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He stood there in the doorway, keys in hand, studying me a second too long before he spoke again, like he was deciding whether or not to say whatever was sitting on the tip of his tongue. “Nothin’,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Just want you to know you did real good work for me these past couple weeks. I mean it.”

“Thank you, Marcus.” I tipped my hat at him, relief flooding through me even though I couldn’t have said exactly what I’d been bracing for. “See you Monday.”

“See you Monday.”

I walked the two blocks back toward Dolly’s with my mind still turning over everything he’d said, the job offer and the thief comment both tangled up together in a way that left me feeling twitchy and unsettled despite the warm evening and the promise of supper waiting on me. By the time I climbed the stairs up to the apartment, West was already there, shirt half unbuttoned, grinning at me like he’d been waiting on me to walk through that door all day.

“There’s my favorite deputy,” he said, pulling me in by the belt loops the second I got close enough.

“Ain’t a deputy,” I muttered against his mouth, already melting into him despite myself. “I just do paperwork and draw parkin’ maps.”

“Mm. My favorite paperwork and parkin’ map man, then.” He kissed me slow, easy, like he had all the time in the world, and for a minute I let myself sink into it. I let Marcus and his job offer and that uneasy little knot in my gut fade away.

“So what’re we doin’ this weekend?” West asked when he finally pulled back. His fingers had slipped under the waistband of my jeans and were now splayed over my ass. “We got two whole days to do whatever we want. No work, no plans, nothin’.”

“I don’t know,” I said, pressing my forehead to his. “Maybe sleep in for once? I’m gettin’ damn tired of that alarm goin’ off at six every mornin’.”

“We could do that.” His hands slid higher, tracing circles against my lower back. “Or we could drive out to the creek and camp again. That little spot of ours is real private.”

“Private, huh?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “You gettin’ ideas, West?”

“Always got ideas when it comes to you, Buttercup.” He grinned, that easy, boyish grin that still did something stupid to my heart every single time. Didn’t matter how many times I had him either. It always felt new and wonderful. “But I was also thinkin’ we could just take a tent, some of Dolly’s cookin’, and not think about anything else for two whole days. No sheriff, no church, no thief runnin’ around stealin’ folks’ underwear.”

I let out a laugh, though it came out a little thinner than I meant it to. West caught it, the way he caught most things about me these days, and his hands stilled on my hips.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one you get when somethin’s eatin’ at you and you’re tryin’ real hard not to let it show.”

I sighed, resting my head against his shoulder. “Marcus offered me a permanent job,” I said finally. “After the fair. Full-time, steady pay, the whole nine yards.”

West pulled back enough to look me in the eyes, surprise written plain across his face. “That’s good news, ain’t it?”

“Guess so.” I chewed at the inside of my cheek. “Just didn’t expect it, is all. Made me feel a lot of things all at once.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe I’m good at somethin’ besides ranch work. Like maybe I could actually belong somewhere for once.” I shook my head, frustrated with myself for how tangled it all felt. “And also like I wanna run straight out of this town before it finds a way to trap me here for good.”

West was quiet a second, studying me with that same patient care he always gave me when I was working through something. “You don’t gotta decide right now,” he said. “Ain’t nobody puttin’ a gun to your head.”

“I know.” I leaned back into him, letting his arms come around me again. “I just hate feelin’ like every good thing that happens here is just another string tyin’ me down.”

“We already talked about this, Buttercup.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Two things can be true. You can want to leave and still let yourself have somethin’ good while you’re here.”

“Easy for you to say.” I huffed out a breath against his collarbone. “You got roots here. I just have scars.”

“Then let’s go relax this weekend,” he said. “Forget about all that stuff for a couple of days. Just you and me, no decisions to make about anythin’ bigger than what kinda sandwich we eat first.”

I tipped my head up to look at him, and something about the easy, steady way he was looking back at me loosened the knot in my chest just enough that I could breathe around it again.

“Okay,” I said. “The creek sounds good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I managed a real smile this time. “But you’re carryin’ the cooler. My arms are tired from stapling papers all day.”