He looked up, the wear of the day showing on his face. “My wife lost her life because I slacked off on one little detail, assumed she was safe. If something were to happen to you because I didn’t finish the job of protecting you, I…I would never forgive myself.”

The naked honesty in his voice sliced right through her. He’d never forgive himself. He definitely hadn’t forgiven himself for the first time. He wore that guilt like an extra layer of clothes. And though the chances of something actually happening to her between here and Max’s place were slim, she couldn’t bear the thought of adding anything else to Grant’s burden. If she was a “job” to him, she’d let him finish it.

“Okay. We can ride together.” She set her tea down and met his gaze. “But I wish you’d give yourself a break. It’s not your job to protect the world, Grant. What happened to Rachel wasn’t your fault; it was the fault of the man who murdered her. Sometimes bad things happen and there’s nothing we could’ve done to stop it.”

He stood, shoving his hands in his pockets and gracing her with a sad smile. “I don’t want to protect the world. I just want to protect you, freckles.”

And with that, he turned on his boot heel and walked out, leaving her sitting there staring after him.

Grant’s internal military clock apparently hadn’t eased up over time. The next morning they were on their way before the chickens had even cracked an eye open. Grant drove through town so she could retrieve her rental car and return it, then he stopped by her house so she could grab a few extra things.

She had no idea how long she’d be staying with her brother, so she wanted to be prepared. At this point, she didn’t even know if she wanted to come back. Looking for work in Louisiana was starting to sound more and more appealing. What had Trey said to her? She was the kind of person who could disappear and no one would notice for a while? That basically summed up her years in Texas. Now that her job was gone, she had nothing tying her here.

She glanced over at Grant as they cruised down the mostly empty interstate between Dallas and Shreveport, her heart pinging at the realization that this was going to be the last day with him. They hadn’t talked much so far. And she suspected the steady stream of music was by design. He was as uncomfortable with this arrangement as she was. Even in profile, she could sense his tension. That muscle in his jaw was flexing beneath the layer of stubble, and his hands were holding the steering wheel so hard she knew his fingers had to be aching.

The sunlight caught the metal in his wedding band, and the flash blinded her for moment, forcing her to turn away. Even in silence, she couldn’t be spared a reminder of all that stood between them. She turned her gaze to the trees whizzing by her on the right side. Only what? Six hours to go? She tapped her head lightly against the glass.

“Hey, Charli?” Grant said a little while later, lowering the music and interrupting her brooding.

“Uh-huh,” she said, not bothering to look his way. She’d been counting the number of billboards with cows on them and didn’t want to lose her spot.

The truck slowed a bit. “You remember that little speech I gave you when we first went over The Ranch’s rules—the part about safe, sane, and consensual?”

That dragged her attention away from the road signs. “Uh, yeah.”

He sent her a don’t-hate-me look and veered right, sending them along the exit ramp. “Well, I promise this is going to be safe…and mostly sane. Hopefully you’ll forgive me on the consensual part.”

THIRTY

Charli had no idea what the hell had gotten into Grant. They’d exited the interstate twenty minutes earlier, and despite her questions, he hadn’t let her in on where they were going or what was about to happen. If he thought they were going to go have some last wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am before they parted, he had another think coming.

But his demeanor was anything but sexual. The man who seemed to always be the epitome of cool control couldn’t stop shifting in his seat or flexing his fingers. She wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe him in some way, but she feared he might actually leap off the seat.

“Grant, please tell me what’s going on. You’re starting to make me nervous.”

But before he had the chance to answer, he turned the truck down a narrow side road. A ranch entrance gate framed the road, and a sign with a W hung from the overhead cross post. What the hell? She leaned over to get a better glimpse of the sign. But the minute they passed under it, Grant seemed to deflate like a tire rolling over a nail, as if he’d been holding his breath since they’d exited the interstate.

They passed a mailbox. Reflective letters on the side of it glinted in the sun—Waters.

Oh, shit. Anxiety welled up in Charli like a flash flood. This was his family’s place.

Grant pulled to the side of the road, a large two-story farmhouse looming in the distance, and turned to her, his blue eyes pleading with her before his words did. “I know that I shouldn’t have dragged you here with me without telling you. It isn’t fair. This is something I should have the guts to do by myself.”

“Grant…”

“I’ve done everything on my own for as long as I can remember. No fear, right? But”—he gave the house a long look, his hat blocking his face—“I think I need your help with this one, freckles.”

The quiet desperation in his voice reached inside her and clamped around her heart. There was no way she could deny him what he asked, not when he sounded so damned lost. She reached out and put her hand over his clasped ones. “Tell me what you need me to do, cowboy.”

He looked over at her then, every emotion coloring his eyes. “Just go in there with me. Be by my side. I know I’ve fucked this up. I’ve been fucked up. And maybe things can’t be fixed.” He lifted his hand and traced his thumb over her lips, stirring an ache deep in her bones. “But for the first time in years, I have the urge to try.”

