12. George
Chapter 12
George
I'm still grinning as I nudge Beckett's ribs. “Welcome to small-town life. Where your walk of shame comes with a side of livestock.”
Beckett's lips twitch, fighting a smile. “Remind me to lock the door next time.”
Next time. The words send a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the draft from the open door.
He helps me sit up, his hands gentle as they brush my skin. “Here,” he says, holding a clean shop rag. “Let's get you cleaned up.”
I reach for it, but Beckett holds firm. “Allow me,” he murmurs, his voice soft and intimate.
He gently parts my thighs, and a blush spreads across my cheeks as he carefully wipes the shop rag across my sensitive folds, cleaning away the remnants of our passion. The cloth is soft, and his touch is tender, almost reverent, as he takes care of me.
I watch him, my heart fluttering at the sight of this strong, capable man kneeling before me, his focus entirely on my comfort. The moment is unexpectedly intimate, and a warmth hits my chest that has nothing to do with the physical act we shared.
Once he's satisfied that I'm clean, he helps me into my clothes, his fingers lingering on my skin.
Beckett frowns, looking around as he pulls on his jeans. “And where, pray tell, has that goat gone with my damn shirt?”
I'm about to make a quip about goat-proofing the workshop when I notice that Cheese Puff has abandoned Beckett's shirt in favor of a thin black cable.
Beckett's reaction is instant and telling. He tenses, and his eyes widen before he quickly schools his expression. “Looks like Cheese Puff has a thing for wires, huh?”
“What the—” But I'm already moving, chasing after Cheese Puff as she darts away. “Drop it!” I command.
The goat gives me a look of pure defiance before releasing her prize. I snatch up the half-eaten cable, frowning as I examine it. It's not vehicle wiring—it's too thin, more like...
I'm already moving, following the trail of exposed wiring. It leads behind Gloria, my temperamental air compressor, to a small black box tucked away in the shadows. More cables snake up toward the rafters, a web of equipment I’ve never noticed.
My hands shake as I yank the box free to examine it closely. It's not just wires. It's surveillance equipment. Small, high-tech, and expensive. Definitely not standard garage equipment.
I turn to Beckett. His body language shifts instantly. Gone is the playful lover; in his place stands a man coiled as tight as a spring.
“George,” he starts, his voice low and controlled. His eyes flick to the cable, then to me, assessing. Calculating. “I can explain.”
“I know you’re here for ranch security, but are you”—I swallow hard, the words tasting like ash—“are you spying on me ?”
Beckett runs a hand through his hair, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Technically,” he says, then gives me a sheepish look. “I tried bonding with the goats first, but they keep sabotaging my stakeouts.”
The joke dies in the air.
His eyes flick away. “Sorry. Bad timing.”
“Seriously?” I hurl the cable at his chest, a small, petty part of me hoping it leaves a mark.
He catches it easily, his reflexes as sharp as ever. But there's a tightness around his eyes that betrays him. Whatever this is, it's serious.
And just like that, the ground shifts beneath my feet. Everything I thought I knew about Beckett—about us—suddenly feels like quicksand.
“George—”
“No.” I back away, hurt and anger warring in my chest. “You don't get to ‘George’ me. Not after...” I gesture between us, then at the surveillance equipment. “What exactly is going on here, Beckett? And don't give me some vague ‘it's complicated’ bullshit. The truth, please. I deserve that much.”
All traces of humor vanish from Beckett’s expression. “Angus and I served together. I’m the one who pulled him out in Kandahar.”
I knew the story, of course, but not the name of the man who saved Angus’s life. It’s not something he ever talks about.
“Angus doesn’t trust many people, but I’m one of them, so he asked me to look into the weird shit going on at the ranch.”
I blink, trying to keep up. “What shit?”
He hesitates, clearly weighing how much to reveal. “Sabotage.”
My eyes widen. “Sabotage?”
Beckett nods grimly. “Cut fence lines. Equipment failures. Phone calls pressuring the family to sell. He set up security cameras, but the footage went missing?—”
“Missing, how?”
“Deliberately erased.” He pauses. “And then there’s the barn fire that almost killed Luna.”
“Oh, God,” I whisper. The implications hit me like a punch to the gut. “So the rumors are true. The fire was deliberate.”
Beckett’s eyes narrow. “I’m surprised you don’t know, considering your father investigated it.”
I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “If you knew my father better, you’d know how tight-lipped he is when it comes to anything he deems official business.” I shake my head as I absorb everything Beckett is telling me. “You think it's someone the Suttons know?”
“I don’t know, but I've got a contact looking into it. Off the books.”
“So what about the cameras in here?” I challenge, raising my chin.
“The cameras are for the perimeter. To catch whoever's sabotaging the equipment. But knowing you're on camera too?” His voice drops lower. “That helps me sleep at night.”
The raw honesty in his voice hits me hard. I want to stay angry, but...
He steps closer, his chest brushing mine. “I’m sorry, George. None of this was about deceiving you. It was about keeping you and everyone else safe.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ve lost too many people,” he says, voice rough. “Back in Afghanistan... we walked into an ambush on a mission that should’ve been clean. I was the last man standing. I dragged Angus out, barely breathing. Everyone else? Gone. Just like that.”
A muscle flicks in his jaw. “After that, I stopped trusting the system. Started trusting myself, and only myself. Took jobs that paid well, no questions asked. I figured if I couldn’t save the good ones, I’d stop pretending to be one.”
The raw vulnerability in his hazel eyes brings a lump to my throat.
The air between us shifts and becomes heavier, not only with tension but also with truth.
His hand settles on my hip, grounding me in place. “I’m not proud of where I’ve been. But I meant what I said. This wasn’t about spying on you. It was about keeping you safe. Maybe the only way I know how.”
Everything in me goes still. The weight of his past wraps around me like smoke, sharp and unexpected. I want to say something. To press my hand to the scar he’s not showing. But the words get tangled.
He’s not asking for forgiveness. Just understanding.
And damn it, I want to give it to him.
But that would mean lowering my guard. And I’m not sure I know how to do that without falling.
“I still want to punch you,” I mutter.
Beckett’s lips twitch as if he knows exactly what I meant beneath the threat. “That’s fair. But this— us —isn’t a mistake.”
“Then what is it?”
His thumb strokes my pulse point, sending aftershocks through my system. “Inevitable.”
“I don't do inevitable.” I yank free, reaching for the nearest thing that feels solid—my wrench, my shield, my excuse not to fall any deeper.
“Then why do you keep ending up in my arms?”
“We're done talking about this.”
He steps closer. “I'd rather talk about why you're still looking at my mouth.”
I don't respond because he's right. It isn't simply attraction, chemistry, or whatever safe label I try to place on it. It’s something… deeper.
“I have work to do,” I finally whisper.
His smile is slow and dangerous. “You'll have to stop running eventually, George.”
A loud crunch makes us both jump. Cheese Puff has found another cable.
I raise an eyebrow. “Your surveillance system needs better goat-proofing.”
Beckett groans. “She needs a new name. Cheese Puff sounds too innocent.”
“Yeah.” I can't help grinning. “Chewbacca.”
His laugh echoes through the garage, and something in the vicinity of my heart loosens, even as another piece falls deeper into dangerous territory.
Because now I know Beckett isn’t just here for a job. He's here for me.
And I’ve never felt safer or more seen.