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“Let’s take a break.”
“I don’t need one.”
He hauled her back around, his hands firm on her hips. “I need one,” he insisted, searching her face for who knew what. “I’m tired, Zoe. Very tired.”
“Oh. Well then, I don’t want to show you up or anything and make you feel bad.” She sank gratefully to the tailpipe of the truck—actually, rambling heap better described the ancient, beat-up thing that had been left on the deserted ranch.
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