Back in his room, Rory must have dozed off because he found himself slumped in the chair, his tablet resting on his foot, and someone wrapping insistently on his door. Had he had another nightmare and disturbed one of the other guests?
Rory picked up his tablet, stood, stretched, and walked the short distance to the door. Night was falling so he turned on the ceiling light as well as the porch light outside his room.
“I’m sorry if I made too…Zane? Rory blinked, rubbed his eyes, but the vision of Zane—cowboy boots, black jeans, black flannel shirt and unbuttoned black duster flapping in the breeze, beat up Stetson—was definitely standing in, and mostly filling, his doorway.
Zane took off his hat. “You left the other night before I could, uh—”
The shame and horror of his totally inapprop
