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Her small hand is on my forearm, slender fingers wrapped around the sleeve of my shirt and the first thing that comes to mind is that I like it there. It belongs.

I wasn’t sure what to think when she volunteered to come with me. Stella is strictly city––by her own admission. I was expecting awkward. I was expecting her to be as structured here as she is at home. But I guess that’s been slowly changing, too. And seeing her here in this bed, all sleepy-eyed and relaxed, there’s nothing weird about it. She fits.

“Yeah,” I murmur after clearing my throat. My eyes slide back up to her face. She smiles, her focus bouncing between me and the rest of the food on the tray.

“This is really nice of you. Thank you.”

I dare not speak. All I can muster is a nod because I am one bad decision away from closing the distance between us, sinking my hands into that thick brown hair of hers, and planting one on her. And she doesn’t have a clue because if she did she’d probably be on the next flight to New York.

“I gotta go. See you later.” I need to get out of here before I do something real stupid. This isn’t a romantic getaway. In spite of what I told my father and sister, she isn’t my girlfriend. She’s the mother of my child. Nothing more. I need to remember that before I ruin everything by developing feelings.

But damn, I’m feeling somethin’.

Stella

Oklahoma is flat. At least, this part of Oklahoma is. Not in a boring, there’s nothing to look at way. It’s flat in a romantic, moody way. It’s minimalist, the horizon stretching without interruption as far as the eye can see, the complete opposite of New York where every square inch is a visual tapestry of odd shapes and loud colors. Not to mention the noise pollution.

The color of the sky here is sharper too, deeper, the white puffs of cumulous clouds drawn distinctly. They look like they’re in high definition. The land is softly rolling and yellow. A few scattered iron horses stand alone in the distance, most of them stationary, some bobbing for black gold. I was expecting more of those.

“How long have you worked for the Wylders?”

Tearing my eyes away from the raw beauty outside my window, I turn to the raw beauty sitting in the driver’s seat of the pickup truck. I mean, seriously? There’s got to be something in the water here.

Levi West is flat-out gorgeous. As in rubber-necking, walk-into-moving-traffic-because-you’re-staring gorgeous. He’s all perfect angles. High cheekbones, full lips. A deep olive tan which offsets his bright bottle-green eyes, brown hair with the tips blond from working in the sun.

Not as pretty as Dane’s, the devil in me says…or maybe just the stupid in me.

I almost choked on the dry toast when I spotted the massive erection he was waving around earlier. My lungs seized, literally stopped working for a full sixty seconds while the rest of me went up in flames. That’s the only reason I was saved from a coughing fit.

All this at the mere sight of it. Which probably had nothing to do with me in the first place, and everything to do with the man’s natural state of being. No doubt he noticed the bead of sweat on my forehead––along with other attention-seeking body parts.

Moment of truth, I’ve never been particularly driven in that regard. Sex is nice and all, but given the choice of a great book and a pint of ice cream, or sex…bah, it’s a tough call. Except, lately that’s all I think about.

All. I. Think. About.

Like I’ve suddenly turned into a teenage boy. Or a sex-starved thirty-three-year-old woman. And those dirty, dirty thoughts I hadn’t known I had in me happen to be about one man in particular.

“Since I was fifteen––about a dozen years.”

Levi’s smooth voice interrupts the aimless wandering of my filthy mind. Incidentally, it was never filthy before. It was squeaky clean, a fact I was proud of. Alas, no more.

“Fifteen?” His answer finally catches up with me. “Aren’t there laws against that? What did your parents say?”

“I don’t know my father, and my mother was in jail…I was living on the streets when I met Dane.”

He says it so casually it takes me a moment to accept that he’s given me an honest answer. And when I do my head whips around to take a better look at the man sitting in the driver’s seat. Posture relaxed, lazy smile in place––a genuine one. There’s no pain in the story he tells.

My chest hurts, though. Jesus, does my chest hurt. I need to know more, tact be damned.

