Page 47
Her eyes widened, but she let him tug her into the barn. It smelled of straw and warm dust, the familiar scent settling in his chest. Golden shafts of late afternoon sunlight cut between the rafters and painted lines on the floorboards.
A couple of the horses nickered at them from their stalls as they passed, ears pricked forward with curiosity until they realized neither carried apples.
He led her past them and out a back door leading to a small enclosed pen.
Her face transformed. “Goats!”
Goats crowded the fence line, bleating for attention the second they spotted new visitors.
With a laugh of pure glee, she crouched in front of the fence. As soon as she reached out, a kid pressed its head against her palm. The sound Whitley made—half laugh, half delighted gasp—was a real danger to his heart.
She scratched behind its ears and murmured nonsensical words.
“Oh my god! Is that a mini cow?” She pointed to a wobbly-legged calf in the next pen over, all knobby joints and enormous dark eyes.
“I thought you’d like that one. Denver just bought it for Navy.”
She gave a small clap in excitement. “It’s like a cartoon. It can’t possibly be real.”
“Real enough to step on your foot if you’re not careful.” He grinned, genuinely pleased with watching her enjoy this small escape from the shadows she’d been hiding in.
She moved down the fence line to stroke the mini cow’s velvet nose despite Wyatt’s warning about getting trampled on.
After several minutes that felt like seconds, they returned to the goats, and he swore she petted every single one, even though they crowded on top of each other for attention and he lost track of which were petted already.
When she looked up at him with shining eyes, his heart turned over.
“C’mon. There’s more.”
“There can’t possibly be more!”
He reached for her hand, and she drew it back.
“I have goat slobber on my hands. Are you sure—”
“I’m a ranger. I don’t give a damn about a little goat spit.” He snatched her hand and sent her a grin, relieved that she wasn’t avoiding his touch for other reasons.
He led her toward the chicken coop next, and if the goats had lit her up, the chicks nearly undid her completely. A dozen fuzzy yellow puffballs scattered and regrouped in their brooder box, peeping frantically, and Whitley gasped like she’d been handed a box of jewels instead of poultry.
She whirled to him, sapphire-emerald eyes sparkling. “Can I hold one? Is that allowed?”
“Go ahead.”
She scooped one up with careful, practiced hands—nurse’s hands, gentle and sure even with something this small and fragile—and cradled it against her chest. The chick settled almost immediately, cheeping once and then falling quiet in her palms, yellow down fluttering in the air currents.
Whitley beamed up at him. Sunlight caught the threads of gold in her hair. That same escaped tendril still curled against her cheek.
And Wyatt’s chest cracked wide open.
He was completely falling for her. The sensation in his chest couldn’t be explained away as lust or adrenaline.
This was the kind of real that made a man reorganize his priorities.
It made him want to be better.
It made him want to lock her in a fortress so no one could ever hurt or frighten her again.
The Talon Group—and Lance Dillard—were still out there. Between ranch chores and guarding Whitley, the Black Heart Security team looped him in about the case. Latest news was the agent’s widow had been extracted and moved to safety. The Black Heart Security team was taking shifts to guard her. And Carson and the others were still picking apart every thread connecting the organization to whatever Whitley witnessed that night.
