Page 83 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“Ow.” I feigned injury and rubbed it.

“Fuck off,” she grumbled. “Seriously. She doubled the Twisted Spur’s auction yesterday, and we came out to celebrate. You’ve upset her.”

“She went to the bathroom,” Dalton said obliviously.

“She went to the bathroom,” I repeated.

Harleigh nodded and crossed her arms.

Last time she got upset—at Roger’s house—she left to use the restroom then too.

That uneasy feeling settled in my chest.

“It’s not my place to say anything, but that’s not cool. Either of you,” Harleigh huffed, already sliding off her stool. “I’m going to go get her.”

My heart lurched.

Before I could think better of it, I reached out, catching her wrist.

“I’ll go,” I said softly.

I clenched my jaw because I’d seen this before.

My mom, sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing, holding everything inside because my dad was never there. He’d been physically and emotionally absent, so he never knew how much she’d suffered. I’d be damned if I let Fable feel that same loneliness.

Regardless of how I felt about her—whether it was a mistake to keep pushing or not—I didn’t want her to be alone.

Something was wrong.

It wasn’t my place to pry. She’d tell me when she was ready.

But something was wrong.

I exhaled sharply and headed toward the back of the bar, shoving open the women’s restroom door. I was grateful it was a single stall and unlocked.

From the back, Fable looked like she was washing her hands, but when I stepped closer and peered over her shoulder, I saw the angry red of her skin. She wasn’t just washing—she was scrubbing the same spot repeatedly.

“Baby.” I wrapped my hands around hers, stilling the movement.

Her hands were mine. Her pain was mine.

I’d seen this before—the way her fingers rubbed at her palms, the compulsive motion. My chest ached at the sight of it. The weight she carried, whatever it was, was too heavy. I wanted to take some of it, to ease it, to give her even a moment of relief.

“I need to stop messing around. I was being dumb. There was a lot of adrenaline . . .”

I reached forward, pressing my chest lightly against her back, my arms caging around her as I turned off the faucet.

She didn’t fight me. She stood there, hands shaking beneath mine. Our reflections stared back at us from the mirror—an old thing, cracked in the corner, barely holding on, just like the girl standing in front of me.

I met her gaze in the glass. “I didn’t mean anything BY the comment. I hadn’t seen you in a bit and was excited to get back home and ask you about the auction.”

She dropped her arms. I should push her, ask her what’s up with the bathroom scrubbing, but it wasn’t the time. It wasn’t my burden to carry until she was ready to give it to me.

“It’s not that. I⁠—”

She turned so we were face-to-face. From here, even in the dingy lighting, her green eyes sparkled brightly.

“I’ve had a long week, Beau.”