Her tenderness with my six-foot-five burly brother in my kitchen last night when she felt for pieces of glass under his skin.
The remorse in her eyes for the trouble she’d caused me.
“You’re the best. Make sure she gets her iron. I don’t need her passing out on the job.”
I frown. “Is she anemic?”
“No. Or at least not anymore. She had a terrible diet her last year of college. Lived off coffee, barely ate meat—or much of anything. Must have been midterms or the pressure of graduating, but eventually it resolved itself.”
That’sodd.
Or maybe I find it odd that her brother—who claims to know her better than anyone—doesn’t know much about what it was that caused her poor diet for a short time.
I don’t pay a ton of attention to my brothers. But when Dallas and Silas have a noticeable change that affects their health, I get answers.
As do they when it comes to any one of us.
“Good luck with the tour. Call me if you need anything.”
Again, I dismiss him with business and don’t wait before hanging up.
Within ten minutes, I’m in front of cabin four, jumping out of my truck.
Rose is lying on the dirt next to the cart I hardly recognize as one of mine, but I don’t focus on it.
“Rose.”
She yelps, a wooden stick flying out of her hands. It’s not until it falls back down, brushing against her face, that I realize it’s a paint brush.
“You scared me,” she breathes, her dirty hands clutching her heart. A fresh blue smudge on her cheek.
My lips part as I take her in. Her hair is up in a messy bun, long, dark strands falling from every direction. She’s in a white top covered in dirt and blue paint, but it’s the long sleeves of her top that bother me. It’s too hot for her to keep wearing those.
Rose wipes at her sweaty forehead. “Hey,” she says breathlessly since I haven’t bothered with a word yet. “I’m just finishing up.” Then with a small smile, she steps aside, spreading her arms out. “What do you think?”
I’ve been so busy gawking at her that I barely noticed the golf cart. It shines like new. Inside and out. But then my eyes dip to the colorful roof contour. In bold, blue strokes, she’s painted the wordsBlueRiverRanch.
“I couldn’t get the scratches out, so I .?.?. got creative.”
I step forward, my brows shooting up. “Wow.”
She holds up her hands. “Bet ya I can still make you mad.” She waves me to the side of the cart, and I follow with caution.
I fight back a grin when I see it. The wordsTheRoseare painted in bright pink with beautiful blue roses surrounding them.
“I named it.” She beams. “Which means, it’s mine. For the summer, of course. I need to be able to get around, and unless you’re giving me a horse—and lessons—this will have to do.”
She watches me, waiting for my reaction, consent, more scowling maybe .?.?. hell, I don’t know. But I don’t care about some stupid cart she just branded.
My eyes are on her. She looks exhausted and pale.
I rake my fingers through my hair. The fuck was I thinking having her do this first thing in the morning?
She must notice my irritation because her eyes go wide—like she’s taken things too far. “I can change it ba—”
“You haven’t eaten.”
She frowns, then looks at the cart like it’s obvious she’s done nothing else this morning. “No.”
