Page 29 of Ride or Die

My eyebrows climb high in surprise because Maci is probably no more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Careful Maci,” Kendra says with a throaty chuckle. “Don’t you go forgetting your parole conditions.”

With another nonchalant shrug, Maci spins on her heel and struts back to her area, and I watch her go, feeling Kendra close in on me with a laugh. “She’s a wild one.”

I glance back at her to find her smirking, watching Maci with a knowing look in her eye. I’ve never had many girlfriends in my life, but something tells me it’d be kind of fun being friends with the likes of Kendra and Maci.

I roll up the three-hundred and forty-five bucks I made in tips tonight, tucking the money into my tennis shoe and, with a wave to the girls hanging out in the dressing room, I hitch my tote bag onto my shoulder and walk out into the cool night air.

When I checked my phone as soon as I clocked off, there was no follow up text on my phone from Cole. Not that I’d sent him anything that required a follow up, but there was no update at all. And I suppose if the kids are in bed, and Cole’s busy in his barn like he said he was, why would there be anything? But anxiety still swirls low in my belly as I turn off the country road into Cole’s driveway.

Hopping out of my car, my feet are killing me from those damn heels, and I practically limp across the lawn, but when I notice the barn door wide open, the lights on inside but no sign of Cole, a flicker of panic stirs in my chest. His truck is still here, so he hasn’t left, but if he’s not in his barn like he said he was, then where is he?

I hurry up the steps and jimmy the rusted knob, pushing open the door, finding the house almost eerily silent, the only light shining in through the doorway from the kitchen.

Scanning the space, I drop my bag onto the couch and step tentatively toward the opening of the short hallway that leads to the bedrooms. The door to the kid’s room is slightly ajar, and I can see Tom’s feet through the muted light. He doesn’t like the blankets covering his feet when he sleeps, not even in the deadof winter. When I see no sign of Billie, my heart skips a beat as a flare of panic jolts through. I quickly move to the other bedroom—mine—and see the door is open, the glow of the lamp shining out.

Peeking in, I’m stopped suddenly by the unexpected sight, my brows knitting together because there, on the bed, lying back against the pillows, one jean-clad leg hanging off the side of the mattress,Freckles Goes to Schoollying on his chest, is Cole, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling. Right next to him, cuddled up so close, snoring softly is Billie.

“Is everything okay?” I whisper.

Cole seems to startle, barely moving a muscle. His eyes flit to the side, finding me. “She fell asleep and I’m too scared to move in case I wake her…”

I bite back a smile, covering my mouth. Because not only is this the most adorable sight I’ve ever seen, but it’s also hilarious; Billie sleeps like the dead.

“She’s fine,” I assure him, walking in and reaching across, moving Billie and rolling her onto the empty side of the bed. I grab Curly from where he’s been abandoned at the bottom of the mattress, and place the dog close to her, gently smoothing my hand over her soft cheek.

Cole moves ever cautious and slower than a wet week, glancing at Billie every few seconds like he’s scared to wake her. Again, I’m forced to tamp down my smile.

“She had a nightmare,” Cole murmurs when he reaches me, smoothing back his mussed hair.

My eyes dart to Billie, widening with fear.

“She woke up screamin’,” he continues. “I was in the barn with Tommy.”

Unease stews in my gut. “Did she… say what it was about? The nightmare?”

His eyes search mine for a moment longer than necessary before he shakes his head. “I brought her in here so that Tommy could get some sleep.”

Relief causes my shoulders to sag on an exhale and I turn, walking out of the bedroom, fully aware of Cole’s overwhelming, yet in no way intimidating, presence as he follows close behind.

I grab my bag from where I left it on the couch, turning and almost colliding with him. Taking a big step back, I clutch my bag strap tighter on instinct before forcing myself to calm down. He hasn’t given me any reason to suspect he’s not a good guy. I take a steady breath, knowing I need to give him the benefit of whatever doubt I have left in me.

“How was work?” Cole asks, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“It was okay.” I shrug a shoulder. “Tips were good.”

“Spring,” he says with a knowing nod. “Cowboys are in town.”

“So I’ve heard…” I smile tightly.

“You let me know if they cause you any trouble.”

I narrow one eye, smirking wryly. “What are you? The cowboy police?”

He doesn’t respond, just sniffs a laugh, his lips turning upward behind his mustache.

When Cole doesn’t make a move to leave, I rock a little awkwardly on my feet, looking around aimlessly. “So… Did you get much work done on your ’88 F250before Billie pulled you away?” I say with a droll smile, still not sure at all what an ’88 F250 even is.