Full Rigged (Lost Creek Rodeo #4) - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,4

Soak up some sun.”

“Are you telling me to be more active?” Brynn asked with a tilt of her head. “Or to get more vitamin D?”

“Whatever it is that will get you back on your game.”

She gritted her teeth against the rise of defenses. “I don’t have seasonal affective disorder in June in New Mexico, Craig. And I walk three miles every morning plus do free weights every other day.”

“Cut out carbs?”

“Only if you want me to go postal on this place.”

“Had a mono test recently?”

“I have all the energy I need.”

“What about your sugars? Let me order you an A1C for kicks.”

“Craig,” Brynn ground out, not bothering to hide her irritation now. “I see Meghan for my primary care. What exactly do you think is wrong with me?”

The man might have been invasive, but he was no fool. He straightened in his chair and held up his hands. “Hey, I didn’t say a thing was wrong. You’re pulling great numbers, and you’ve barely missed a step. You just seem a little . . . I don’t know, off or something. I’d say tired, except you’re right, you have energy. I’d say anxious, but you’re keeping pretty cool. I’d say depressed, but . . .”

“The point?” Brynn interrupted, folding her arms, ignoring the urge to laugh at his claim that she was keeping cool.

She was anything but cool these days.

“Something’s up,” Craig said bluntly, giving her a sympathetic smile. “I can see it. Don’t know what, exactly, but you don’t have to be a genius or a gossip to have an idea. If you want to talk, the door’s always open.”

Brynn blinked at the offer, some snarling, three-headed dog within her straining at the leash containing it. “I got a divorce, Craig. Not a disease, not a disorder. And despite what anyone thinks, I’m not a robot. I’m dealing.” She exhaled shortly and forced herself to try for a smile. “Thanks for the concern.”

“And butt out?” He grinned, nodding at the implied answer. “Can do. Just remember what I said about the door.”

“Got it.” Brynn nodded back and turned back down the hall, the snarling dog now all-out barking within her chest. She skipped the elevator and thundered her way down the back stairs instead, grateful she’d been smart enough to wear sturdy flats today instead of her nicer shoes that would have risked her rolling an ankle or tripping and breaking something.

Breathing almost frantically, she shoved at the door to the parking lot and made a beeline for her car, fumbling with the keys in her purse and struggling to find the unlock button, accidentally pressing the alarm first. The blaring shot her pulse through the roof, and her eyes began to flood with tears she couldn’t explain as she crammed her thumb against the unlock button. She yanked at the door handle and practically threw herself inside the car, tossing her bag on the passenger seat and slamming the door shut as fast as she could.

Then she sat.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as her labored breathing suddenly took on sounds, some growling sob that rumbled its way up her chest on each exhale, turning to a wheeze on the inhale. Her hands became fists again, and those fists pressed into her eyes hard as her body shook with the strained symphony currently wracking her. A hoarse yelling began then, roaring into a fury at herself, at her life, at Minimus, at every surge that had lit her up that day and could only now be released, and she would not be content with just one.

She yelled again, and again, and again, her head beginning to ache with the force of each one, and the air required to give them that force. Then she whimpered weakly as it all left her, taking with it all the energy and strength she’d relied on for the day. She rested her head on the steering wheel, folding her arms across her stomach, as there was nothing left but tears.

What was wrong with her? Where had her stability and control gone? Where had her happiness and humor and hope gone?

Was she going crazy?

She wasn’t the only person she knew who’d gotten a divorce. She wasn’t even the only person in her family. But none of them had developed a hair trigger on a pile of dynamite. None of them had screamed themself hoarse in their car without a specific reason.

None of them had gone crazy.

Why could she not have coped by indulging in takeout