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Quaide went on, “They’ll protect her there. We’re a small team. We don’t have the manpower to investigate this crime and stop it from moving forward, but we need to keep Rain safe.”
Clay hardly gave it a moment’s consideration. “It’s a solid move.” He turned his head. “Julius, you get in touch with WEST. Make the arrangements.”
Dove’s heart thundered hard in her chest, leaving her feeling sick and dizzy. “What is the Wynton Ranch?Whereis the Wynton Ranch?”
Rain squeezed her hand harder.
Quaide looked about to leap up and come to her side. “WEST Protection is a security agency. The team is founded and operated partly by the Wynton family. They’re trained to keep Rain safe.”
“I’m going too, right?” She had to look after Rain.
Quaide stared at her. “They know what they’re doing. You won’t be needed there.”
She opened her mouth, but he cut across her.
“I need you here, Dove.”
Her mind spun. Electricity zapped through her body, and she wanted to jump out of her chair and into his lap. The room faded away until it was only them, looking at each other as if for the first time.
After what felt like an eternity, Clay cleared his throat. “Any chance you two wanna take this somewhere else?”
* * * * *
Quaide led the way out of the dining room, his boots echoing in loud, ominous thumps on the old hardwood. He entered the study, and Dove sailed in right behind him.
She came to a stop and looked around. “Ohgod.”
As she scanned the space his grandfather used as his office and personal library, Quaide saw what he’d grown blind to—a remodeler’s wet dream. Or to him, a nightmare. Cheap fifties paneling ran across the bottom of the walls, and the wallpaper above it was peeling off in spots.
He slashed a hand through the air. “I inherited a mess.”
“You mean the house or me?” Dove directed a lock of hair behind her ear, drawing his attention to her tiny little earlobes, he loved nibbling every chance he got. And to the sapphire earrings he’d surprised her with one evening.
His chest felt too tight to pull any air into his lungs.
“I meant the house, Dove. I told you there’s a lot that needs fixed. I’m not sure I can do this. I don’t have that type of skill.”
She dropped her stare to the floor and the worn area rug in gawdy colors under his feet. “I’ll fix myself. I’ll fix Rain.”
He wasn’t sure how to fix what happened between them. If it evencouldbe.
All he knew was that he hadn’t quit thinking about her for more than a few minutes for the past six weeks. And she didn’t know that part of his reason for leaving the FBI was for her.
“You don’t have to go it alone now, Dove. I’m here. Sentry is here.”
She put on a bright face. “I never got my coffee.”
She was doing it again—dodging anything remotely close to emotional. How many times had he done the same, switching topics to avoid admitting to his own feelings until he had a plan in place?
“I’ll make you some.”
“I can find the kitchen, Quaide.”
“There are boxes everywhere. Let me get the coffee. Have a seat on…” He pivoted toward the brown patterned couch. They both stared at it for a long minute. Was she also wondering why his grandparents chose a tiny, covered bridge pattern for a sofa fabric?
Dove chewed on her bottom lip. “You know, that thing can probably fetch a good price. It’s vintage.”
“Only thing that could make it better is some gasoline and a match.”
