Page 24 of Drifter’s Heart

The other half of me is fury-driven to find the asshole and drag him to the local police station. I know the terms of her restraining order. I was there when the damn thing was put in place, standing behind Cordell’s wheelchair. Behind her.

A fine tremor ripples over her entire body. I’ve never seen Winnie shake, not through any of Cord’s operations. Not when we both thought he was dead on a stretcher or under a goddamn bull.

“Winnie?” My patience stretches to its limit.

“The police know. He’s in rehab for… I don’t know. Thirty days, or something. I have no idea what he took. He was so out of it.” Her voice fades. She’s lost in a memory I don’t share. “It’s a detox program in an elite something or other…” She yawns and slumps back on the sofa.

Or Winnie would have leaned back on the sofa, only she planted her fine butt on the arm and there’s no support behind her. Her already sagging form slips backward.

“Whoa.” I catch her in time—just—with an arm wrapped around her lower back. “You said Sally is with Cord?”

A nod.

“At Coyote?”

Another nod.

“Good. I’m taking you to bed.”

A pause. Then⁠—

“No booty call, you filthy foreman freak,” she mumbled into my chest as I scoop my arms beneath her tiny body.

“Agreed. I’ve been digging toilets for a day and haven’t slept either.”

Her weary head lifts, a not-quite smirk decorating her pretty face. “Ha. You are a dirty fu⁠—”

“Shut it, Rand.” I nudge her bedroom door open with my boot and then kick them off. “I’ll clean your carpets. My shoes are filthy.”

“Just like you.” She dozes into my shoulder without resistance.

Her warmth wraps around me. The hell of the last thirty-six hours hits me in full. That’s all it’s been since I got the call that the project was going ahead, job done, and returned home again. At least I got a decent airport-club shower before I turned up on her doorstep.

“Winnie. I need you to tell me if you don’t want me to stay.” I peel back the covers on her bed with the tips of my fingers, glad she can’t see my wince with every movement. Hell, the pain in my rope-torn palms is unbelievable. Maybe I do have soft architect hands after all. “Rand? Winnie. Wake up. Just for a minute.”

“Stay,” she mumbles into my floral shirt. Her hands slide up around my neck, pulling me down to her. “I don’t want to be alone.”

My heart pangs for her. “You won’t be.”

I arrange us on her bed, letting her stay where she is draped over me, both of us fully clothed and her mostly asleep by the time I’m done. My back is propped with two thin pillows. I know she can probably buy better but doesn’t, that she and Cord fight about money constantly. Part of me wants to check Sally’s room. After his last accident gave him a mortality check, literally, the terms of his gift to his niece leave her a million each year. It’s in a trust and Winnie has full access. He’s not tight on the conditions, and both of their pillows are definitely included in those terms.

My back will hurt by the time sunrise comes, but I really don’t give a shit. “Winnie?” I mutter, loath to wake her, but I won’t be able to let it go. “Beautiful?”

“Stop it. I’m not⁠—”

“Did he hurt you?” I cut off her protest.

She stiffens in my arms but then lets out a sigh. “Only my ego, my pride, and what’s left of my fragile heart,” she whispers.

And falls asleep in my arms.

“Fuck, girl,” I mutter, gliding my torn and crappily bandaged fingers across her hair. The sticky bits catch on her curls, so in the end I use the backs of my battered knuckles. Winnie sighs at the light contact and snores.

And so do I.

EIGHT

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