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“To the porch, for some fresh air,” I replied. “Bowen said he would wait for me while I came in and talked to you.”
“If he’s not there—”
“I know, I’ll come right back inside.”
Dad’s gaze flicked over me. A muscle flexed in his jaw. That was the look of a stubborn man who was doing everything in his power to bite his tongue.
“It’s just the porch, Grady,” Birdie said softly. “And there are cowboys everywhere. I doubt this…Farley boy…would be stupid enough to approach our Avery in broad daylight.”
Thank God for Birdie. Reluctantly, Dad grunted in agreement and waved me off as he returned to his phone call. I gave Birdie’s hand a squeeze of appreciation before I ducked out the door.
I spotted Bowen seated on a bench at the far end of the porch, with his elbows resting on his knees. My heart skipped at the sight of him. No matter what happened in my life—the divorce of my parents, going on my first date, graduating high school, going to college, my father’s second marriage—I could always depend on Bowen to remain as reliable as the mountain range in the distance. Steady, strong, and willing to offer his shoulder to lean on.
“How did it go?” he asked.
I shrugged and plopped onto the bench beside him, keeping a careful few inches of space between us. All I wanted to do was tuck myself under his arm, close my eyes, and breathe. But I feared the slightest accidental brush of physical contact would make me burst into flames.
“Don’t be surprised if my dad decides to build a tower and lock me in it.”
“If I had a daughter, I’d probably feel the same way.” Bowen paused, then added, “I know you didn’t want to tell him, and I forced your hand. You can cuss me out if that would make you feel better.”
I breathed a faint laugh.
“I’m not mad at you. I might not like it, but I realize it was the right thing to do. Besides, you’re under strict orders—where I go, you go. Kiss your personal space goodbye because that’s a thing of the past. I’m sure you’ll be sick of me within forty-eight hours.”
Bowen glanced at me from beneath the brim of his hat.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
My stomach somersaulted and I tore my gaze away. Clearing my throat, I gestured at the barn.
“I could use a ride to clear my head. Are you up for it?”
Bowen straightened his back, deliberating. I tried not to stare at the way his palm rubbed along his muscled thigh.
“That depends. Is this an excuse to ditch me?”
I snorted.
“Bowen, you let me win every race we’ve ever had. I can see you pulling back. You’re not fooling anyone. There’s no way I could out-ride you.”
A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You beat me fair and square, every time. Now, go inside and tell your father we’re headed out. I’ll get the horses saddled. Meet me at the barn.”
After relaying the message to Dad—riddled with profuse reassurances that yes, Bowen would be with me, and yes, we weren’t going very far, and yes, we would be back in time to talk to the sheriff—I was finally free to go.
As I stepped out onto the porch, I stopped dead in my tracks. Isaac sat on the steps, hunched over a scrawny twig, digging at it with a pocket knife. He didn’t appear to be whittling it into any kind of shape or form. Merely gouging at the wood until it weakened and snapped in his grip before he tossed it aside.
“Hey, Avery.” His grin turned my blood to ice in my veins. “Thought I’d stop by so we could chat, like old times.”
“Isaac,” I said, my voice strained. “Get the hell out of here.”
He clucked his tongue.
“Not very hospitable of you, baby.”
Bowen came striding up from the barn, eyes dark and menacing.
