Chapter 4
JACE
The sun hasn’t even fully risen yet, and already I’m behind.
That’s the first thought that hits me every damn morning.
The motor on my chair hums low as I roll across the gravel yard, coffee balanced in the holder bolted to the side.
Steam curls into the chilly dawn air. Out here, the world’s quiet except for the low bellow of cattle in the pens and the creak of the windmill turning lazy circles.
Iron Stallion Ranch stretches out in every direction—miles of fencing, acres of pasture, the main barn standing like a sentinel in the half-light.
This land has carried my family for generations, and now it’s mine to hold together.
Between the cattle, the breeding stock, the rodeo program, and Morgan Enterprises breathing down my neck with contracts and logistics, I’ve got too many hats and not enough hours.
Some days it feels like I’m running to catch up in a race I’ll never win.
The south gate comes into view, sensors blinking faintly in the dark.
I stop, leaning forward to check the latch.
Security’s supposed to be my thing—the Army made damn sure of that—but lately the tech side is moving faster than I can keep up.
Last month’s hacking attempt was a warning shot.
I need backup, which is why I’ve got a freelancer coming in today.
It doesn’t sit right, handing over the reins to an outsider, but I don’t have the luxury of pride anymore.
“Daddy!”
The squeal cuts through the morning haze, high and bright.
Daisy barrels out of the house in a tangle of braids and mismatched socks, a ball of boundless energy.
She’s only seven but already fearless, sprinting across the porch happily.
My chest tightens, same as it always does—pride mixed with the sharp ache of knowing I’m all she’s got for a parent since her mama is resting with the angels.
I angle my chair toward her and open my arms. She slams into me without slowing down, hugging my neck so tight my coffee nearly spills.
“You’re supposed to be inside getting ready for school,” I murmur against her hair. It smells like strawberries.
“I am ready.” She leans back and flashes me a grin, gap-toothed where her front tooth used to be. “See? Brushed. Twice.”
I cock a brow, glancing at her socked feet dangling above the dirt. “Shoes?”
She wiggles her toes, shrugs. “Shoes are overrated.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it. Christ, she owns me. Always has, always will.
“Daisy!” Pops’s voice booms from the porch. My old man’s frame fills the doorway, silver hair catching the dim light. “Your bus will leave without you if you keep pestering your daddy.”
Daisy sticks out her tongue at him, then plants a quick kiss on my cheek before scampering back to the house.
“Stubborn as a mule,” Pops mutters, softer this time. His eyes crinkle as he watches her, then shift to me. “That consultant’s supposed to show today, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I answer, straightening in my chair. “We need it.”
Behind him, Zane and Beck emerge, already dressed for work. Zane smirks when he sees me. “Can’t wait to meet this cyber-genius you’re bringing in. Bet it’s some city kid who’s never seen dirt.”
Beck chuckles. “Or maybe Jace finally figured out he can’t do everything alone. Now that’d be the miracle.”
“Funny,” I mutter, but the back of my neck prickles. They’re not wrong. Outsiders don’t last here. And yet, this one has to.
By the time I get back inside, Daisy’s on her way to school with my old man, and my brothers are out in the yard bickering about fence repairs.
I head for my office, which is tucked in the basement of the house.
It’s wheelchair accessible via elevator.
It’s lined wall-to-wall with old ledgers, cattle auction records, and the other part of my world—satellite feeds, digital security dashboards, and contracts stacked three deep.
The chair hums as I angle behind the desk, fingers already flying over the keyboard.
The consultant’s résumé glares at me from the screen.
Sienna Carter. Freelance cybersecurity, solid record, glowing reviews.
Sienna. The name’s nothing to me, but the timing sits strangely in my chest. Six months ago, I was in D.C.
for the cybersecurity conference, shaking hands with men who only saw the chair and not the soldier sitting in it.
I told myself I was there for the business, to hear pitches, test products, maybe even drag Morgan Enterprises into the twenty-first century.
But that wasn’t the part that stuck.
What stuck was her.
Pink hair under the dim bar lights, a sharp tongue that matched the glint in her eyes.
She didn’t care who I was or what I ran.
She didn’t even flinch at the chair. Hell, she challenged me, thought I couldn’t keep up, and then found out just how wrong she was.
One night, no names, no promises. Just fire, heat, her nails raking down my back, her voice breaking as she came.
And then she was gone.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, dragging myself back to the present. That night has stayed locked in my head for six months, sneaking up when I least expected it—a smell, a laugh, the ghost of her weight on my thighs. I told myself I’d never see her again, and I believed it.
Which is why I laugh under my breath now. The freelancer coming today is just another name. Another city expert who’ll probably see the mud and the cattle and want out. There’s no reason my mind should be circling back to her.
I close the résumé and wheel back from the desk. I arrive outside just as the truck I sent to pick her up from the airport pulls up near the porch. A woman steps out, adjusting the strap of her laptop bag across one shoulder.
At first, it’s the hair that hits me. Not bright pink this time, but a darker shade like the flesh of a watermelon, pulled back neat like she’s trying to look professional.
Even without the hair, I’d know the curve of that jaw anywhere, the way she scans her surroundings fast, like she’s measuring exits.
My chest goes tight. No fucking way.
She thanks the driver, who’s already dealing with her bags, and turns.
The morning light spills across her face.
Yeah, it’s definitely her. The girl from D.C.
The one I thought I’d never see again, who’s been haunting my nights ever since.
Tessa. We didn’t exchange names, but I caught a glimpse of the lanyard she had that day, which had her name on it. But the résumé said Sienna Carter.
She doesn’t flinch when her gaze snags on me at the top of the porch. For a second, I think maybe she recognizes me, but her expression smooths out fast—cool and polite. Like I’m just another client.