“How’d you guys meet?”

He side-eyes me briefly, a broad white smile lighting up his face. Have mercy on the female population.

“He caught me trying to boost his pickup outside a Dallas night club.”

This story keeps getting more interesting by the letter. I swivel in my seat to face him, eager for every scrap he’s willing to give me.

“Did he have you arrested?”

“No, ma’am,” is his quick reply, his drawl as thick and slow as maple syrup. “He brought me here, gave me a place to live and offered me a job.”

“He kidnapped you?!” I must’ve misunderstood.

“He didn’t give me much choice.” Levi chuckles softly. Going by his expression, he’s caught up in the memory. “It was either go with him, or he’d call the cops.”

Dane is easily three inches taller than Levi, and although Levi has plenty of muscle now, he doesn’t even begin to compare to Dane. At fifteen without proper nutrition, Levi must’ve been all bones.

“Weren’t you scared?”

His smile falters. The pause carries weight. When his eyes meet mine again there’s wisdom in them, evidence of things he’s experienced. Unpleasant things. I could swear the vivid green dims a little.

“I was always scared back then so it didn’t make much difference.”

I imagine the worst. I don’t press for more details because I can’t handle the details. My throat clogs, my eyes well up. Swallowing repeatedly doesn’t help. I turn away and brush the corners with the knuckle of my index finger but it does little good; there’s more where that came from.

“Bill taught me everything he knew about horses and made me go to school.”

Out the passenger side window, the stark horizon stares back at me. A tear manages to break free, streaking down my cheek. It’s the hormones, I tell myself. It must be.

“They sound like good people.” My voice falling apart, it’s barely audible by the end.

“The best.”

Fifteen minutes later he parks the pickup truck in the hospital lot. Levi walks next to me, curbing his long stride while I teeter precariously on my heels since I’m still stuck in the clothes I wore here.

Once we reach the ICU, he leaves me to talk to a nurse who informs him that Mr. Wylder has been moved to a regular room two floors below. Great news. His condition has improved. The heart attack doesn’t seem to have caused any major damage.

Steps away from Mr. Wylder’s new room, Dane’s voice spills out into the hallway, as much as he tries to temper the volume and I can tell he’s tryin

g.

“No, Dad. Yes, she’s here but…I don’t want you gettin’ any ideas. No, we’re…yes, we’re together but…don’t even bring that up in front of her. No…’cause I said so––”

Levi’s expression turns curious, his brows hitching up.

“Gimme a minute and I’ll let them know you’re here.” With that, he enters the room, leaving me standing alone. A beat later Dane steps out. His gaze openly moves from my feet to my face.

“Hi,” he says with a jaunty smile.

“Hi?” I reply. It sounds like a question because it is. “Is everything alright?” I don’t know what he was talking to his father about, but I suspect it has to do with this ruse he’s concocted.

Stepping into the hallway, he takes my wrist and leads me away. Or rather yanks me away without pausing to explain. In three of his long-legged strides we’re halfway down the hall, out of earshot, with me shuffling after him as fast as I can on those life-threatening heels.

“The heart attack was mild. It didn’t damage his heart. They’re going to keep him here another two nights though––as a precaution. He’s already doing better than expected.”

“Thank God,” I respond, my hand automatically falling over my heart, and breathe a sigh of relief. I know how close they are and how worried Dane was without having to be told.

“But…”

“But what?” Judging by his demeanor, whatever it is, it’s clearly serious.

“We can’t stress him out.” After which, he gives me a sharp look.

“We?” I return. “How could I possibly stress him out?”

“He’s got it in his head that we’re together.”

“That’s because you put it there.”

Hands resting on his lean hips, he blows out a deep breath. “Stella––” It’s a murmur, a question, and an argument all rolled into one. It’s the anxious need I hear in his voice, however, that convinces me he’s not fooling around. In no way, shape, or form do I want to be the one to stress out this man who will be the only grandfather my child will ever know.

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