Grif stared at his dad. “You want me to apologize for being a stupid punk-ass kid?”

“Maybe.”

Grif shook his head. “Fine. I’m sorry I was such a pain in your ass. But every kid is a pain in the ass. Parents are supposed to get over it.”

Donald Reid was silent at that. He was silent through riding fences and checking on cattle.

And then, two hours later, out of the blue, he spoke. “Wouldn’t hurt to put you to work, see how you do.”

Not exactly blowing Grif’s hair back with praise, but it was all he was going to get. And it was good enough. He wasn’t seeking the old man’s approval, though it would have been nice. He was seeking . . . his place, he supposed. He still wasn’t sure he’d found it, but he’d taken a step anyway.

* * *

At the end of the day, Grif was heading back to the house when a figure at the creek caught his attention.

Kate.

“I’m just checking on the seedlings,” she said when he changed course and walked over to her. She gave him a long once over. “Headache?”

He rubbed his temple. “A little.” He’d not yet even noticed.

“I keep meaning to ask you,” she said. “Are you in physical therapy?”

“Was. Until I got here.”

“What were you doing in PT?” she asked.

“A little of everything.”

She stood and brushed her hands off on her jeans. “How about yoga?”

“Yoga?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s been proven to be very effective against migraines. Have you ever tried it?”

“Hell no.”

She smiled. “You’re chicken.”

His gaze slid to hers, and she laughed. “You are,” she said, smiling wide. “You’re afraid of the word yoga.”

“No. I’m afraid of yoga clothes.”

“Do you have basketball shorts?”

“Yeah. Why?” he asked warily.

“Put them on, and I’ll show you a few yoga moves to ease a migraine. No leggings required,” she promised.

“I don’t think so.”

“Please?” she asked. “Just consider it.”

He studied her a moment, ostensibly to do his considering. Instead he was considering how much fun it might be to watch her do yoga. “There should be na**d yoga,” he said. “If there was na**d yoga, I’d be all over it.”

She laughed. “Let’s start with basketball-shorts yoga.”

He had zero interest in yoga, but hell, if she wanted to maneuver him around on a little pad with her hands all over him, who was he to hold back? “If I agree, I’ll need something from you in return.”

She nibbled on her lower lip as her gaze slid to his mouth.

Yeah, babe. That. Later. “You have to let me show you how to protect yourself,” he said.

“So you want to swap tutorials?” she asked.

No, actually, he wanted to swap other things. Like touches and kisses and bodily fluids. “Yeah,” he said. “I want to swap tutorials.”

Again her gaze dropped to his mouth.

“Chicken?” he taunted softly.

She looked at her watch. “I have thirty minutes. You’re first. You can do me tomorrow.”

“Gladly,” he said, and enjoyed her blush.

Five minutes later he was flat on his back on the deck of the ranch house.

“Such a gorgeous view,” Kate said, looking out at the valley below, bordered by the rugged peaks.

His view was far better. She was kneeling at his side, her hand on his abs. From his vantage point he had a fantastic view of her full breasts, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was just a little bit chilly.

“Close your eyes,” she said, and leaning over him, began to massage his shoulders. “Just breathe.”

He closed his eyes and breathed. And then yawned. “Sorry,” he said. “Tired.”

“Yawning doesn’t necessarily mean you’re tired,” she said. “It means your body needs more oxygen. Think of your happy place.”

Eyes still closed, he slid his hand up the back of her thigh and cupped her ass.

“Griffin!”

“That’s my happy place.”

“My butt is your happy place?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said with a groan of pleasure at the way she dug her fingers into his biceps.

“Muscle tension is often the root cause of a bad headache,” she said.

“Or an IED at ground zero.”

She was quiet a minute. “Or that,” she said, her voice not as steady as before. “Yoga can alleviate both the cause and the symptom of physiological stressors.”

Not wanting to talk about physiological stressors, he opened his eyes and tried to look down her top. “This really would be a lot more fun na**d.”

Ignoring that, she maneuvered him into several poses, one of which was called cat’s pose, where she made him get on his hands and knees and stick his ass in the air and breathe like a woman in labor. He pretended not to get it, making her show him slowly and in great detail what she wanted, and watching her on her hands and knees breathing like that got him hard as a rock.

Totally worth it.

Twenty minutes later she let him collapse to the mat. She leaned over him to knead his shoulders again, digging right into the aching muscles. “Still holding some tension,” she said.

Yes, except the source of his biggest tension was considerably south of his shoulders.

“You’re lucky to have grown up out here,” she said, eyeing the view. “With the horses and miles and miles of land.” She inhaled deeply. “Smell it. It’s so fresh.”

He took a deep breath and smelled horses and dirt. And her, some complicated mix of shampoo and lotion and essence of Kate.

“It’s just beautiful,” she said softly.

He took another breath and had to admit, it was true. He had never appreciated it when he was younger. He’d been far too busy being pissed off at the world. And at his father for always being on his ass about something. And at his mom for dying. And at school for being torture. Everything.

But now, with the maturity the past decade had given him, he realized he’d missed it and was truly enjoying being back.

“Feel better?” she asked, letting her hands slide off his shoulders.

No. But she still looked hot on her knees. Really hot.

“Griffin?” She cocked her head. “Are you even listening to me?”

“My brain stopped working the second you got on your knees like that.”

She snorted, and he sat up and pulled her onto his lap, nuzzling at the sweet spot right beneath her ear.