I wheel forward, the motor humming low, and stop by the doorframe. My fingers grip the rim a little too hard.
“You must be Sienna Carter,” I say, keeping my voice even.
“In the flesh. It’s nice to meet you, sir.” She flashes a quick smile, rehearsed, nothing like the smirk I remember curling against my skin.
But I’m not imagining this. My body sure as hell isn’t. Every detail from that night is burned into me.
She extends her hand, but I don’t take it right away. I let my eyes linger a beat longer than I should, and something flickers across her face—recognition, maybe. Or maybe I just want it to be.
Finally, I reach back. Her grip is firm, professional. No hint of the woman who clawed my back as she gasped into the sheets.
“I’m Jace Morgan,” I tell her, letting a touch of steel into the words. “CEO here. And the man who hired you.”
“Then I guess I’m in the right place,” she answers smoothly. But there’s a flicker in her eyes, quick and sharp, before she looks away toward the fields.
She’s pretending that she doesn’t know me. And I don’t know what pisses me off more—that she’s lying to my face, or that my body doesn’t give a damn.
“Come on in,” I say, rolling back into the house. My voice comes out steadier than I feel. Behind me, I hear the faint click of her boots on the porch, then the door shutting softly.
She follows me into my office, eyes darting over the ranch photographs on the wall, the mix of old ledgers and new tech sprawled across my desk. Her gaze lingers on the security monitors, live feeds of which cover most of the ranch.
“You run all this yourself?” she asks.
“Most days,” I answer. “When my brothers aren’t pretending to help.”
That earns the faintest twitch at her mouth, a ghost of the smirk I remember. It’s enough to punch heat through me, unwelcome and sharp.
I wheel behind the desk, let the hum of the chair fill the silence. “So, do you know why you’re here?”
She nods, sets her bag down, and pulls out a laptop. Professional, efficient. Like she’s really here to work. Like she isn’t the same woman who dragged me back to my hotel room and rode me until I thought I’d break.
I fold my arms, watching her fingers fly over the keyboard. She doesn’t look up when she talks. “Your system’s outdated. Firewalls are two years behind. Remote sensors aren’t encrypted. Anyone with half a brain could walk through your gates and your network both.”
I should be annoyed at the bluntness. Instead, I feel that same spark from D.C.—her sharp tongue, the way she never softens her edges. It’s her, all of her. And she’s standing in my office acting like we’re strangers.
“You’re direct,” I say, leaning back.
Her eyes flick up, meet mine for half a second. “You hired me for direct.”
The air thickens between us. For one long beat, it’s just the two of us—the hum of equipment, the memory of how her breath sounded breaking against my neck. She looks away first, snapping her laptop shut.
“I’ll need access to your logs, routers, and any devices connected to the network,” she says briskly.
My jaw flexes. “You’ll get what you need.”
I should end it there. Walk out, let her work. But something in me won’t.
“Have you been to D.C. before?” I ask casually, though my pulse kicks harder.
Her shoulders stiffen—barely—but I catch it. Then she shrugs. “A few times. Conferences, mostly.”
Conferences. Yeah. Like the one where we ended up in my room and left me wrecked by morning.
She meets my gaze, eyes cool, steady. “Why?”
I let a slow smile curve, one that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “No reason.”
But she knows I’m not buying it. And I know she’s lying. The tension hums hotter than any motor in this house. And for the first time in a long while, I’m not sure if hiring her is the smartest move I’ve made, or the one that’s going to burn me alive.
Her laptop clicks open again, the glow of the screen lighting her face. She keeps her focus tight on the work, rattling off what she’ll need to get started—network maps, passwords, physical access to sensors, all of it. Her tone is crisp, professional, and detached.
“Alright,” I say, pushing back from the desk. “Then you should see what you’re dealing with.”
She nods, snaps the laptop shut again, and slings the bag over her shoulder. I lead her out the back door, the chair humming low as the gravel crunches beneath her boots.
The morning has opened up into a wide Texas sky, pale blue stretching forever. I don’t miss the way her head tips back, her eyes scanning the horizon. City girl. She’s trying not to show it, but the expanse unsettles her.
“Is this the whole ranch?” she asks, shading her eyes.
“Part of it,” I answer. “Iron Stallion runs cattle, horses, and a rodeo program. My brothers are the brawn, and I’m the brains alongside my sister. I’m sure you’ll meet them all at some point during your stay here.”
She glances down at me, sharp eyes catching on the chair. She doesn’t linger or flinch, just nods, businesslike. But I catch the faintest twitch in her jaw—like she’s reminding herself to keep it professional.
I take her through the barns first, sensors blinking at each entry, cameras swiveling on their mounts. She takes notes, muttering about blind spots, signal strength, and outdated firmware. Her focus is razor-sharp, and for a moment, I almost forget. Almost.
But then she tucks a stray hair behind her ear, and I remember the way those hands clawed at me, the way she’d gasped when I hauled her onto my lap, daring me to prove her wrong. My grip tightens on the rim of the chair.
We end at the south gate, the weakest point in the system. She crouches to check the panel, fingers moving quickly over the keypad. “Your encryption’s a joke,” she says flatly. “Anyone with a laptop and a bad attitude could be in by lunch.”
I huff out a laugh. “Good thing you’re here then.”
She doesn’t look up, doesn’t take the bait. Just types something into her tablet and stands, dusting off her knees. “I’ll draw up an overhaul plan. Shouldn’t take more than a few weeks to implement.”
Weeks. That’s how long she’ll be here. Living under my roof, walking through my world every damn day, pretending she’s never seen me naked.
For six months, I’ve been telling myself that night was a fluke. A one-time slip. And now she’s here, pretending she doesn’t remember me. Whatever game she’s playing, one thing’s certain: we’re just getting started.