Her throat worked as she wrangled in her emotions and tucked them down. She didn’t want to read too much into what he was saying. He wanted to face his family and had asked for her to help. That’s it. Nothing had changed from two nights ago in her bedroom. She looked up the long driveway. “I’m here for whatever you need, Grant.”

The drive up to the house was brief, but by the time they climbed out and stood facing the door, Charli had butterflies the size of buzzards flailing around inside her stomach. How was she supposed to do this? Grant hadn’t seen his family in years and she was going to be some stranger tagging along with him. Talk about awkward.

But she’d seen how much it had cost him to even ask for her help. He was a man built on pride and control. This was uncharted territory for him, and no matter how uncomfortable this turned out to be, she wasn’t going to let him traverse it alone.

Grant rang the bell, and soon the hollow sound of footsteps on wood broke through the country air. The door swung open and a woman with the same dark hair as Grant filled the doorway. Charli held her breath. In the space between seconds, Charli saw the recognition dawn, the relief in his mother’s eyes, then the tears.

“Hey, Ma.” Two words, but Charli heard the regret and apology heavy in Grant’s voice.

Without a word, his mom stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her son, her hands pressing along his back as if checking to make sure Grant wasn’t an apparition.

Charli moved back a little, not wanting to interfere with the reunion. Her own tears burned her eyes, the scene a potent reminder of what she no longer had in her own life now that her dad had passed, but she kept them at bay. This was Grant and his mother’s moment.

Mrs. Waters pulled back from the hug after a long minute and looked up at her son with dewy but shrewd eyes. “Well, it’s about damn time, you stubborn boy.”

That actually pulled a quiet chuckle from Grant. “I’m sorry, Ma. Would it help if I told you you’ve gotten even prettier in the last few years?”

“Flattery didn’t work when I caught you tipping cows when you were a teenager. It ain’t any more effective now.” She stepped back and straightened her checkered blouse, but her flip words couldn’t mask the relief in her stance. “Tell me you’re staying for a little while.”

“Not sure yet.” Grant put his hand out to Charli, and his mom’s gaze slid her way, apparently noticing her for the first time.

Surprise flickered over her features. “And who’s this?”

Grant’s hand closed around Charli’s, and he tugged her to his side. “Ma, this is Charli Beaumonde, the girl I love.”

Charli’s gasp was covered by his mother’s own matching one. He gave Charli’s hand a squeeze, hoping he hadn’t just screwed everything up worse. The words hadn’t been the ones he’d planned, but when his mother had asked who Charli was, the truth had tumbled out like a drunken confession.

And the internal backlash of guilt and grief he’d expected from such a declaration didn’t knock his knees out from under him. Instead, a strange calmness seemed to overtake him, like being submerged in warm, still water. A smile grew in him, one that came from a place he hadn’t accessed in a long while.

His mother recovered first, extending her hand to Charli. “Well, my goodness, Charli. I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet you. I’m Georgia Waters.”

“Thanks so much, nice to meet you, too.” Charli shook his mother’s hand, her words smooth and polite. But Grant could tell Charli had automatically fallen back into professional reporter mode—the place she went when she was off balance.

He was going to need to get her alone to explain himself, to tell her how he felt in the right way. But he knew his mother wasn’t going to let them out of her sight anytime soon. Already, she was ushering them inside and rattling on about how she hadn’t been expecting company and would’ve had food ready if she’d known. But of course, she had a lasagna in the fridge and was preheating the oven before he and Charli had settled onto the chairs in the large, eat-in kitchen. He suspected the scouts had stolen the Be Prepared motto from his mother.

Being in his childhood home after so many years had an onslaught of different emotions clattering through him. How many times had he sat in this kitchen while his mom prepared a meal, his dad stealing nibbles of stuff when he thought she wasn’t looking. This had been a place of warmth in his life, a safe haven, the people in it had meant everything to him.

But it’d also been the place he’d courted his wife, where they’d lived before getting their own home. And it’d been the house everyone had gathered in after Rachel’s funeral. The site of too many pitying looks, too many she’s-in-a-better-place pats on the arm. So he’d let himself close the door to it, shut out the very people who maybe could’ve provided him comfort after the unthinkable happened.

For all these years since he’d left, he’d been surrounded by people but always alone. He’d thought it’d been the noble thing to do, a punishment for his sins, a way to save his family from dealing with the ugliness of his grief, his anger. But as he watched his mother piddle around the kitchen, casting surreptitious looks his way, as if to make sure he was still there, he realized how selfish his behaviors had been.

He hadn’t been noble; he’d been a coward.

He peeked over at Charli as she answered a question his mom had asked. She hadn’t looked at him since they’d entered the house. She’d kept up steady conversation with his mother, but her fingers were busy fiddling with the cloth napkin she’d grabbed off the table. If it’d been made of paper, the whole thing would’ve been shredded by now. She was freaking out. Elegantly. But freaking out nonetheless.

He’d handled things all wrong and needed to talk to her, but there was one more thing he had to do first. He picked his hat up off the table and stood. “Ma, you mind keeping Charli company for a little while? I need to take a walk.”