We boarded the pickup truck together.
I was wearing a borrowed sundress with nothing underneath—my pajama set had been too ruined to salvage.
I sat in the back seat by the window, and Colt slid in beside me, settling close, his knee pressing against mine.
In his hand was a wadded-up horse blanket, which he spread over his lap.
"Wouldn't want any draft," he said, all innocent.
I bit back a smile.
"You're trouble."
"You started it."
The truck lurched forward.
The group chatted and laughed in the rows ahead.
I stared out at the mountains shrinking behind us, trying to steady my racing heart.
Then a hand crept onto my thigh.
I jolted.
"Colt—what are you—"
"The mountains are beautiful, aren't they?" he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
His hand slid higher, pushing the fabr
