She starts walking. “Still think I should’ve worked that heist alone.”
I walk her back, and we change the subject, flawlessly moving back into a place where we’re comfortable just being together.
“So, Wes and Dallas are pretty close too?” she asks.
“His best friend. Now I say this since technically, Dallas doesn’t have any other friends.”
“Really?”
“His whole circle was Millie’s friends. She was a social butterfly.” I scoff at a memory. “At her funeral, he joked that at least he didn’t have to hang out with her group of friends anymore.”
Rose winces but shrugs. “Well, I’m glad you both have Wesley. Even if I don’t know what you see in him,” she jokes.
It seemed so simple back there by the river. I told her I had a big problem with something and she took the time to listen,understand, bite back a little, which I respect, but we just get each other. And now, we move on, refusing to let a spat ruin our evening like I thought it would.
Like it used to with Bonnie. Or hell, anyone else in my life.
Several instances on our walk back, our hands collide, wanting to grab the other, but we catch ourselves and pull back.
It’s the only part of this .?.?. relationship .?.?. that feels forced. Keeping my hands off her.
24
Rose
I’m up early on Monday morning. Wilder left after I fell asleep. Just like he told me he would. I’m not upset about it. The last two days have been better than I could have imagined.
Minus the few hours I spent in the heat and dirt picking rocks.
But it was worth it. Not just having the man who put me in that position in agony over it. But the care Wilder gave me when he brought me home.
I know better than to hold on to it. It’s understood that this isn’t something that can go on for my remaining four weeks here.
Still, the weight of his gaze, the way his deep voice softens for me, the way his rough hands brush along my skin .?.?. it all lingers on my mind. And it’s not going away anytime soon.
Ialsoknow better than to think none of it meant anything. We shared intimate parts of ourselves. Well, I did anyway. Wilder doesn’t talk about himself. And as much as it frustrates me, because I’ve been nothing but open with him, I know it’s better that he doesn’t. The less I know about him, the more likelymy heart will get the message.
Wilder’s not in the Saddle Room when I come in. He must have been earlier, since he left me a note on my desk that he’s going to be at the clinic with Dallas this morning, along with a list of things he’d like me to check for him.
Field work?
I run down the list and find some lowly tasks for Randy and Barry to do. They won’t be happy.
I text Wilder.
Rose:I can’t tell the guys to do these things.
Wilder:Morning. How’d you sleep?
There goes my heart again. He’s still tender.
Rose:Morning. Good, you?
Should I have asked? Is it one of those things that your boss just asks but you don’t get to ask back?
Wilder:Not as well as the night before.
I want to leap to the ceiling and squeal. But the feeling quickly dies when he follows with another text—shifting to boss mode.
