Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Lawson
Abigail buckles herself into the passenger seat of my truck, and the smell of her—honey and sage—fills the space. It’s fucking ridiculous how my chest tightens over something as simple as a smell.
Honey.
Yeah. The nickname fits too damn well.
I adjust the rearview mirror even though it doesn’t need adjusting and pull down the long dirt road toward the gate.
She sits quietly beside me, the morning light making her hair glow like she’s carrying her own personal sunrise.
Do I want to spend more time with her?
Yes. No. Maybe? Hell I don’t fucking know.
Do I have time to spend the entire day taking a woman shopping.
Absolutely not.
Would I do it for her?
Yes. That much I already know.
“So…” she says softly, looking out the window. “Umm… thank you for driving me. I promise once I have a job, I’ll get a car. I just—I don’t want to blow through the money Joe set me up with. At least not until I’m stable.”
Something sharp twists low in my gut. She shouldn’t have to think like that—about rationing kindness, rationing safety, rationing help.
Not anymore. I grip the wheel a little tighter.
I shouldn’t say what I’m about to say. I know it even before the words push up my throat, but hell, I can’t help myself. “We have an extra car.”
She turns, brows lifting. “You do?”
“Yeah.” I keep my face neutral, my voice even. I’m not telling her the whole truth, not yet. “You can use it as long as you need. No rush.”
She shakes her head. “Lawson, no, I—”
“We can help,” I cut in softly. “Let us. You need wheels. We’ve got them. Simple as that.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue but she doesn’t.
She just gives me this small grateful smile that makes me regret my next words a little less.
“And if you’re lookin’ for work, there’s more than enough to do around the ranch.
You seem to like bein’ with the horses. We can teach you to ride too if you want. ”
Her eyes widen and her entire face lights up. “I—that would be—I would love that. Thank you.”
A nod is my only response.
Well then, that’s settled.
I never thought I’d spend a work day helping a woman try on hats and boots, but here I am, leaning against a rack in Boot Barn while Abigail stands in front of a mirror, tilting her head side to side in a brown felt Stetson.
“It’s too expensive,” she says, tugging it off for the sixth time.
“No, it’s not.”
“Lawson,” she sighs my name in exasperation. I’m not going to lie, I kind of like the way it sounds.
I take it from her hands, plop it right back on her head, and angle it just right so the brim frames her eyes.
“Looks perfect. Get it.” She gives me that look, again, so before she can argue, again, I add, “If you’re going to be working on the ranch through the winter, you’re going to need that just as much as you need everything else you’re getting, so please.
Just let me get this one thing for you, Honey. Please?”
She gives me a warm, half-annoyed, half-flustered smile before nodding and looking back into the mirror. I have to admit. She looks really fucking good. But then again, she’s looked good in everything she’s tried on today.
Boots. A winter coat. Overalls. Henleys. A flannel that I definitely stared at longer than necessary when she buttoned it up. And every single time she stepped out from her dressing room, her face lit up like she was discovering a brand new version of herself.
And hell, if that doesn’t do something to me.
It has in every store we’ve gone into. Even as we walked through the beauty store where she grabbed more hair supplies, skincare, a little bit of makeup, and more basics she didn’t have or that I didn’t get her before she arrived.
I pretend I’m bored, but I’m not. I’m watching her.
I’m watching the smile she gets when she picks things out.
The way she looks more grounded with each bag she carries.
It feels like I’m watching her slowly rebuild a life she deserves to have.
And I like being part of it way more than I should.
Our last stop of the day before we leave Billings, because hell if Roundup was going to have a single useful store she needed, is the grocery store.
She heads for the snack aisle after picking out things to cook herself some meals and her favorite drinks, while I duck a couple of aisles over to grab some things I know I’ll need for dinner.
As I toss the pasta and tomatoes into the cart, I’m hit with the overwhelming thought that, despite it throwing my entire schedule out of wack, I actually really enjoyed today.
I rarely thought about work as I watched her try on sweaters and boots, or as I listened to her hum along with the music playing in the stores over the door to her dressing room, or as I—despite trying over and over again not to—caught myself staring at her every chance I got.
She looked beautiful.
Fuck, she always looks beautiful. It comes effortlessly to her. It’s as natural for her as breathing. But today… today she looked alive.
And when she pulled a sweater over her head outside the dressing room and I caught a flash of blank ink on the back of her arm—christ. Curves, toned muscles, soft lines, all wrapped into one tiny, powerful woman.
She’s strong.
She’s trouble.
But she just might be the right kind.
I’m about to turn the cart around when I hear her voice speaking to someone. It sounds too polite. Too careful.
I move faster.
The second I round the aisle she’s in, I see him.
Grayson fucking Coates.
The oldest of the three Coates brothers. Tall, rail-thin, greasy hair tucked under a ballcap. Eyes like a man who enjoys making people uncomfortable.
And he’s leaning a little too close to my Abigail.
“Well, ain’t you a pretty little thing,” he says with a grin that makes my blood boil. “Haven’t seen you around. New in town?”
She forces a polite smile as her fingers tighten around the box in her hands. Not enough to shake, but enough that I see it. “Billings is a big city.”
Smart girl. She doesn’t admit where she’s actually living. But I’m about to make it abundantly clear. A smarter man might let her handle it, but she shouldn’t have to. This girl has dealt with enough Grayson Coateses in her life. I’m not about to let her deal with another. Not on my fucking watch.
I step between them so fast the cart rattles. “Funny,” I say, staring him down, “I would have thought you would have learned not to mess with what’s mine by now, Grayson.”
He smirks. “Lawson Taylor. Always a pleasure.” He looks past me to give Abigail another once over, and I want to gouge his eyes out in the middle of the store. “Yours, huh?”
“What the hell are you doing in Billings, Grayson?”
“Had a meeting with… someone.” His eyes glint. Deliberate. Taunting. He wants me to know exactly what kind of “meeting.”
“Business opportunities and all.”
Business, my fucking ass.
He was meeting with Miles Keller. I just know it.
My jaw flexes so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack. “Stay. Away. From her.”
“I was bein’ friendly to a pretty lady is all.” He shrugs. “Nice to meet you, Abigail. I’m sure I’ll be seein’ you around.”
“The fuck you will,” I growl, and he just laughs under his breath and walks off, whistling like the world is his damn playground.
Abigail swallows, watching him disappear. “Who was that?”
For a split second, I consider telling her the truth.
About Keller. About the Coates brothers.
About the threats to me and mine, and our land.
But fear sparks low in my chest, the same kind Beau voiced last night.
I don’t want to scare her. I don’t want her to run.
I want her to be safe. She doesn’t need to know.
Not yet.
“Don’t worry about him, Honey,” I say calmly, placing a hand on her back to guide her down the aisle. “Just a local piece of trash that needs to be taken out.”