“Like you,” she says, warm fingers finding mine.
“Won’t let anything hurt you ever again,” I vow against life, against fate, against the storm threatening on the horizon.
“I know,” she says, smooth, soft. Believing in the two syllables.
“Gonna teach you everything I know about horses, just like you taught me apple pies yesterday,” I promise. Her expressive eyes hold mine, amber and moss, settling into our new shared reality.
Silence hangs, steady, comfortable between us until the scrape of boots, the grumble of grumpy hands fill the stables, cowboys sliding in. Ash stands in the doorway, form looming, hands on his hips, a faint smile on his face. Like he wants to see me happy. Felt the same way when Willow and Ro first showed up, and he couldn’t hide the spark behind his eyes.
“Hate to break the moment, Anson. Need to see you alone.”
I glance toward the stable doors, a hitch in my gut telling me not to part with Lacy just yet. But Ash’s tone leaves no room for argument. Whatever this is, it matters. She’s safer at the cabin anyway—or that’s what I tell myself as the thunder rolls somewhere far off.
I nod, turn to Lacey, press my keys in her hand, tell her to take the truck back, stay close to the cabin today. Call me with any storm warnings. She nods, hand coming up to stroke my cheek. Cowboys in the back notice—sideways glances, murmured words, curiosity like wildfire, spreading through the brotherhood.
“Will I see you for lunch?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Lots to do, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” Leaning closer, against her ear, I add, “Tonight, you’re all mine.”
“Today, too,” she says, flattening her hand against my Carhartt, straightening the collar.
“Wise woman. Later, I’ll prove it.”
Hands chuckle, horses whinny. I’ll pay for this tenderness today in jokes and jeers, and I couldn’t care less. I’ll wear every word with pride like an emblem of her love. After she’s gone, Ash takes me aside, fills me in on last night’s happenings in low tones.
Our regular booth at the farmer’s market vandalized. Trouble in town. Fistfight at the local bar, Rowdy’s, between a couple of out-of-towners and a gray man. Moved like military, used an alias, fake ID. Otherwise, kept his mouth shut as he drank at the bar until his face turned red and his fists came out.
“Could be the guy,” he mutters. “Patrick’s on his way. We need a game plan.”
I nod, rubbing the spot over my heart, instantly regretting my choice to let Lacey drive back to the cabin alone. I text, asking her to let me know when she’s back safe. Walking a tightrope between protective and obsessive. Don’t want to trigger or scare her, but need reassurance to my bones that she’s safe.
“Helluva night. Gonna be a helluva day, too.” Ash’s voice sounds distant.
My hands ball at my sides. “I’m ready for it. This ends now, and it ends here.” No more fear, no more pain for my woman.
Chapter
Eleven
LACEY
Lightning forks across bruise-purple clouds. Heavy, tense, as if a downpour could start any moment.
My phone vibrates on the seat next to me, and I jump, nerves shattered. Fear tugs at the back of my mind despite last night’s comfort. Almost as if I expect the other shoe to drop now that I’ve experienced unfathomable happiness. Almost like I’m not good enough for it.
I ease my foot off the gas, glance at my phone. Texts from Anson:
You home?
Safe?
My shoulders relax a tick. Warmth floods me. To have a man who cares instead of crushes is unfamiliar. Protector not stalker. His concern warms me, makes me feel a part of something bigger than myself.
I scan pastoral fields where cattle herd together restlessly. Horses run at full charge, as if embodying the building tension in the sky. They feel what I feel. Despite every cozy comfort theranch provides. Something is off. Nameless, distant, but distinct. My stomach twists, teeth on edge.
At Anson’s cabin, I answer his text, trying to sink into the safe space. I light candles, start water for tea. The sky blackens, rain threatening, distant booms and flashes of light drawing closer.
Apple, smoke, familiar smells envelope me as I grab a mug, steep a new batch of loose-leaf tea in a shiny steel tea infuser. But it snaps shut like a trap against the dried slivers of fruit and spice. Metallic flavor in the air, threaded with electricity.
