“Hmm.” Does that mean he’s not actually interested in me, or does that mean I’m special? My mind wants to race down the latter track—desperately—but I put the brakes on.
Leaning closer, she lowers her voice. “If he saw you at the Rusty Spur and didn't tell me or the boys about it, it’s got to mean something.”
Something settles in my chest—relief and another emotion I can’t place. Mason hasn't told her about the tattoo. He's kept that part of me private, protected.
“He’s hot, isn’t he?” Emma grins at my startled look. “I mean, if you go for the dark, intense, brooding type, which obviously I do.”
Mason was more than hot.Hotwas simple and harmless and temporary. Mason Rivera was the kind of man women wrote warning labels about—feral, controlled, and intense enough to make your pulse trip every time those dark eyes settled on you.
“And he’s a great cook. He makes a mean omelet,” Emma adds, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “If you’re ever at the ranch for breakfast.”
My heart starts to pound, imagining being at their ranch for breakfast. That’d only mean one thing.
I’ve never had a morning after. I’ve never had a morning, period—or a night, or even an afternoon.
“An omelet, huh?” I manage a small smile, not wanting to confess that I’ve never had sex with anything other than a toy.
“The best. Seriously.” Emma grins. “Jake won't even let me try anymore because Mason's are so much better.”
Martha returns with lunch. Emma has a cobb salad. I have a cheeseburger and fries. It looks good, so I shrug and pick up a fry. As we eat, Emma tells me about the horses she gave Blackthorn Ranch, that Mason’s training, and about the breeding program Mason is starting.
I listen and nod, asking the right questions at the right times. I set everything aside and forget everything except that I’m having lunch with a friend.
The door opens, and I immediately dart a glance to check who’s entering.
It’s Harper. She spots us immediately, her face lighting up with the kind of unfiltered enthusiasm I haven't felt since high school. She's wearing her uniform, her gun belt around her waist and curly brown hair tamed into a smooth bun. She looks exactly like what she is: a woman who works hard, laughs loud, and doesn't apologize for taking up space.
She struts over to us. “Move over,” she tells Emma as she starts to slide into her side of the booth. “I’m joining you.”
Emma flashes me an amused look as Harper reaches over and snags one of my fries. “Hungry?” she asks, pushing her untouched coffee toward her.
“Starved.” Harper gestures to Martha and then my plate, before taking another of my fries. “God, it’s been a long day already. My dad's been on my ass all morning.”
The ease I’d been feeling fades, and I frown, thinking about Turner and his scary lackey. “Trouble in town?”
“More than usual?” She snorts. “No, it’s just my dad being him. You'd think after five years being his deputy he'd trust me, but no. I’m surprised he even lets me carry a gun, much less leave the house.” She snatches another fry, pointing it at me. “Don’t even get me started on my sex life.”
“What sex life?” Emma teases.
Harper rolls her eyes. “Exactly.”
Despite myself, I smile. There's something disarming about Harper—a lack of pretense that makes it hard to stay guarded. She's the kind of person who says what she thinks and doesn't worry about the consequences.
I envy that.
“So.” Harper picks up Emma’s mug and takes a sip. “What are we talking about? Please tell me it's something juicy, like Emma getting laid all the time.”
“Just catching up,” Emma says, her cheeks pink.
“Boring.” Harper hums in appreciation at the burger Martha sets in front of her. She picks it up without ado. “We should do something fun. Like a girls' night. When's the last time either of you went out and actually had a good time?”
The question hits me harder than it should. I can remember surviving. I can remember rebuilding. Working. Investigating. Existing. But fun? The word feels distant enough that, for a second, I have no idea what to say.
Quite frankly, the last time I remember having fun was the night Mandy and I were taken.
Fortunately Emma fills in the gap. “I had a good time a couple hours ago, actually.”
“Braggart.” Harper gestures to us with her burger. “We're doing this. Friday night. Drinks, dancing, maybe some karaoke if there’s enough tequila. No excuses.”