Page 61 of Dirty Cowboy

"That’s a beautiful name."

Joanne gives my hand a gentle squeeze before shifting the conversation. "Eric doesn’t talk much about himself, does he?"

I huff a small laugh. "Not really."

"That’s Eric, all right," she muses. "But he’s been different since you arrived. More open. More present. He even stops by in the mornings just to say hello."

My heart stutters in my chest. "Really?"

Joanne nods. "You make him very happy."

The words lodge in my throat, unexpected and dizzying.

He makes me happy too.

But before I can say it out loud, Joanne straightens, patting the tomatoes in her apron. "Come on, let’s get these inside before breakfast gets cold."

I follow her back to the house, but my mind is spinning.Eric doesn’t just want me here—he’s changing because of me.

The thought sends a thrill through my chest.

The breakfast table is a feast, a spread of golden eggs, warm bread, jars of homemade jam, and enough bacon to feed a small army. Even the smell is tempting, though the memory of the piglets and my vegetarian stomach has me sticking to fruit and pancakes instead.

Poor piglets.

As we eat, Grandpa Albert regales me with stories from his youth, painting a vivid picture of life in Lords Valley. Across Pebble Lake, Eric has a family of firefighter cousins. I mentally catalog every detail, each thread of information weaving a richer tapestry of the family I’m slipping into.

As I finish my scrambled eggs, I glance at my watch, calculating how long until Eric returns.

Grandpa Albert smirks. "You miss himthat much?"

My cheeks heat instantly. "Always."

"Distance is healthy," he muses, spearing a piece of bacon. "Besides, I have something important to discuss with you."

I raise a brow. "Oh?"

"The sheriff’s office is a mess."

I nearly choke on my juice. "Oh, I know."

He chuckles. "We could use someone with computer skills to organize the town’s records. The budget isn’t large, but it’s enough to make a difference."

I set my fork down, considering. "I’d love to help. But I need to go back to New York first. My father’s not well."

"Of course, there’s no rush." His expression turns thoughtful, his eyes studying me with quiet intensity. "You know, Eric’s never been one to keep secrets from his family. I’m surprised he didn’t tell us about your engagement sooner."

My stomach drops.

I force an easy smile. "We wanted to keep it quiet at first."

Grandpa leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Where did he propose?"

My mouth goes dry.

"Central Park," I say smoothly. "Same spot as our first date."

"Andwhen?"

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