Page 80 of Cash

I’m not. “I can do that myself.”

“Don’t move.”

“Okay, okay.”

I’m confused when Cash hangs a left when we should be making a right to go back to my house. “Where are we going?”

A muscle in his jaw tics. “My place.”

“If you’re planning to have your way with me?—”

“The supplies we need are there.”

“See? Kinky.”

He cuts me a look. “Mollie.”

“Cash.”

“Stop.”

“What supplies are you talking about?”

“You’ll see.”

My chest contracts when we pull up in front of a small log cabin ten minutes later. It looks old, the chinks between the weathered logs thick and uneven, but it appears to have been recently—lovingly—restored. It’s got a sloping tin roof and a wide front porch, stone chimneys standing proudly on either side of the structure. The windows have hand-blown panes that waver in the late afternoon sun. There’s not a smudge or speck of dirt in sight.

It’s romantic and pretty and so veryhim.

“Cash,” I breathe. “This is yours?”

He dips his head. “Was the original log cabin your great-granddaddy built when he claimed this land. It was abandoned after the farmhouse was built in the twenties. Total wreck when Garrett took over, but he wanted to restore it.”

“Let me guess.” My heart drums an uneven beat inside my chest. “You helped.”

“I did. When he offered it to me as the new foreman’s cabin—hell, that was one of the best days of my life.” Cash climbs out of the ATV. “Probably because I got to move out of the bunkhouse.”

I unbuckle myself, but Cash doesn’t even let me try tostand. Instead, he bends down and reaches for me, pulling me into his arms.

This time, I don’t protest. I just wrap my arms around his neck and allow myself to revel in the luxury of being carried around by a scruffy, foul-mouthed cowboy.

Maybe there really is a heaven, and this is it.

He carries me up the stairs and through the front door. I’m just able to glimpse how clean and neat the interior is before Cash is setting me down inside an absolutely gorgeous bathroom.

It’s rustic; the floor, ceiling, and walls are covered in wood, but the fixtures are all modern. There’s a glass-walled shower, a marble-topped vanity, and a huge, freestanding copper tub that gleams in the low light.

“My one request,” Cash says as he digs a couple of bags out of a cabinet underneath the sink. “The tub. Nothing helps sore muscles like a long, hot soak.”

Scoffing, I look away, my eyes burning. I don’t know why the fact that Cash loves a soak makes me want to cry. Maybe because Dad probably took a lot of pride in restoring this house exactly how Cash wanted it? In being there for this poor guy who lost his parents, dropped out of school, and raised his brothers on his own?

Maybe Dad wasn’t a bad person. Maybe I’m not either. Maybe we were both just hurt people, and we did the best we could with what we had.

Just because we weren’t good to each other doesn’t mean we haven’t been good to the people who are in our lives.

Cash turns on the tap that fills the bathtub. Glancing at the bags he set on the counter, I see that they’re Epsom salts.

Holy God. This cowboy is drawing me a bath.With Epsom salt.Because I’m sore and sad and he’s apparently a thoughtful, stand-up guy.