Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Crossing the Ridge
Sawyer
The mudroom carried the sharp scent of old leather and settled dust. Even this evening, Lilly’s perfume still lingered in the air, stubborn as a memory, no matter how often I washed the sheets.
Bracing a hand on the wooden bench, I pulled on my boots, the heel catching before it slid home with a dull thud. The house was silent around me, the silence that pressed in and reminded me just how empty these walls were.
Then came the cry: a long, ragged howl cutting across the ridge, sharp and empty.
A second answer yelped back, closer now, and I could’ve sworn I heard a low, wolf-deep timbre woven into the coyote’s lament.
My spine stiffened. Coyotes were a nightly chorus out here—but wolves…
wolves had a way of making themselves at home if hungry.
Old instincts flushed through me before reason could catch up.
My hand snaked to the shotgun propped in the corner, fingers wrapping the cool barrel.
It was overkill for a simple night ride, but SEAL training left its scars unseen—you learn to respect the dark, to treat every whisper as a threat until you’re proven wrong.
My phone buzzed against the bench with a text from Easton.
Easton: You headed into Billings tomorrow? Need a ride. Want to hit the Harley Store.
I let out a humorless chuckle. Figures. If he weren’t tinkering with his Harley motorcycle, he was loading up on gear he’d never use.
Me: Sure. Appointment at eleven. Be ready early.
Pocketing the phone, I tightened my grip on the shotgun. The heft grounded me—but also made me shake my head. What the hell am I doing? Acting like I’m about to breach a compound instead of stepping out to see a woman. Except with Lilly, the parallels weren’t far off.
I forced the thought down as I eased the back door open. Cold night air slammed in, crisp as broken glass, carrying another lonely coyote’s wail. I slipped onto the brick pathway heading for the stable, shotgun balanced at my hip.
Out here, the darkness belonged to no one. Worse, it was all too easy to pretend this was just another mission—structured, finite, without expectation. Easier than admitting I was sneaking into enemy territory—her territory—because God help me, I couldn’t stay away.
The stable loomed under the pale moon, its peaked roof a jagged slash against the silver field. Grace shifted in her stall the moment I cracked the door, her ears pricking forward like she’d been waiting for me all night.
“Yeah, girl, I know,” I rumbled, sliding toward the tack room. “Another midnight run. You and me, partner.”
The hinges groaned as I stepped inside. The sharp bite of liniment and oats filled the air, a scent that dragged me back to long nights overseas when gun oil and sand were all I breathed. Back then, every scrape of boot leather or shift of gravel sent my pulse spiking, rifle welded to my shoulder.
I shoved the memory aside and hauled the saddle off its rack. The solid weight of the leather steadied me, an anchor in the present, reminding me this wasn’t a mission—just a man getting ready for a ride he couldn’t resist.
I’d thought about taking the truck, but it was too well-known around town. One glance at it parked anywhere near her place, and half of Lovelace would be talking before sunrise. So, Grace it was—quieter, less obvious, and a whole lot harder to trace.
Before I saddled her up, I plunged my hand into a canvas duffel under the bench. My fingers closed around a small cardboard box. Condoms. I’d slipped them in here after a visit to the drug store, and now the corner dug into my palm like a loaded trigger.
Smart planning, I told myself, like checking my mag before a raid. But my gut clenched—packing for “later” meant I was betting there’d be a next time. And maybe more than one.
This fling with Lilly was supposed to be pure heat, zero attachments. She didn’t want promises, and I sure as hell didn’t volunteer any.
That kept it safe. Safe for me, at least.
I yanked my phone from my pocket. The dark screen lit up, catching my reflection—stubble, tense jaw, eyes shadowed with hunger. One tap could send her a text: You up? Are we still on? But I hesitated. She hadn’t reached out.
On the cruise, she’d hunted me down, and last night she’d slipped into my bed like a dare I couldn’t refuse. If I checked in now, it’d feel like committing. Like admitting this was something deeper than stolen moments in the dark.
I pocketed the phone, jaw clenching. Better to let it play out. If she wants to cancel, she knows my number. If she doesn’t—well, maybe that’s my cue she’s all in.
With the shotgun snug in the saddle scabbard, I swung my leg over Grace and settled in for the ride.
Out in the night, Grace’s hooves clicked over the hard dirt.
She tossed her head when I ran a hand down her neck, as if she smelled our destination.
“You ready for tonight?” I murmured. “Lilly’s got an old shed where I used to stack wood—half door, wood shavings on the floor.
Perfect place for you to spend a few hours, safe and sound. ”
She snorted, warm breath puffing like steam. Horses always knew way more than they let on.
“Let’s get going, girl,” I muttered to Grace, voice low and rough. “One more night with everything on the line, and then we’ll see where we stand.”
Even as I spoke, the words felt hollow. But the longing in my chest was all too real. Tonight wasn't some date. This was a mission with one objective.
Lilly.
The way she'd looked at me last night, challenging me with those eyes, while her body said something entirely different. My blood ran hot just thinking about it. I'd told myself this thing was just—scratch the itch, move on. But each time I tasted her, I needed more.
And hell, if that wasn't becoming the real problem.
By the time I guided Grace over the ridge, the coyotes had fallen silent.
The night air hit my face like a cold slap, exactly what I needed to clear my head.
Grace picked her way down the slope without my guidance.
"Easy, girl," I muttered, my thighs already tensing at the thought of what waited below.
