Chapter 4
Knox
There are rules to protecting assets. Some are written down in training manuals. Most aren’t.
The most important one: don’t get attached.
She’s a person, yeah, but she’s also a job. The job is to keep her breathing until the threat is neutralized. You don’t flirt. You don’t bend the line. You don’t look at her legs or wonder what her laugh sounds like when it’s not edged with fear.
And you sure as hell don’t kiss her.
Which I did.
The thing about rules is they exist to be tested.
Sierra Hayes Quinn is temptation wrapped up in a curvy little package. She sits beside me in my truck, clutching her purse like it’s a life raft, and all I can think about is how her pulse fluttered under my thumb.
How if circumstances were different, if she wasn’t an asset, if there wasn’t so much age between us, I’d be leaning over to taste that mouth instead of reciting security protocols in my head.
I tighten my grip on the wheel.
Focus.
She’s a job. She’s an asset. She's not yours.
Grayson trusts me with assignments like this because I get things done. I’m good at staying detached. It’s how I survived the military and a family that shattered when my brother died, and my father poured whiskey on his grief until it burned everything around him.
Distance is my default.
It’s also why I live alone in a cabin on the far edge of The Ranch, why I spend more nights riding fences and breaking colts than I do sitting at bars in town. My world is quiet by design.
Sierra is not quiet.
Even in her silence, she hums with life. She fidgets with the hem of her shirt, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, sighs softly as she stares out the window. Like she’s trying to hold herself together with small motions, so she doesn’t fall apart.
We roll into Valor Springs and turn off the two-lane highway into a pool of yellow light thrown by a flickering neon sign that reads THE GRILL.
The parking lot is mostly empty. It’s near midnight on a weekday.
A couple of pickup trucks sit nose to tail near the entrance, and a lone motorcycle rests in the shadows like it belongs to somebody who doesn’t care who sees it.
A string of white lights hangs around the door. It’s kitschy and homey as hell.
Sierra looks at it like it’s a foreign planet.
“You’ll love this place,” I tell her. “Trust me.”
She unbuckles her seat belt and reaches for the door.
I’m out and around before she can hop down. Old habits die hard. Chivalry is a reflex instilled by my mother before she left and cemented by the military after. I open the door for her.
She gives me a look that says she’s not sure if she’s annoyed or pleased, then slides out.
Stop looking at her ass, I tell myself.
Inside, The Grill smells like grease and nostalgia. Like old fry oil and fresh coffee and a thousand late-night confessions.
There’s a jukebox in the corner playing some old country songs, red vinyl booths along the wall, and a cracked tile floor that’s seen more boots than sneakers. A ceiling fan turns lazy overhead.
The place is warm, lived-in, the kind of diner where the coffee is strong and the opinions are stronger.
We slide into a booth near the wall. Sierra sits across from me, purse on her lap like she’s afraid to set it down.
Her eyes dart around the diner, taking everything in.
The old men in the corner talking with their hands.
The couple sharing fries like they don’t care who’s watching.
The little sign on the wall that says NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO PROBLEM, and the faded Polaroids behind the counter of rodeo winners and big fish and smiling locals.
A waitress named Mary, who’s been working here since high school, sweeps by our booth. She calls everyone “honey” and doesn’t write anything down because she’s got a memory like a steel trap. She grins when she sees me.
“Knox Sutton,” she drawls. “Long time no see.”
Her gaze slides to Sierra. Something speculative glints in her eye.
“And you brought a friend.”
“Mary,” I greet, and keep it moving before she can dig. “Two burgers, two fries, extra pickles. Milkshake for the lady. Whatever beer you’ve got on tap for me.”
Sierra sputters. “I didn’t say I wanted a milkshake.”
Mary smiles like she’s already decided Sierra belongs here. “You look like a milkshake girl. Chocolate okay?”
Sierra blinks, then nods begrudgingly. “Chocolate is always okay.”
“Do people know each other here?” she asks quietly.
“Mostly,” I say. “Valor Springs isn’t huge. The Ranch is on the outskirts. Town’s close enough if you need supplies, far enough for privacy. People talk.”
I take a pull of water, then add, “Pepper’s Pie & Coffee is the hub for gossip if you’re into that.”
“Pepper’s Pie & Coffee?” she repeats. “That’s a mouthful.”
“So is their pie,” I say.
Her mouth twitches, almost a smile.
