“There ain’t a question mark on the end of that. Come. Here.” The truck’s engine purrs into the night as we drive away from town, headed toward the ranch, and it feels like my chest is vibrating at the same speed, caught someplace between being so lost in him and not being used to this sort of treatment. I huff out a little protest, half-heartedly grumbling as I inch my way over to join him. “I’m not a girl.” My complaint is wafer-thin. I like it far too much for my sanity as soon as his warmth and big, strong arm becomes a safe place to curl into. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a cowboy who
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