Page 19 of His Texas Claim

"You said that already."

"Meant it more this time."

I laughed, and he almost smiled, and neither of us moved right away. Buck barked from the bank, tail wagging, like he'd been waiting for permission to come check on us.

"Your dog's got terrible timing," I said.

"Or perfect timing. Depends how you look at it."

We waded back toward the horses, my recorder secure on my wrist, frogs still calling behind us beneath the clearing sky. Stetson kept one hand at the small of my back the whole way, like he'd forgotten it was there, or maybe he hadn't forgotten at all.

SEVEN

Stetson

I was a damned fool.

I’d watched my cousins fall in love one by one under the strangest circumstances…watched Gage fall in love with the woman he’d agreed to have a baby with, Wyatt with the girl who’d been in love with him for years, Sawyer with a movie star. Hell, Forrest had fallen for the last women we’d found trespassing on our property, under very different circumstances.

When I’d brought Bryn back to the house, my Aunt Peggy had dropped more than a few suspicious comments that maybe it was my turn.

I was certain it wasn’t.

Then I ended up kissing Bryn in the creek, and it was…yeah, it was over.

We got back to the horses without incident, even though Copper was a little spooked from Bryn running around like a lunatic when she’d first heard the frogs. Much to my relief, she also wasn’t injured from flinging herself off the horse—and she was walking just fine, proving the stitches were already healing. I’d need to check her over, but…it could wait.

First, we had to make camp.

Maybe deal with what had just happened.

I’d thought we would ride a bit longer, try to get closer to the aquifer…but she wanted to stay, monitor the frogs. That meant a lot more time together with nothing to do but listen and…talk, maybe. Maybe other things. I had no business doing anything with this woman, not when she was still hurt from what had happened with her ex, not when we’d just met, not with the at least ten years that had to be between us, but that was up to her.

We ended up crossing the creek with the horses so we could camp closer to that little pool—hugging the north side of the property now, the fence line no more than a quarter mile away. There was a clearing close enough to the pool that she could camp there, listen, observe. I got things ready while she just looked out at the water, sitting on a boulder with Buck beside her. My dog had decided she was his new person, and she clearly had a job for him to do: watching the water, though I was sure he had no clue what they were even looking for. She idly scratched his ears while I did the hard work, my jeans still wet from wading in the water.

“You gonna help at all?” I asked.

Bryn didn’t even look back at me. “I’m supervising.”

I huffed a laugh. “So that’s what you call it…”

“Buck is helping,” she said, finally taking a look back.

Buck waggged his tail.

I finished building the fire and dug through my pack for something dry. Found the shirt I kept for sleeping, soft from wear, and a fresh pair of boxers.

“You should get up and change before you catch something,” I told her. “Don’t want you getting all clammy when you’ve got those fresh stitches.”

“I’m fine.”

“You do keep telling me that.”

“Really, Stetson. I’m used to being wet. Frog specialist, remember?”

I took the liberty of going over to her pack and riffling through it until I found something for her to change into—a fresh t-shirt, some sleep shorts. I surprised myself with how hot my face got at pulling out some underwear for her, even though they were plain and threadbare.

I thrust the clothes into her hands before I could chicken out.