“You’ll meet Rose. She’ll know your order after two visits, and she’ll call you sugar like she raised you. Don’t argue. It’s easier to let her.”
She smiles faintly, fingers tracing the rim of her water glass. “Sounds charming. Is there anywhere normal? Like a Target?”
“No Target,” I say, “but there’s The Eager Beaver. Dive bar. Pool tables, cheap beer, questionable karaoke nights.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“There’s the Valor Springs Arena. Rodeos, horse shows, bull riding.” I keep going, because she asked. “And there’s Mesquite Creek if you want to swim. Clear water. Good for cooling down on hot days.”
She just stares at me.
I shrug. “Nearest one’s more than an hour away.”
Her eyes widen. “So, if I need new eyeliner, what am I supposed to do? Raid a feed store?”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “Do I look like I know much about eyeliner, darlin’?”
She looks like she’s about to throw something at me.
Instead, she presses her lips together, swallowing the sass like she’s saving it for later.
“What can you tell me about Gray?” she asks.
“Gray is Gray,” I say. “Former Secret Service. Stoic. Doesn’t sleep much. Lives for his daughter, Josie, and this company.”
Sierra’s face softens a fraction at the mention of a kid.
“He’ll want to meet you when we get back. He’ll ask a lot of questions. Might be a little intimidating.” I hold her gaze. “Don’t let him scare you.”
She nods slowly. “How old is his daughter?”
“Twelve,” I say. “Loves horses and pop music. Smarter than most adults I know.” A beat. “She’ll probably try to use you to get Wi-Fi password privileges extended past ten p.m.”
Sierra lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Good to know.”
Her gaze dips to her lap, then lifts again.
“And you, Knox?” she asks. “Do you have family in Valor Springs?”
The question hits a nerve.
For a beat, my mind flashes to my father’s face, red and lined, eyes bloodshot. My brother’s laugh, boyish and brave. The smell of whiskey and regret.
My jaw tightens.
“No,” I say, and that one syllable carries more weight than I mean it to. “My family’s gone.”
Sierra’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug, pushing the ache down into the place inside me where I’ve shoved every memory I don’t want to look at. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”
Mary arrives with our food, saving me from further questions. Two steaming plates land on the table. Thick burgers, cheese melted perfectly, fries golden and crisp.
Then she slides a frosty chocolate milkshake to Sierra, topped with whipped cream and a cherry.
Sierra’s face does something warm. A glimmer of happiness lights her eyes, bright and sudden.
It shouldn’t hit me the way it does.
It does anyway.
She takes a sip and a smear of whipped cream sticks to her upper lip.
She doesn’t notice.
I do.
It takes everything in me not to reach across the table and wipe it with my thumb, like I’ve got a right to touch her. She licks it off a second later, and my grip tightens around my beer glass for no damn reason.
We eat mostly in silence. Every so often, Sierra glances up at me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Her questions hang in the air between us. Mine do, too.
“I was meaning to ask,” she says, careful. “How much are… your services?”
I choke on a laugh. “Damn, darlin’,” I smirk, “you’re making it sound like I’m a prostitute.”
She blushes like I slapped her with the word.
I let the smirk fade.
“I had a debt to your father,” I say, and the truth sits heavy on my tongue. “He saved my life once. So now I’m repaying it to you. I’m going to protect you with my life. Trust my word on that.”
Sierra’s fingers tighten around the edge of her purse. She goes very still, like the air has thickened.
“Y-you… you knew my father?”
“Yes.” I nod once. “He was a brave man.” My throat tightens around the next part. “It’s late, but I want to say I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her lashes flutter. She looks down like she’s trying not to fall apart in a diner booth.
“Thank you,” she whispers, and it’s small, but it lands.
“Tell me about what happens next,” she says a minute later, surprising me. “Please.”
“We go to our compound, The Ranch,” I say. “Brief Gray.”
“I don’t know why I’m nervous about it.”
“It’s natural,” I tell her. “A lot happened to you in a short amount of time.”
She studies me, chin lifted like she’s making herself be brave.
“Tell me more about you,” she says. “I deserve to know more about the man who’s protecting me with his life. Your words.”
She’s right.
She deserves to know who she’s trusting with her life.
I push my empty plate away and lean back.
“Born and raised in Lovestone Ridge,” I say. “Parents had a ranch. Mom left when we were teenagers. Brother named Luke who thought he was immortal. I joined the Army at eighteen. Served two tours. Luke didn’t make it home.”
I pause, because my jaw wants to lock.