Page 67 of Saltwater Cowboy

I let go and met her wide-eyed stare. “Rose.”

“What?”

“Take a deep breath.”

She did.

“You’re panicking. That’s not doing a thing. I’m gonna pull, okay?”

She gave a jerky nod.

“One. Two. Three.”

The boot popped off, and Rose sagged in relief.

“One more,” I said, repeating the process with the other foot.

She fell back against the bed, exhaling. “Thank you.” There was a pause. “Why didn’t my feet hurt all day?”

“You were busy. Didn’t notice.” My gaze dropped to the bloodstain seeping through her sock. I knew she wouldn’t ask, so I didn’t offer. “First-aid kit’s under the sink.”

“You’re not going to help me?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Do you want help?”

Her shoulders tensed. “No.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “Thanks,” she muttered.

I hesitated at the door, waiting to see if she’d say anything else. When she didn’t, I shook my head and went back to my room.

The shower was quick—just enough to wash off the sweat and dirt from the day. By the time I stepped out, towel slung around my waist, I heard movement in the hallway.

Curiosity got the better of me. I cracked the door open.

Rose stood outside her room, one sock still on, her injured foot hovering above the floor. She was staring down at it like it had personally betrayed her.

“Need a lift?” I asked.

She jolted, eyes snapping up to mine. Her gaze flicked over my bare chest, and I swore I saw her swallow hard before she recovered. “I’ve got it.”

“You look like a baby deer trying to find its legs.”

She shot me a glare, then turned and hobbled toward the bathroom.

“Put some damn clothes on next time,” she called over her shoulder.

I smirked. “I’m still in my room.”

“Still indecent,” she muttered before shutting the door.

I chuckled, shaking my head as I closed mine.

After changing, I headed downstairs. From the slow, uneven sounds of Rose moving around, I already knew dinner was on me—not that I’d expected otherwise.

I seasoned the chicken, washed and prepped the vegetables, and had just started cooking when I heard the soft, hesitant hobble of footsteps on the stairs.