Page 7 of Wyoming Cowboy Undercover

“It’s a significant time for transformation.” She shrugged. “I know more about the new moon when novices who choose to stay are inducted. Marriages are blessed.”

Playing this safe wasn’t an option. “I’ve been the one working Mercy’s recruitment,” Rocco said to Nash. “I know her best. I think I can persuade her.” His gut told him to use the rapport he’d built—the natural connection they had. “I just need a thumbs-up from you.” Flicking another impatient glance at his watch, he clenched his jaw and stood. “What do you say?”

Was this going to be a sanctioned op or was he going rogue?

Nash’s stone-cold gaze slid to Becca for a second of deliberation coming back to him. “You’re a go. Find their arms supplier and figure out what’s planned for the nineteenth. You’ve only got one chance at this with her. Do whatever it takes.”

Chapter Three

Anxiety wormed through Mercy. She paced around the private training room, like a hamster on a wheel.

“Can I get you anything before my class starts?” Charlie asked, popping her head inside, yet again. “A bottle of water? A cup of tea?”

“No, thank you.” Mercy chewed the inside of her bottom lip and fiddled with her pendant.

“Want to join us until he gets here?”

Mercy shook her head once. She’d started out with group classes, but that wasn’t how she wanted to end her last day.

“Okay. Sit tight.” Charlie was lean and athletic. Not one pushover bone in her body. A real spitfire.

Mercy admired her spunk and independence. She would’ve traded every drop of her quiet resilience for a glimmer of Charlie’s fire.

“He’s on his way,” Charlie said, her smile soft, her green eyes pleading. “I promise.” She strutted away with that fearless air about her.

Mercy had already warmed up, stretched, and her muscles were loose, raring to go. Still, no Rocco. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to wait despite the assurances that he’d be there.

The thought of not being able to see him and say goodbye gnawed at the pit of her stomach.

Maybe him not showing up was a sign that she should submit to her father’s will. Be grateful for what she’d been given. If not for his generosity in granting her such leeway to begin with and paying for her classes, she never would’ve enjoyed the luxury of training at USD.

Releasing a sharp sigh, Mercy turned, headed for the door. But Rocco stepped across the threshold, entering the room, his strides confident, strong, hurried.

His gaze locked on her, setting off an unmistakable flutter deep in her belly.

She suspected he had that effect on most women.

Tall and powerfully built. Skin the color of teak. Everything about him was strong and formidable like the dense hardwood tree. He was handsome, too, in an almost painful way. The kind that stabbed her in the chest, reminding her that someone like him would never be with someone like her.

Whenever she saw him, her palms would sweat as two words sprang to mind...goodgod. Not as in an actual deity. No man was a god. Not even her father, no matter how hard he tried to ascend to such unreachable heights. But Rocco was straight from the pages of an old-world myth.

He took off his cowboy hat and speared his fingers through his longish brown hair. The strands fell to the neckline of his snug T-shirt that did nothing to hide the wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped rock-hard body beneath.

To think, she’d once been intimidated by him. The sheer size of him. The tribal tattoos running down one arm. The rough-and-tumble look. The scorching magnetism he exuded.

Then she’d seen how gentle and kind he was to all the women. After that she only wanted to train with him. One-on-one. In the private room.

A harried smile stretched across his kissable mouth, and she moistened her lips.

“Thanks for waiting, Mercy.”

Even the way he said her name made her pulse leap.

Throat too tight to answer, all she could do was nod.

“I know how precious and limited your time is here,” Rocco said.

He had no idea. But she shoved the thought from her mind, not wanting to dwell on it.

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