Grabbing a sofa pillow, he wedged it against the cushioned arm of the couch and lay down. His feet hung out over the end, and his legs might go to sleep. But that was okay as long as the rest of him could grab some shut-eye, too. He slipped the cell into his shirt pocket, confident that the vibration would wake him, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Erin woke up before dawn. Her mouth tasted like a science project on a refrigerator shelf, and her head felt twice its normal size. She rolled, sat up, and planted her feet on the floor to keep her balance. What on earth did I do? She remembered snatches of last night. Quitting her job. Then Wyatt meeting her here with wine. Wyatt talking with her. But after that, it all got blurry. She staggered to her feet, groaned when she looked in the wastebasket, and made her way into the bathroom, thinking that a shower might clear away the cobwebs in her brain. She stripped off down to her underwear, planning to step under a warm stream of water. But, oh, God, her head hurt. She decided that the sooner she took some ibuprofen, the better. That way, it might start working while she showered.

She was halfway across the living room when she noticed Wyatt sitting on the sofa, his shoulders hunched as he pulled on his boots. She shrieked. He didn’t even glance up. She realized that he didn’t know she was there. She ran back to her bedroom and slammed the door, one thought pounding inside her aching head. Thank God he didn’t see me. She stood at the closed door, listening. Pretty soon, she heard him walk outside and close the door behind him. A moment later she heard the rumble of a diesel engine.

* * *

Wyatt couldn’t get the picture out of his head of Erin wearing only French-cut panties and a skimpy bra. He didn’t get why she was so self-conscious about her body, because he thought every inch of her was perfect. Seeing her in the buff might have been even worse, but he doubted it. His imagination was doing a fine job of peeling away what little clothing she’d had on.

Driving to the ranch, he barely noticed the countryside, which was uncommon for him. His brain was stuck on seeing Erin naked. Well, almost naked. And all he could do was pray he didn’t remember what she looked like when he was trying to fall asleep at night.

When he parked his truck near the main house, he saw Kennedy hotfooting it across the patchy grass toward him. As he opened his truck door, Kennedy started signing to him in ASL, asking if he knew how Jenette was doing.

Wyatt swung out of the vehicle. “The last I heard, she was still in critical condition. I was hoping to get more updates from Erin, but she quit her job last night.”