Page 7 of Dirty Cowboy

I glance down at the oversized tee, my fingers curling into the fabric. “I’ll change later.”

With a shake of his head, Tristan leaves.

I ditch my case files, swap shirts, and grab my purse. Grace’s salon is two blocks away. If I’m going to prove I’m not a kid anymore, I need a little help.

And a makeover is the perfect place to start.

The shrill ring of my phone slices through the quiet morning, yanking me from the kind of deep sleep that leaves a man groggy and confused. At five in the morning, I lurch out of bed, my legs tangled in the sheets, and slam into the wall as I grab for my phone.

“Can you make it this morning?” Tristan’s voice is clipped, urgent.

I scrub a hand over my face. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there.”

Four hours later, I push through the heavy glass doors of Silver Securities. The lobby hums with energy, but I barely acknowledge the chaos as I make my way toward the conference room. I should head straight there. Tristan’s call made it clear this isn’t a social visit, but instead, I take the long way. Past Emma’s office.

I tell myself it’s a coincidence. A total accident that my boots carry me past her door, and that my gaze drifts through the glass. But when I catch sight of her lounging in that oversized chair, legs stretched long, and bare feet propped up on the windowsill, pink toenail polish wiggling in the morning sun, I know that’s no accident.

And just like that, pink officially becomes my favorite color.

A sharp, unwelcome tug hits my chest. She’s not a kid anymore. She’s not the girl who followed me around the ranch, wide-eyed and determined. She’s a grown woman, and seeing her like this—relaxed, and framed against the New York skyline—it damn near knocks the breath out of me.

She catches my reflection in the window, and spins around in slow motion, her dark eyes locking on mine. Recognition flares, then surprise, then something else entirely. Something that makes my dick flex. I tip my hat, her lips part in a smile, and I force myself to keep walking, as her gaze burns into my back all the way to the conference room.

“Morning, Silvers,” I say, striding in like my heart isn’t still hammering in my chest.

“Hey, buddy. Thanks for coming on short notice.” Tristan stands, claps me on the back.

“Coffee?” Julian offers.

“Nah, had breakfast on the train.” I slide into a chair, leaning forward. “Your call sounded urgent.”

The brothers exchange a look, and my stomach knots.

“Our father’s not doing well,” Tristan says. His voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it. “Doctors say he’s got a couple of weeks, maybe less.”

The news hits like a punch. Fred Silver is a legend, and the kind of man you think will live forever. But worse than that—Emma. She worships her father.

“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it.

Julian nods. “Emma can’t handle it. She’s hovering over him from morning till night. We need her to get away for a while.”

I frown. “And?”

“We want you to take her to Lords Valley,” Tristan says, his gaze pinning me in place. “She could stay with your folks.”

I blink. “You want me to take your sister home with me?”

Tristan’s eyes narrow. “You will not fucking touch her.”

Julian leans forward, voice dangerously calm. “And you’ll keep your whips and hands to yourself.”

My brows lift. “Whoa there, papa bears. Emma’s like a sister to me.” The lie rolls off my tongue so smoothly, even I almost believe it.

Tristan snorts. “Fetishes don’t change.”

I push up from my seat, meeting his glare head-on. “You walked in at the wrong time that night. And you’re the ones asking for a favor, so are we doing this or not?”

The tension stretches, then Julian exhales. “Yeah. We’re doing this. But if you touch her?—”

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