It was bright, open and there wasn’t a cow or farm animal in sight. The kitchen was modern, with stainless steel appliances and a white granite. The walls were a soft gray, and the furniture was masculine, but there was a mix of vintage pieces, perhaps from the main house that had belonged to his parents, with newer items.

“This is amazing,” I said, walking in a circle to take it all in.

He squeezed my hand, led me into his living room area. “I’m glad you like it. I hope you’ll be here often.”

I lifted my gaze from the view to his blue eyes. Studied him to see if his words were true. He was serious and I felt… elation. Completeness. Some emotion which was unfamiliar, but I liked.

The dog nipped at my ankle and I squatted down to pet him. I couldn’t believe he’d gotten me a puppy. He was adorable and I could tell now a complete handful. But he’d been right. The little guy loved me and knew nothing about me. He didn’t care the day I’d had. Where I came from. Anything.

He just wanted… me.

It seemed so did this slightly mysterious bartender cowboy. He had layers. So many of them that I wanted to learn. And for some reason, he wanted me. He loved me.

Thatcher grabbed a handle on the window and lifted. I realized it was actually a huge garage door made of glass. It rolled up so the section of wall was open to a sprawling deck. The dog forgot about me and ran off exploring again.

“Should we worry about him?” I asked, watching as he sniffed, then toppled off the low deck and onto the grass.

Thatcher smiled as he watched. “Nah. At this age, he won’t go far. Besides, he’ll have to get used to being here, too.” He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Leading me to a leather couch, he dropped onto it and pulled me to his lap so I straddled him. Shifting, he moved a throw pillow out of the way.

I took off his hat, set it beside us. “You got your things from my parents’ house,” I commented, remembering he’d been wearing the stupid ballcap when I’d abandoned him.

He nodded, reaching behind me and carefully removing the hair tie so my hair fell down over my back.

“I did. Your stuff’s in my truck.”

I shrugged, not caring about the few things I’d taken. I’d figured they were a loss, not willing to return to Cutthroat to get a few outfits. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he replied. His hands ran over me now, his gaze following their path. It was as if he’d finally been given permission to touch me and couldn’t stop.

I didn’t want him to.