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She extracted the small book bound in rich brown leather and let out a snort. Nothing but the best for her mom.
Handling the album left her with an odd emptiness she’d probably need therapy to analyze.
She riffled her thumb over the pages, flipping them. That was more than she’d ever done, but something egged her on.
With her back against the counter, she leaned heavily and cracked open the album.
Her eyes bulged as her stare fell on the page. Rather than a photograph…there was a scribbled paragraph.
She flipped to another page, then another.
She wasn’t looking at a photo album. Her mother used it as a diary.
Breathing hard, Trinny slammed it shut. Air whooshed in and out of her lungs until her cheeks began to tingle.
Oh god, she was hyperventilating, and she’d never hyperventilated in her life.
Her head swam in a dizzy rotation that made her grip the edge of the vanity. The binding of the album—journal—dug into her palm. What if it had information about her mother’s death?
What if it had entries about Trinny?
Lifting her head, she stared at her own reflection. Pale. Maybe a little green.
She didn’t have enough bandwidth to process her growing feelings for Jaren, let alone deal with her mother’s photo album.
After stuffing the album deep in her bag again, she ran a brush through her wet hair, added some rosy lip balm and walked out of the bathroom to the sound of voices.
She paused, listening. Right away she picked out Jaren’s voice, but the other could be any member of the WEST team.
When she stepped into the main room, her jaw dropped. A big guy covered in tattoos leaned on the kitchen island talking to Jaren. Something he said had Jaren chuckling, but he sobered at her appearance.
“Trinny, this is the friend I told you about. Dag.”
In the rodeo she’d heard a lot of odd names and nicknames, but Dag was new to her. She crossed the room quickly to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Dag.”
“You too. Jaren tells me you’d like some ink and you’re a virgin.”
Her eyes flew to Jaren’s.
“He means you don’t have any tattoos.” His deep rumble held amusement but grounded her at the same time.
“Oh. No. Yes. I mean, I’m a tattoo virgin, and I’d like some ink.” Her voice sounded more bashful than she actually felt. She knew her mind—and she wanted to get the tattoo. It felt like a change she needed to reflect the changes taking place inside her.
Dag offered a smile. “I brought all my equipment. Whenever you’re ready.”
She steeled her spine. “I’m ready now. Let’s get to it. Where do you want me?”
He laughed. “You’re eager to get to the needles. You got a spunky woman here, Jaren. I like that. But we need to draw something up first. Do you have some art in mind?”
Trinny hesitated. She wasn’t artistic in the least, but a vision had been rolling around her head ever since she first set eyes on the tattoo that spanned Jaren’s pec.
“A wolf,” she said.
He visibly jerked. Gripping the granite of the kitchen island, he pinned her in place under his dark stare.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dag nod. He walked over to a bag and pulled out a sketchpad and a pencil.
Energy pulsed between her and Jaren. She could see a struggle on his face but didn’t want to give him a chance to argue with her decision.
