Page 4 of Curvy Girl and the Protector Cowboy

"Got some water, juice, sandwiches, and cookies," he says, lowering himself to sit on the grass about six feet away. He places the cooler between us, then scoots back, giving me space.

I hesitate before reaching for the bag. My instincts scream that accepting help means owing something in return. But Miguel's hungry eyes make the decision for me.

"Thank you," I say, unzipping the cooler. I hand Miguel the juice box first, helping him with the straw. He sucks eagerly, his eyes never leaving Cole.

"No problem." Cole leans back on his hands, casual, as if this is an everyday occurrence for him—finding desperate brides hiding on his property. "Plenty more where that came from."

I take a long drink from the water bottle, the cool liquid heavenly against my parched throat. For a moment, I close my eyes, savoring this small relief.

"Your ankle," I say when I open them again, noticing how carefully he's positioned his leg. "You're injured."

Cole raises an eyebrow, surprised I've noticed—or perhaps that I've mentioned it.

"Twisted it at a rodeo a month back," he shrugs. "Nothing serious."

"You ride bulls?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

He smiles, genuine and warm. "Trying to, anyway." He gestures vaguely toward the distant barns. "Family business, sort of."

Miguel has already finished his juice and is eyeing the sandwiches. I unwrap one and hand it to him, watching as he takes an enormous bite. His cheeks bulge as he chews, reminding me so painfully of his father that I have to look away.

"All five of you?" I ask, focusing back on Cole to distract myself.

"You counted the trucks," he observes, his eyes sharp despite his relaxed posture.

I nod slightly. Six months of looking over my shoulder has made me notice everything—exits, vehicles, potential weapons.

"Yeah, all five," Cole continues after a moment. "Though Jackson's more focused on running the ranch these days. Vincent trains horses. Aaron got back from overseas months ago. Ethan is… Ethan." He pauses. "You sure you don't want to come inside? We've got a couple of spare rooms."

I stiffen immediately. "No. Thank you, but we need to keep moving."

Cole studies the tree line, then looks at the setting sun. "It'll really be pitch black in those woods within the hour. Do you have somewhere to go? Someone expecting you?"

"Yes," I lie, the word bitter on my tongue. There's nowhere and no one.

Every bridge burned or too dangerous to cross. But he doesn't need to know that. Cole doesn't press, but I can see he doesn't believe me. He watches as Miguel demolishes his sandwich and reaches for a cookie.

"Slow down," I murmur, brushing crumbs from his chin.

"Where are you from?" Cole asks.

I nod cautiously. "I'm from Texas originally. Border town."

It's more information than I intended to share, but exhaustion is making me careless. Three days of barely sleeping, constantly moving, Miguel getting heavier in my arms. The white dress that once represented a terrible mistake now feels like a neon sign announcing my presence to anyone looking.

"Well, you're in Cedar Falls now," Cole says. "About an hour from the nearest town."

Cedar Falls. We'd crossed state lines on the bus, but I'd lost track after that. I'd just told Miguel we were going on an adventure, letting him sleep on my lap while I kept watch, paranoid at every stop that Ricardo's men would be waiting.

"I didn't realize we'd come so far north," I admit.

Miguel finishes his cookie and looks up at me, chocolate smeared around his mouth. "Can we sleep here, Mama? I'm tired."

Cole pretends to be fascinated by a blade of grass, giving us the illusion of privacy, but I know he's listening.

"We need to find a place in town, baby," I whisper, brushing Miguel's curls back from his forehead. His eyes are already drooping, the combination of food and exhaustion catching up with him.

"The bus doesn't run again until morning," Cole says quietly, still not looking at us. "Even if I drove you to town now, everything will be closed."

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