Page 28 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

He stayed close, hips aligned with hers, and the world seemed to shrink to the curve of his shoulders, the scruff of his beard, the rugged angles of his face softened only by the intensity in his eyes. Every movement was careful and precise—his gruffness tempered with that underlying, almost scolding protectiveness.

His hand curved around her jaw, tilting her face up until she had nowhere to look but at him.

"Let me take care of you." Not a question and yet not quite a command either. It was something in between that left no room for argument.

Words escaped her entirely, so she just nodded—because holy hot cowboy, Batman.

His hands were gentle, wiping the grime and sweat from her palms, thumbs brushing over the tender skin with a care that didn't match the rest of him—the size of him, the hardness of him, the way he filled the room with no effort at all.

Heart thundering, she swallowed hard, completely aware of the press of his body, the way he watched her while he wrapped her hands like she was the only thing in the space worth looking at.

His expression was serious and grumpy, with a streak of ‘I will not let you get hurt on my watch ever again’. It was a look that made her ovaries clench with a hot, aching awareness of just how much she wanted him—how much she needed him.

Every rough edge of him—the calloused hands, the stubbled face, the raw, unspoken desire—pulled at her in ways she hadn’t expected.

She wanted to tell him, but his eyes met hers, and something in them stopped the words before they formed. Because they both knew where those words led and neither of them was ready for that road.

Not yet.

CHAPTER 12

Two days later, Vivi sat at the kitchen table surrounded by cheerful disorder. Paint swatches fanned across the surface, glossy photos she'd printed off Pinterest were piled in different stacks, and a note was stuck to her laptop screen that read Manifesting My Next Mistake.

She was deep in debate with herself over the relative emotional weight of "dusty blue" versus "weathered sage" when the screen door swung open.

"What is all this for?" Rea said, stepping in on a cloud of expensive perfume that was at odds with the landscape of rural Montana.

Her posture was impeccable, and her silver-streaked hair pulled into a loose chignon that managed to look effortless in a way that would take Vivi a full day and nine hair products to accomplish. Then there were those trademark sunglasses. This pair was jade green, and even though they covered half her face, she still looked catalogue-ready.

"I have a plan to help the ranch," Vivi said proudly.

"Do tell," Rea said, walking to the counter to put the tea kettle on the stove.

"You know the bunkhouse?"

Rea grimaced like she'd bitten into a lemon. "That eyesore?"

"What if it got a facelift and was turned into a weekend rental? The fee could help cover the ranch's monthly costs."

"I think it's brilliant." Rea clapped her hands. "But please tell me you're not trying to rebrand it like it's a Napa tasting room."

"I was going for rustic charm. You know—less chainsaw massacre, more country chic."

Rea slipped off her sunglasses. "Good, the last thing this town needs is another woman trying to turn a stable into a wellness space. It always ends with goats wearing flower crowns."

"Noted. No goat couture."

Rea dropped tea leaves into an infuser, set it in the teapot, and placed it next to the warming kettle, then came to the table to inspect Vivi's Instagram-worthy collage.

"Come now, darling, do tell. You've got that look, the one that says some poor chap's made a right fool of you and you're pretending a bit of home improvement will save your dignity."

Vivi sighed, leaning back. "You're not wrong. I spoke with Lewis earlier."

"Oh, the jet-setting finance boy," Rea said, lips curving into a knowing smirk. "What did he do? Forget your birthday or propose in a tax bracket?"

"Worse, he sent the rest of my belongings to Singapore after hiring someone to Marie Kondo my things. The whole 'if it doesn't spark joy' movement. This stranger went through my things and tidied them up, throwing out items she didn’t think were necessary, then shipped what was left on its merry way. Then he acted like he was doing me a favor."

The kettle whistled and Rea stood and poured herself a cup. "He did this without your consent?"