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Taking it as a sign to call it a night, I grab her plate and mine. We put the dishes in the sink, then, forgoing cleanup, drift to the leather couch in the living room. Delilah reclines into the cushions, her body relaxing like a weight’s lifted from her shoulders.

“I needed this day. Well, maybe not the whole run-from-the-bull bit, but this.” She holds up her drink. Her pouty lips pull into a tired smile. Her cheeks are pink from the wine. “I needed this.”

“Why? What happened?”

Delilah looks up at me, shadows shifting in her eyes. “My friend’s missing.”

“From Vegas?”

She finishes her wine, leans forward to rest the glass on the coffee table. “Yes. Melly. She worked at the club with me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you in trouble, darlin’?” I hate that I want to know. Two weeks ago, I was worried about the distillery, but now I’m worried about her.

Her jaw hardens, gaze avoiding mine. “Trouble is relative, Cole.”

I run a hand down my jaw, feel the muscle pulse its irritation.

She’s good at listening, good at charming, but she’s not so good at answering questions about herself. There has to be more to her story. Why’d she arrive in the dead of night? What about the blood on her boot? And why is she jumpy at every shadow that comes her way?

“As long as you’re on this ranch, I plan to keep asking.”

Dread creeps into her expression.

“You ask too many questions, cowboy.” Yawning, she leans into me. Her body warm and soft, and I fight the urge to tug her onto my lap.

“Had to. Grilling little brothers was a fine art.”

“Who? And why?”

“River. And his go-kart of death.” I chuckle at the memory of our sibling alliances, always shifting, despite age. If someone needed a cover-up, there was always a brother to help. But that meant there was always a brother ready to bust our ass too.

“He was always sneaking off at night to the riverbank. Wouldn’t tell any of us where he was going. One night, he came home covered in nettles and ripped to shreds by river rock. He was bleeding from his head, and while Warren was pissed, Jack kept a cool head. We sat him down, grilled him until he told us what happened, then patched him up before our parents got wise.” A chuckle rumbles from my chest. “Goddamn, he sure could make that go-kart fly.”

Delilah’s soft mmm pulls me from the memory.

I glance down at her face. Delilah’s head rolls on my shoulder, her hair waved from the shower, her eyes closed. She’s fading quickly. Ranch days will do that to a person.

I lift Delilah’s slack body and carry her down the hall.

“Where are we going?” she whispers.

“To bed.”

I should take her to the guest bedroom, but I don’t. I take her to mine. I want her in my sheets, her smell, her heat.

She nuzzles against my chest, my nose filling with her soapy scent. “But you’re comfier than a bed, cowboy.” Her voice is a sleepy murmur, and I chuckle. Goddamn adorable.

The door to my room appears at the end of the hall. As I lower her onto the bed, she whispers, “You can stay if you want. Sleep beside me.”

“No,” I rasp. Duty won’t let me. Even if no single man in his right mind would turn her down.

A happy sigh filling her chest, Delilah tosses a slender leg over the sheet. She’s out the second her head hits the pillow.

I slip back to the hallway. I check the house, making sure it’s locked, then leave the dishes in the sink. They can wait until tomorrow. I turn off the lights, then head toward the hall and the guest bedroom.

Only I don’t go in.

I’m gripped by an overwhelming urge to see Delilah. A prowling, primitive ache in my chest has me turning, walking down the hall, and not stopping until I reach my bedroom.