard part over with.”
My statement earns me a couple of raised brows.
“Hard part?” Zane asks, looking concerned. “What did he do?!”
He looks ready to fight for me, even against his own brother, which is sweet but unnecessary. They are all waiting for me tosay more, to explain. My throat tightens, but I swallow and press on.
“I came to tell you all something,” I begin, the words tasting like gravel. “I—“
The kitchen door swings open, heavy boots sound against the wood behind me, slow and sure. I don’t have to turn to know it’s him.
“Good morning, family.” Beck cuts in, being his usual obnoxious self.
I turn to glare at him, our eyes meeting—mine full of disdain, his quite the opposite, mischievous, which means he’s up to no good.
“Just the person we were talking about. What did you do to Quinn?” Hank bellows, his tone reverberating around the room.
Beck doesn’t even blink at his dad’s tone while I’m scared for my life.
“I didn’t do anything she didn’t want me to,” he smirks, picking up my coffee mug and taking a sip from it.
My eyes widen at his words and careless action, wondering what he’s playing at. I’m not the only confused one as the rest of the family turn to me for answers that I don’t have.
“Quinn?” Ella calls out.
I open my mouth to defend myself, but once again, Beck cuts in before I can get a word out.
