Page 79 of Knot my First Rodeo

My eyes flick between them. “What?”

Briggs shifts first, rubbing a hand once across the back of his neck before looking toward me again. “Club stuff.”

That doesn’t make me feel better.

“What kind of club stuff?”

“The President’s old lady got taken,” Clint says carefully.

I blink once.

“What?”

“Kidnapped,” Tripp says, gentler this time.

The room tilts for half a second.

Hunter. Gidge. Lockdown.

Suddenly, everything clicks into place all at once, and somehow that makes me feel worse instead of better.

“They’re looking for her?” I ask quietly.

Briggs nods. “Hunter said all hands on deck.”

Relief slams into me, hard.

They didn’t abandon me, they weren’t ignoring me. They’re in danger, and I’ve spent days spiraling because I thought they forgot about me.

Another cramp hits low enough that my hand presses instinctively against my stomach under the table. I shift slightly in my chair, and warmth settles in my belly before I go completely still at the sudden unmistakable dampness between my thighs.

My throat tightens immediately while heat creeps higher under my skin for an entirely different reason.

No.

The kitchen suddenly feels too small.

My scent flies out of me stronger than before, sweet enough that Clint goes quiet first. Briggs notices next because he moves, concern written all over his face.

“You okay?” he asks again.

I’m not sure I am.

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Clint

The storm keeps rolling outside, rain tapping harder against the windows while thunder booms every couple minutes, but inside the house, everything suddenly feels too still. Pizza sits half eaten on the table, after we had some poor teenager brave the weather to deliver it.

Autumn shifts again, subtle enough she’s probably hoping nobody notices, but I do. One hand drifts briefly toward her stomach. Her Dr. Pepper sits untouched, which honestly worries me more than it probably should.

Autumn drinks Dr. Pepper and energy drinks like it’s a personality trait.

Now, she’s barely touched the can sitting in front of her.

Briggs has been watching her all evening in that quiet way he gets when something matters more than he wants to admit. The shift in her scent isn’t helping. Black cherry and almond hangs warmer in the room than it has since she got here, sweeter somehow, enough that instinct keeps nudging at places in my brain I’m trying really hard to ignore.