Page 66 of One Last Rodeo

The truth is that I can't relax or enjoy the Iron Horn Series because I'm worried about him the whole time.

The sun’s dipping lower on the horizon now, gold spilling across the water. Our lines are still in, though neither of us seem to care about catching anything now that dinner's off the table. I’m not sure I’m ready for this day to end or for the whole time off to be finished. For the west coast to swallow me back into its noise and general busyness.

Two days in Tennessee. That’s all that we've had together and yet, it's been one of the easiest spent weekends of my life. Tennessee is beautiful. A lot like North Carolina, and I think I have better perspective now on why people choose to make their homes in places like this. Why Jensen likes it so much, too.

“We should probably head back now,” he says, glancing toward the sinking sun. “I gotta prepare my grandma for us going into town for dinner, since we, uh…” He lifts a brow. “Discarded our meal.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

He gives me this look—baffled, almost offended on my behalf. “You don’t have to apologize, Kitty. I'm not upset about it."

"Will your grandma think I have something against hunting and fishing?"

He throws his head back and laughs. "Nah. Grandma won't be upset either. She's been asking me to take her to this new Italian place anyway.”

“I ruined your dinner plans.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think you could ruin anything even if you tried.”

I swallow the knot that’s forming in my throat. “I don’t think that’s true.”

He stands, nudging my bag accidentally with his knee as he moves, and something rattles out—clinking across the floor of the boat. His brows rise when he sees what it is.

“Red?”

I scoop up the tube of nail polish, dusting off lake debris that's fallen in the center of the boat.

“I never got to paint my nails when I was in surgeries every day,” I tell him, twisting the cap open. The shade is a bold one. The color is aptly namedBlood of My Enemies,which I found funny when I bought it, but now seems a little weird.

“Figured I’d paint them before San Jose. Give my parents a real shock when they see me with makeup and nail polish on.”

He looks from the bottle to my face. “I like you in red. I think it's your color." He pauses. "Will you paint mine with that?”

I stare up at him. “You want me to paint your nails?”

He drops to one knee between my legs, shrugs off the sling that's wrapped around his shoulder, then extends his right hand out to me. His voice gentles.

“Yeah. Will ya, Kitty? I want to match you.”

Chapter 20 – Catalina

Something inside me thaws. I take his big, warm hand and place it on my bare thigh to steady it. His palm dwarfs the skin there, anchoring me as I dip the brush into the polish, then clear the excess from the tip. ?

I paint each finger carefully, holding my breath until eventually he relaxes under my touch. Jensen may be from the South—a man who thrives on physical touch and is my opposite in so many ways—but there's something about the way he melts beneath my fingertips that makes me think my touch means something different to him than anyone else's.

I take my time, being sure not to get any on the skin, and enjoying being this close to him. It’s such a simple act, but wildly intimate in a way that I’ve never experienced before.

By the time I’m finished, he has one hand perfectly painted red. He lifts it, examining it with a grin so genuine and proud, my chest aches.

“I’ve never had my nails painted before. Can’t think of a better color to choose. Do you like it?”

I nod. “Looks good on you.”

His grin deepens. “Can I do yours now?”

I can’t remember the last time someone did somethingforme with no hidden agenda. Especially something as sweet as self-care. I’ve never even had my nails done professionally—always assumed I’d start when life slowed down, when I wasn’t running through twelve-hour shifts or fleeing a relationship that gutted me. It's also a hazard for surgeons to paint their nails. Nothing in a salon chair could ever feel close tothis—a man kneeling between my legs, asking to touch me in ways that have nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with just simple connection and care.

I nod. “Sure.”