“What’s the matter?” Wes asked as he came back to her, the cognac and chocolate in a pink-and-black bag.
“Nothing.” She flashed him a falsely bright smile.
He pursed his lips, thunderclouds gathering in his eyes. “When we return home, you will tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Sure,” she lied and looked away, but not before she saw the dark retribution his gaze promised.
Neither of them spoke as they waited for Michel to drive them back to the hotel. She was grateful for Michel’s timely arrival. Even after years of ranch labor, she was not used to five straight hours of shopping and walking around Paris. Concrete hurt her feet a lot more than the soft cushion of Colorado soil. There was so much she’d taken for granted. And she was overwhelmed. Drastically so. She missed the Broken Spur,
