Page 27 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

Boone's laughter rang out, echoing through the barn. He crouched beside her, still grinning like the world had just gifted him the best show of his life. "You okay there, Boots?"

Vivi wiped manure from her cheek, glaring daggers at him.

"'Define 'okay?' Because right now I'm covered in horse excrement and very close to throwing this cursed wheelbarrow at you."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Impressively stubborn for someone who smells like a barnyard cocktail."

Vivi gritted her teeth as Boone crouched in front of her, holding out his hands. “Time to get you off the ground before the horses start thinking you’re lunch.”

“I don't need your help," she muttered, even as she grabbed his hands because balance wasn't on her side today.

He tugged her upright with one easy pull, steadying her as her boots slipped in the muck. His hand shot to her elbow before she could go down again.

"Careful," he said, his body so close that her chest fluttered like an idiot.

"Now you tell me to be careful? Where was this gentleman when he was banging pots with spoons outside my room?"

"He was feeding the horses by himself," he said, completely unbothered.

The corners of her mouth pressed into a hard line, fists itching to punch something—or someone. She shoved the wheelbarrow forward, muttering under her breath, "First impression: epic fail."

"Your first impression was about your sex life," he said, a rare smile breaking through. "Orgasms, specifically. Made quite the impact."

Vivi blinked at him. "Screw you."

He released her elbow but didn't move far. That's when she felt his gaze drop to her hands. Her palms stung with red and raw blisters that were already forming from gripping the shovel.

Something shifted in his face. Not soft, exactly—Boone didn't do soft—but the humor drained out of it and what replaced it was quieter and laser focused.

His jaw tightened once. "Next time wear gloves."

Without another word, his hands went to her hips and he moved her gently aside, like she was something worth being careful with. He took the handles and wheeled the manure out of the barn, leaving her standing there speechless.

There was something about his grumpy, possessive protectiveness that made her chest squeeze.

A tear silently spilled and caught on her lash. She wiped angrily at it, smearing horse shit on her cheek. She didn't care.

She wasn't sure why she was crying. Was it from the anger of embarrassing herself—again? Or could it really be as ridiculous as a grumpy cowboy offloading her shit for her? Maybe a little of both? She didn't want to dig too deep into it. What she did want was a shower.

Vivi walked toward the ranch, taking the long way to get her emotions in check. Opening the back door, she shucked off her boots, smearing filth all over the rug, then padded down the hallway.

When she got to the master bath, those stuck tears fell one by one in rapid succession. Because on the bathroom counter was a box of Band-Aids and enough first-aid paraphernalia to bandage an army. More than enough to bandage her pride—and something warmer. Then she walked further into the bathroom, and those shivers turned into quivers. Because not only had Boone taken over her chores, he'd somehow beat her to the bathroom and drawn her a bath.

A thick steam curled through the room, fogging the mirrors and making every surface glisten. Vivi's body ached, her city-soft muscles screaming mutiny, so she stripped off her wet clothes, groaning as she stepped out of her jeans and pulled her top over her head, leaving her in nothing but red lace and blistered hands.

Unannounced, Boone quietly appeared in the doorway, his expression gruff, like a storm just outside the glass. He still quiet and still, his hazel eyes turning a light green.

She should protest or cover herself, but she just stood there, vulnerable and completely exposed. And, surprisingly, not the least bit embarrassed.

He didn't look away or pretend he hadn't seen her. He just stood in the doorway, taking her in with a slow, steady gaze that made her feel like a decision he was making rather than a mistake he was stumbling into. His eyes darkened in a way that made her pulse spike. He wasn't looking at her like a stranger.

"Vivi," he said low and rough. That was it. Just her name.

He stepped into the room, and his warmth reached her before he did. His hands found her arms, and she was reminded again of how strong he was, but it was the power he carried in the smallest gestures that got to her. Every part of him—the broad shoulders, the rugged line of his jaw, the steady relentless quiet of his eyes—pulled at something deep inside.

Hell if she was able to look away. Nope, she just stood there, watching him watch her. There was a magnetism to him that made her want to lean in and let herself fall. Her fingers itched to touch him, but she stayed still and let the moment stretch. And in that charged, intimate silence, she realized something she hadn't allowed herself to admit before: Boone didn't just make her heart race, he made it ache.

He stepped forward, sliding his hands under her arms and lifting her with easy strength, setting her on the counter like she weighed nothing. The heat of him pressed close, his arm brushing hers, and she caught the faint scent of him—woodsmoke, leather, and the unspoken warning that he’d keep her safe even if she didn’t want him to.