Page 38 of Head Over Spurs

She could feel the bed shifting and her body rocking from his weight now stretched out beside her. He was lying on his side, and he tucked her in against his chest and brought his arm around to envelop her in his embrace. His fingers dragged up and down her side now as he said, “Just breathe. Nice and steady.”

“I wouldn’t have avoided you.”

His lip lifted ever so slightly. She liked his soft smiles, they seemed reserved for her too.

“I’m glad. But we don’t need to talk about it right now. You need to rest.”

“I get bored when I’m resting. And in my head,” she admitted. “On a shoot in Canada, I got the flu pretty bad. I didn’t leave my hotel room for three days. The only time I talked to anyone was ordering room service, and that wasn’t even until the second and third days. I hated just sitting there thinking about how cruddy I was feeling. It made all the symptoms feel worse.”

He tightened his hold on her, dropping his nose to the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll keep you out of this head of yours.” Then after a breath he added, “Your hair still smells like you—even after all the sweating and being on the bathroom floor.”

“You smell my hair?” She blinked up at him in surprise.

“Mhm, it’s floral and something else. I can’t put my finger on it, so instead I’ve just started to associate it with you.”

“Orange blossom and honey. My shampoo is orange blossom and honey.”

She leaned in tighter against him, her fingers lazily trailing down the front of his heathered gray tee.

Despite her best efforts to keep a clean line between them, with this simple acknowledgement he erased yet another piece of it. Her line was feeling more like a tiny threat these days.What that meant about her reputation at the ranch, she wasn’t sure.

“Still dizzy?” he asked against the top of her head, his lips brushing across her hair.

“Actually, no. Not really.”

“Good. Maybe we can get some more sustenance in you then.”

“When I was sick as a kid, my mom would make me ginger lemonade.” She sighed at the memory of being snuggled deep in her blankets, her parents coming in together to check on her, and a tray of freshly mixed ginger lemonade carried into her bedroom with care.

Her parents were always together back then, doing everything as a team. But their closeness stopped. Then the homemade lemonade stopped.

“Did it help?”

“It did. I’m not sure how much was mental—me deciding it would make me better because that’s what she would tell me. But it was so good either way.”

Withdrawing his phone, Riley started clicking through his contacts. “Let’s see what I can do then.”

“No, I don’t expect you to?—”

“I bet Lou’s got lemons and ginger downstairs.” She knew Lou was the owner of the bakery below this apartment because Maddie had introduced her once.

She felt certain that despite her protests, Riley would be making this lemonade happen. Loosening a breath, she drew her attention to the steady rise and fall of his chest. She was happy to focus on the feel of his strong embrace instead of the hard tile floor pressing into her skin.

She was comfortable with him. This wasn’t like her other locations, her other jobs. In this familiar place—with him—she felt home.

Somewhere deep down, she always knew this would be the case. And she wasn’t sure if that made her want to smile or cry because as lovely as it felt to be taken care of, she still felt the constant, invisible tug from across the state line. She was tethered to a place she didn’t feel she belonged.

“What’s got you so quiet?”

She glanced up at his patient expression. “Just thinking about being sick on the road compared to here.”

At some point, his hand on her side had slipped under the band of her bralette. His thumb skimmed the outside of her breast as he smiled down at her. “Being here doesn’t count as the road anymore?”

“I can’t be held responsible for what I say when I’m deliriously ill,” she scoffed. “But… it is really nice to have someone here.”

“Someone?”

“You,” Jules conceded. “It is really nice to have you here with me.”

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