Page 50 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
“You wish,” she mocks with an eye roll before settling down and studying me for a moment—she’s trying to read what I’m not saying. Then she exhales, satisfied enough. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Crystal clear.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, smirk back in place. “But if you’re so grateful for me swooping in to save your ass, shouldn’t we seal the deal with a kiss?”
Her mouth drops open, scandalized. Then her hand snaps out, smacking my arm hard enough to sting.
I bark a laugh, low and rough, rubbing the spot. “Damn. You’re stronger than you look. Wanna kiss it better?” I suggest, flexing my arm.
Her lips twitch—she’s fighting a smile—but she shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back again, watching her with more warmth than I mean to let show, “but you’re stuck with me now.”
“Come on,” I tease, tilting my head. “One little kiss wouldn’t kill you. After all, we’ve done more than that. Might even be fun.” I wink at her.
“Fun for you, maybe,” she shoots back, standing to her feet with that imperious little tilt of her chin. “Rule number four: Beck Morgan doesn’t get to enjoy this arrangement more than I do.”
I whistle, slow. “Ah, so you’re already thinking about what you might enjoy.”
Her cheeks color, and she points toward the hallway like she’s banishing a misbehaving dog. “Go away before I add a rule about gagging you permanently.”
I stand, unhurried, towering over her as I pass. “Wouldn’t be the first time a woman wanted me gagged,” I murmur just loud enough for her to hear.
She shoves me with a frustrated huff, but she’s laughing now, trying to hide it behind her hand.
“Goodnight, Quinn,” I say, voice softer than I mean it to be.
“Go away,” she insists again, though her eyes are warm when they meet mine.
I chuckle as I walk away, up the stairs, my grin fading the further I get from her.
This was supposed to be about redemption. About proving myself. About showing this town I’m not that rebel from ten years ago. But today, standing beside her in that room, hearing them tear her down, I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t stand back.
The thing is, protecting Quinn felt instinctive, necessary.
And damn it, I like the way she laughs when she forgets to hate me. The way her eyes spark when she argues, the way her lips press together when she’s trying not to smile. I shouldn’t notice any of it, shouldn’t want what I’m starting to want.
But as I walk back to my room, the truth gnaws at me: I can’t tell if I’m trying to save her, or if I just want her for myself. Oh boy, am I in trouble.
19
QUINN
Of all the things I’ve done to redeem Beck’s reputation, what we are doing today will be the make-or-break point. He doesn’t know it yet, but today is his first real test. The town is going to see him—not the scandal, not the whispers, not the shadow of his last name, but him. The man who shows up, who works hard, who’s trying. And I need them to see what I see, because if they don’t… I don’t know how much more fight he has left in him.
I tug on a pair of comfortable jeans and a soft shirt, something practical since it will be a very active day. My hair refuses to cooperate, so I put it into a messy bun, but it doesn’t matter. No one’s coming to look at me anyway.
I glance out the window and catch sight of a truck pulling up from the farm, the bed stacked with boxes of canned goods andcrates of vegetables. The Morgans are already loading up for the day, the whole family moving in unison. And there he is, front and center, carrying a sack of flour over one shoulder like it weighs nothing. He laughs at something Jace says, head tipped back, and for just a second I forget to breathe.
This is the version of Beck I want the world to see. The one who doesn’t need defending or a carefully crafted plan. Just himself, raw and real.
I press my palms to the windowsill, whispering a silent prayer to whoever’s listening: Please let today go right. Let them see him the way I do.
And maybe, just maybe, let me stop being so scared of how much I care about whether he makes it through this.
Leaving the cocoon of my room, I wander downstairs to help with setting up before we leave. Today we will be doing a food drive. It’s the ultimate plan to reach out to most of the community, especially the less privileged, and tug at a few hearts.
By the time we pull up to the soup kitchen, the parking lot is already buzzing with chatter from the volunteers. In preparation for this, I called out to all the reinforcements that I could, and they’ve shown up for me.
The Morgans don’t arrive quietly.
