Page 8 of Her Grumpy Cowboy
“Good,” I murmur, re-wrapping it neatly, my touch precise from years of patching up wounds in the field.“You’ll be walking on it in a couple of days, if you behave.”
She grins.“That’s a big if.”
I look up then, eyes steady on hers.“Yeah,” I say, a hint of a smile tugging at my mouth.“I figured that out about you.”
She flushes, resting a hand on my shoulder.“Thanks for taking such good care of me,” she says softly.
I felt a lot of things in the Navy—fear and fury, mostly, some version of pride when the guys came home breathing.But I’ve never felt anything like the sensation of her hand on my shoulder.Apparently, neither has my cock, which presses insistently against my zipper.
I clear my throat and straighten, brushing my hands on my jeans.“You got water?”
“In the kitchen.”
Rooting around for a jug, I fill it and pour the water into the tree reservoir.I kneel to tighten the screws, straighten the trunk, and check the balance.When I glance up, Angel is staring.
Her gaze on me feels like a physical thing—hot, focused.It hits dead center in my chest, then slides lower.I hold still, like prey who knows he's already caught.
“What?”I ask gruffly.
“You look good in my space,” she says softly.
Her openness floors me.I have no way to answer without giving too much away, so I scrub a hand over my jaw and ask gruffly, “You got boots you can trust in snow and will support your ankle?”
Angel blinks at the random question.“Um, yes?”
I nod.“You’re coming to the ranch to supervise while I install that damned star that nearly knocked you out yesterday.Jamie can run the register for an hour.”
She frowns.“How long have you been this bossy?”
“Since a blonde-haired whirlwind tried to take me out with a wreath.”
Angel huffs.“I guess I can spare an hour.”
I help her up from the sofa carefully, hands on her waist, because I’m a bastard for temptation and also because she sways when she tests her weight, and I’m not letting her fall.The heat that arcs between us is molten, a slow burn crawling up my arms, across my chest, settling in my gut like gasoline waiting for a match.Her breath catches.Mine does too.
“Coat?”I rasp, forcing myself to step back.
She points to the coat pegs by the door where a puffy jacket hangs.
I grab it, help her into it, and hope like hell I can keep my hands off the woman who has no idea she’s already rearranging the way my world spins.
Chapter3
Grady
We move slowly to the truck.I lift Angel into the passenger seat because I’m not about to watch that ankle turn on an icy curb.She lets me without making a big deal of it, which is new for me—taking care of someone without it being a life-or-death situation.Her arms wrap around my shoulders briefly as I lift her, her breath fanning across my neck, and my body clocks every second of contact like it’s trying to memorize every part of her.
The world looks like a postcard as I drive to the ranch.It’s the kind of clear winter morning when everything feels like it got scrubbed with ice.
Angel sits quietly beside me, hands buried in her coat pockets, breath fogging the window as she watches the world like she’s tucking it all away for later.Her voice is soft when she finally speaks, like a thought slipping out.
“You ever think some places feel kinder than others?”
I glance her way, but she’s still watching the trees blur past.
“This town,” she adds, almost to herself.“Silver Bell Hollow… It’s like the people here actually mean it when they ask how you’re doing.”
“Where’d you live before this?”
