Harper
The night air hits me cold as I push through the Rusty Spur’s front door. Luke’s already at his truck—a black Dodge Ram that’s somehow both inconspicuous and aggressively masculine. He’s pulling out of the parking lot with controlled precision, headlights cutting through the darkness.
I jog to my patrol SUV, my heart hammering in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion and everything to do with the fact that I’m about to tail a man I’m attracted to like some kind of obsessed stalker.
I start the engine and pull out, keeping a careful distance. Luke heads north on Main Street, away from downtown Iron Ridge, away from the residential areas.
Unless he’s going to the next town over, he’s not going to see another woman. The relief that floods through me is embarrassing, it’s so strong.
Then I realize where he is going: toward the county road that leads to the Circle H, Blackthorn, and Turner ranches.
I frown at Luke’s truck. Is he just going home? And if he is, why is he driving so fast? Something has to be wrong.
I press the accelerator, my jaw clenched, my mind racing through possibilities I don’t want to consider. Whatever Luke’s doing out here, it’s not a midnight rendezvous with another woman.
One thing is certain: it’s something dangerous, because Luke just turned his headlights off.
And I’m following him straight into it.