She melted into him and made his damn day. “I have to go,” she whispered, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck, seducing him with nothing more than a smile. Which meant that the joke was on him, because all along he’d honestly believed that everything that was happening—or not happening—between them was his own doing.

But even he had to call bullshit on the notion.

He’d been a hell of a soldier. He knew how to keep his guard up and watch his own six. And yet with little to no effort Kate had taken him down, methodically, thoughtfully, purposely.

Taken down by a second-grade elementary school teacher slash science nerd who had no idea how powerful she was.

She wriggled free. “Sorry,” she said. “But I’ve got to help Ashley with her math, and then it’s Bingo Night. We’re raising money for the school library.” She leaned in and then surprised him by nipping his lower lip, wrenching a groan from him.

“Good?” she whispered.

“So good it should be illegal.”

“Cosmo said it was a trick to hold a guy’s interest.”

She had his interest all right. And, he was afraid, his heart as well.

He was still sitting there alone a few minutes later when his dad opened the sliding door and stared at him. “Yoga?” he asked.

“It’s a tension reliever.”

Donald gave a bark of laughter. “Whipped,” he said, and while Grif sat there stunned that he’d made his dad laugh—sure, it was totally at him and not with him, but it was something—Donald vanished back inside.

That night Griffin didn’t get a headache, and he slept like a log. He had no idea if it had been the riding, the yoga, or all the fresh air, but he suspected that the culprit was none of the above.

That the honor belonged to Kate herself.

* * *

The next day Kate woke at the crack of dawn. At first she thought maybe it was the pressure of the pretty embossed scholarship envelope sitting bedside, the one silently saying, Psst, only nine more days to grab your lifelong dream . . .

But then she heard the knock at her door. Staggering down the hall, she peeked out. Grif.

He handed her a to-go mug of coffee. “You’ve got five minutes.”

“Huh?”

“Drink first,” he said, and then pushed his way inside. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her obey his order.

When she had a few sips down and the caffeine had begun to clear her head, she asked, “Five minutes for what?”

He just looked at her, all big, bad, and silent.

Five minutes . . .

Her body tingled. Normally her egg timer was set to about twenty, but she knew firsthand that Grif could get her to the finish line in half that time.

“Time to get dressed,” he said. “It’s my turn to have my way with you.”

“Then why am I getting dressed?”

The corners of his mouth twitched. An almost smile. But whatever had him up and ready this early wasn’t all that amusing. Serious Grif was in the house.

And then she remembered. “You’re going to teach me how to defend myself.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not really all that fond of violence.”

“You don’t have to be.” He turned her away from him and in the direction of her bedroom. When she didn’t immediately start moving, he gave her a swat on the butt. “Hustle.”

What did it say about her that his comment made her want to hustle to strip rather than the reverse?

He took her to the gym in town and proceeded to give her boxing lessons. Thirty minutes later she was drenched in sweat, and every single muscle trembled.

“How do you feel?” he asked when he’d brought her back home and walked her inside.

“Like a puddle of goo.” She blew a strand of hair from her face. “And maybe like I could kick some ass.”

He flashed a heart-stopping smile, hooked an arm around her neck, and drew her in close, pressing his mouth to her temple. “That’s my girl.”

She slid her hands up his chest. “Griffin?”

His voice was morning gruff and caused shivers down her spine. “Yeah?”

“We still have a chemistry problem.”

“No shit.” His hands went to her h*ps and squeezed as he glanced at her foyer table. “Kate, would you say that table is . . . sturdy?”

She dropped her head to his chest and half moaned, half laughed. “Don’t tempt me.”

She felt him smile at her temple. “You want me bad,” he said.

“I told you. You can’t fight chemistry.”

A laugh huffed from him. “So it’s not your fault? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s right,” she said. “It’s your fault.”

He only smiled, shook his head, and then quickly left, as if maybe he didn’t trust himself with her.

The feeling was mutual.

* * *

The next day at dawn, Grif was woken by his phone chirping.

“You have five minutes,” Kate said. “I’m on your deck with yoga mats.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Are you na**d?”

“No!”

He sighed and rolled out of bed, peeking out his window to indeed see her car out front. “This is not how I dreamed of you waking me up, Kate,” he said into the phone.

Her breath caught audibly, which only made him harder—a combination of morning wood and Kate’s voice.

“Are you coming?” she asked softly.

He groaned. “I will if you will.”

“Oh my God. I didn’t mean—” She broke off at his low laugh.

“Love it when you talk dirty,” he said.

“Just get your ass out here, Griffin Reid. Now.”

“And I especially love it when you go all domineering like that.”

She hung up on him. Grif grinned and then stood there and recited the alphabet backward until he could pull on a pair of basketball shorts without tenting the front of them.

* * *

Holly and Adam came home from their honeymoon the next day, both looking quite relaxed and mellow. Holly hugged Grif tight in greeting then stepped back, grinning up at his face.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, sorry, am I still doing it?” she asked. “Am I still smiling?”

“From ear to ear,” Grif said.

“I know! I can’t seem to stop.”

Adam laughed at her, and she smacked her new husband in the chest. “Stop it. It’s all your fault anyway.”

Pulling her into him, Adam nuzzled her ear before nipping it. “I know,” he said, sounding quite full of himself.

Grif blew out a sigh. “Didn’t you get that out of your system over the past few days?”

“Nope.” Adam took a good look at Grif and then his brows went up. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Grif said.