“Disaster tourism?”
“Something like that. He wants us to be the face of the fair. The ranch that survived.”
“Are you okay with that?”
Seth shrugs. “I don’t love the spotlight, but Billy doesn’t mind. And Tex lives for it. If it helps the bottom line, I’ll smile and shake hands.”
He pours the coffee. He hands me a mug.
“Thanks,” I say. I wrap my hands around the ceramic, soaking in the warmth.
“We’re signing up for the team roping,” he says. He takes a sip of his own coffee. “Billy and me. Billy’s shoulder is complaining, but he’s stubborn. He wants to prove a point.”
“That’s great,” I say. “You two make a good team.”
“We’ll see. It’s been a while.”
We drink our coffee. Boone gets up and walks over, nudging my leg with his nose. I reach down and scratch his ear.
Seth watches me.
Yesterday, this man had his hands on me.
I remember the way his fingers felt against my skin, the way he massaged my nipples through my shirt, the friction sending jolts of electricity straight to my core. I remember the way he kissed me, hungry and deep.
Now, he stands here in a flannel shirt, talking about rodeo entries. It sounds so casual. It feels like we’re just friends, catching up on ranch business.
I hate it.
I hate the pretense. I hate the wall of normalcy he has slid back into place. I want to ask him what we are. I want to ask him if he thinks about the barn, about the way I gasped into his mouth.
But I don’t. I can’t. Not here. Not with Billy sleeping down the hall. Not with the last few days still hanging over us.
Not when I’m leaving anyway…
I finish my coffee. I set the mug in the sink.
“I’m going to take a cup to Clara,” I say. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I’ll be in the office. Paperwork to catch up on.”
“Right.”
I turn to leave. I pause at the door.
“Seth?”
“Yeah?”
I look at him. I try to find the words.I miss you already.I want to do it again.I’m terrified.
“Good luck with the paperwork,” I say.
He smiles. It’s a faint, crooked curve. “Thanks, Sedona.”
I walk back to the bunkhouse, the headache pulsing dully behind my eyes.
Inside, Clara is stirring. She sits up, rubbing her eyes.
