Page 143 of Knotting the Cowboys

Blake's about to discover that some ghosts have teeth, and some haunts end in blood.

For now, I have a woman to take care of, a promise to keep about dinner, and a pack waiting at home with what better be the world's most comfortable nest.

The hunt can wait a few more hours.

After all, anticipation makes the kill so much sweeter.

Claiming Protection Through Ice Cream And Whisky Part Two

~WILLA~

The slide through my hair, gentle and repetitive, and for a moment I can't remember where I am.

The motion is soothing, almost hypnotic, pulling me up from the depths of sleep like a fisherman's patient line. My body feels heavy, weighted down by the kind of exhaustion that comes from finally, finally letting go.

When did I last sleep like this? Deep and dreamless, without jerking awake every hour convinced I smell smoke?

I keep my eyes closed, trying to piece together the fragments.

Feed store.

Blake's cruel words.

Cole's protective fury.

Mavi carrying me like I weighed nothing, kissing me like he had every right to?—

Oh. Oh no.

My eyes snap open to find the truck's console staring back at me, and for ten long seconds I just blink at it, brain refusing toprocess why I'm looking at cup holders and gear shifts instead of my bedroom ceiling.

The world tilts as understanding crashes in:I'm still in Mavi's truck.

Still wearing my clothes from this morning that probably smells like a barn floor.

Still using Mavi's shoulder as a pillow, apparently, because that's definitely his scent surrounding me—smoke and cinnamon and that edge of danger that should probably worry me more than it does.

How long have I been asleep?

The light outside has shifted, gone golden and soft in that way that means late afternoon is sliding toward evening. Hours, then. I've been unconscious against him for hours, probably drooling on his shirt like some kind of disaster human, while he just...what?

Sat there? Let me use him as furniture?

"You awake?" His voice is quiet, careful not to startle, but I feel it rumble through his chest where I'm pressed against him.

"You fell pretty hard asleep. Didn't want to wake you."

I should move.

Should sit up properly, apologize for treating him like a human pillow, create some appropriate distance between us.

Instead, I find myself tilting my head just slightly, still resting against his shoulder because it's warm and solid and I'm greedy for this feeling of safety I'd forgotten existed. Through my lashes, I can see his phone in his free hand, thumb moving across the screen with practiced ease.

I expect to see security footage, maybe. Email about background checks or surveillance equipment or whatever mysterious things occupy an ex-arson investigator's time.

What I absolutely do not expect is the cheerful cascade of candy combinations, the triumphant music that plays when heclears a level, the way his brow furrows in concentration as he studies the colorful grid.

"Is that..." I blink harder, sure I'm still dreaming. "Candy Crush?"

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