Page 71 of Saltwater Cowboy

And came up empty.

My water bottle. I’d left it downstairs.

I groaned, debating whether dehydration was worse than making the trip back down. Just as I was convincing myself I could survive until morning, there was a knock at the door.

I blinked, pushing up onto my elbows.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?” Wells asked from the other side of the door.

“Sure.”

The door creaked open, and Wells leaned against the frame, my water bottle dangling from his fingers.

I stared at him, very grateful. “Are you psychic?”

He smirked. “Nah. Just figured you’d want it.”

I rolled my eyes, but my traitorous heart did a little flip at the fact that he thought of me at all.

He stepped inside, crossing the room in a few easy strides, and placed the bottle on my nightstand. “Now you don’t have to hobble back down.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, reaching for it. The cool metal felt like heaven against my palm.

He hesitated for a beat, like he had something else to say.

“What?” I asked.

“You can sleep in tomorrow,” he said simply.

I frowned. “What?”

“I’m not a monster, Rose. We’ll work in the flower fields, so you can wear those ridiculous flip-flops and give your feet a break.”

I blinked up at him, caught off guard by the unexpected kindness.

“Oh.”

His lips quirked, like he was trying not to smile. “Don’t get all emotional on me.”

I scoffed. “Please. I just didn’t think you were capable of human decency.”

He chuckled, already backing toward the door. “Don’t get used to it.”

I watched as he disappeared into the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Maybe Wells wasn’t so bad.

Maybe, just maybe, he was the kind of guy who paid attention.

And that was somehow even more dangerous than the rest.

I took a long sip from my water bottle, the cool liquid soothing against my dry throat. Wells had thought of me before I even had the chance to complain. That was dangerous.

I wasn’t used to people paying attention like that.

Not in a way that wasn’t transactional.