Page 126 of Lost Then Found
I roll my eyes at the nickname.
She pulls her phone from her back pocket and hands it to me. “Put your number in. We need to be able to coordinate.”
I take it, hesitating for a beat before typing in my number and handing it back.
She glances down, saving the contact. “I’ll text you with the deets.”
As she heads back toward her car, Ridge is still standing near the house, arms crossed, watching her leave.
Miller doesn’t turn back, but she calls out, “Better luck next time, cowboy.”
Duke and Witt let out low whistles. Ridge just grins, like he enjoys the chase.
Miller reaches her car, then pauses, turning back to me.
“Boone?”
I exhale. “Yeah?”
Her eyes are sharp and narrow. “If you ever hurt my best friend again, I’ll castrate you and feed your testicles to your cows. Understood?”
Ridge barks out a laugh. And even though she’s only five foot two and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, I don’t doubt for a second she’dactually do it.
Miller’s a pain in my ass. Always has been. Mouthy, stubborn, quick with a glare and quicker with a threat. But standing here, watching her throw down like that for Lark?
I get it.
Because someone had to.
When I left, it was Miller who stayed. She’s the one who picked up the pieces—held Lark together when I couldn’t. She was there in all the ways I should’ve been. She probably helped with Hudson, even though I’m pretty sure handing Miller a baby would look like handing her a live grenade and walking away.
She probably made sure Lark ate. Probably made her laugh again, even when she didn’t want to.
She stayed when I ran.
So no, I don’t blame her for being protective. I don’t even take offense. If anything, I owe her.
I owe her more than I’ll ever be able to say out loud.
And if it means she threatens me with castration every once in a while?
Fair enough.
I lift my beer in her direction. “Understood.”
Miller gives me a satisfied nod before slipping into her car and peeling out, dust kicking up behind her tires.
Chapter 13
LARK
I wake to the sound of sharp, insistent knocks at my front door.
For a second, I don’t move, still tangled in the fog of sleep, my body heavy, my head thick. My brain struggles to catch up—where am I, what time is it, who the hell is at my door?
I push myself off the couch, the throw blanket slipping off my shoulders as I blink at the dim glow of the lamp I forgot to turn off. I rub at my neck, sore from sleeping at an odd angle, already regretting passing out here instead of hauling my ass upstairs to bed.
Another round of knocks—harder this time.