Lilly's cabin glowed through the pines—a single defiant light in all that darkness. I reined Grace in at the tree line beside Lilly’s property. Part of me wanted to turn back and pretend this midnight ride was just restlessness, nothing more. But my body knew better.
Then I caught her silhouette moving behind the curtains—bare shoulders, the curve of her hip as she turned—and my mouth went dry. My fingers brushed the box of condoms in my pocket.
Planning ahead. Like a goddamn Boy Scout.
I dismounted, my boots hitting the ground with a thud that matched my pulse. Grace followed me to the shed, burying her nose in the oats I’d stashed in the saddle bag. "At least one of us gets what we want without complications," I said, removing her saddle.
By the time I hit Lilly's porch, I'd locked everything down—face neutral, stance casual, like I wasn't hard as granite beneath my jeans. The screen door squeaked open, and there she stood, candlelight licking across skin I'd had my mouth on just last night. Her robe hung loose, deliberately so.
"Well," she drawled, one eyebrow raised, "you remembered about my shed. Let's see if you remember where everything else goes."
Whatever bullshit excuses I'd prepared evaporated. When she grabbed my shirt and pulled me down to her mouth, I let her take control—for now—even as something in me whispered this was a battle neither of us could win.
Tonight, I didn't give a damn about tomorrow's casualties.
As I opened the door, a shaggy goldendoodle with caramel-colored fur greeted me, tail sweeping the floorboards. Our eyes locked—hers amber and knowing, seeing right through my bullshit to the scars underneath.
“You must be, Sunny,” I murmured, crouching to scratch behind her ears.
Lilly's voice drifted from somewhere inside: “Yep. That’s my girl.” The dog gave my hand one last nudge before padding down the hallway, as if whatever was about to happen between her owner and me was strictly human business.
A single candle flickered on the rough-hewn table, its flame throwing dancing shadows over Lilly’s bare legs as she lounged on the couch. She lifted a whiskey bottle, that grin of hers pure invitation.
“Whiskey?” she cooed.
“Sure,” I rasped.
She poured a finger’s width into a glass, slid it to me, then tipped her own back in a slow, teasing sip. I knocked half of mine back in one swallow. The burn chased away the last of my nerves.
Lilly leaned into the cushions, her robe slipping open just enough to reveal the curve of her hip and the swell of her breast. “Come here, cowboy.”
I set down the glass, pried the bottle from her hand, and let a bead of amber liquor trickle onto her nipple.
She arched, breath hitching, when I bent forward and licked it away—whiskey and warmth mingling in my mouth.
I grazed the other one next with the stubble on my cheek before teasing her with my soft tongue.
Her laugh was low and hungry. Fingers tangled in my hair as I hovered between her breasts. “You’ve got a mean streak,” she teased.
“Maybe I like it that way.” I let my mouth trail down her flat stomach until she hauled me up for a bruising kiss.
Her hands dove into my jeans, undoing the button. Then she found it—the little black box. She brandished it with a wicked smile. “Well, planning ahead?”
I laughed, but my chest tightened. “Smart thinking, nothing more.”
“Smart,” she echoed, brushing it over my lips before dropping it on the table. “Good man.”
“Can I leave it in your nightstand?” I asked, voice low. “For next time—and the time after.”
Her eyes softened, but she didn’t push me. She slid her hand into mine and hauled me to my feet. “Good idea. Now grab the candle and follow me to bed,” she said, and that was enough.
The candle flickered as we crossed the room, shadows pooling around the bed.
Lilly dropped her robe without hesitation and stood, unashamed, her entire lithe body on display.
I set the candle on the nightstand and took my time stripping off my boxer briefs and shirt—preferring the dark to hide the inked shapes on my body that I wasn’t ready to explain.
She guided me down onto the mattress, lips hungry as mine, and helped me slide on the condom. Lilly moved like she was born for this—unfettered, fierce, needing every inch of me.
I thrust into her, hard and steady, matching her rhythm. Her moans echoed off the walls, her nails raking down my spine. I met her body with my own, a relentless pace that blurred the world outside as we satisfied our shared need.
But even as heat and pleasure consumed us, I felt the weight of that box in the nightstand. Proof I was planning for something I swore I didn’t want. Proof that if I stayed, she’d be the one who got hurt.
So, I kissed her harder, buried that thought in the knot of her hair. Lost myself in the fire and the darkness where promises didn’t matter.
When it ended, she collapsed against me—limp, satisfied. She drifted toward sleep with no questions, no demands.
Free-spirited as ever.
I stared up at the ceiling, the candle burned down to a stub, shadows flickering like ghosts across the walls.
I should’ve felt nothing but satisfied—hell, I’d had exactly what I told myself I wanted. Heat without strings. Touch without promises. But the longer she lay curled against me, the heavier the silence pressed in.
The thought slipped in before I could shove it away: I wanted to ask her out. Take her somewhere in daylight, sit across from her at a table where the only thing between us wasn’t shadows and whiskey. For once, I wanted to do it right.
That was what scared me most. Wanting her didn’t mean I had it in me to follow through, though. Every mission I’d ever run had ended the same—get in, get out, leave nothing behind. Clean breaks, no attachments. Except once. And I still carried the fallout from that mistake.
If I kept crossing that ridge, one of us was bound to bleed. Maybe her. Maybe me. Hell, maybe both of us.
She murmured something in her sleep, soft and sweet, and I pressed my face into her hair, breathing in that scent I couldn’t seem to forget.
Perhaps tomorrow night I’d find the guts to say something real.