Chapter 15
JACQUELINE
By early afternoon, the heat had settled in hard.
We’d already spent most of the morning checking the irrigation lines, and now we were inside the barn repairing stalls.
Not what most people wanted to do on a Saturday, but ranch work didn’t wait for weekdays.
And it certainly didn’t hurt that Brogan had stripped off his shirt, even if concentration had become a serious problem for me.
Sweat traced slow paths down the hard planes of his chest and stomach, darkening the waistband of his jeans.
The black ink of the skull on his forearm flexed every time he drove a nail.
The larger tattoo on his right arm shifted with every swing of the hammer, the Black Crowns MC emblem on his right pec rippling along with it.
“You’re going to put a nail through your hand if you keep watching me instead of the board,” he murmured without looking up.
My cheeks heated. “I’m supervising.”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t call me on the lie. I cleared my throat and forced my attention back to the task we were completing.
“When I finally get the rehab side going, I want this whole row converted. Wider stalls for horses that need more space while they recover. Then turnout pens off the back so they can ease into being outside again. And eventually more stalls over there”—I pointed toward the far end of the barn—“with better ventilation and a separate section for quarantine if we ever need it.”
Brogan listened without interrupting. When I finished, he set the hammer down, pulled the measuring tape from his back pocket, and started to jot down the length of the current stalls, the distance to the back wall, and the open space outside.
He didn’t explain what he was doing. He just made notes on his phone before moving to the next section.
I watched him for a moment, my heart feeling fuller than it had since my grandfather passed. Brogan wasn’t just fixing what was broken today. He was planning structures that would take months—maybe longer—to complete. Arranging his future around my dream.
Acts of service were his love language, and they moved me in ways words never could. He didn’t make speeches about forever. He just started building it. And it only made me fall for him more.
The next couple of hours flew past, and then Bex’s dad pulled into the driveway, dust kicking up behind his cruiser. Brogan stepped out onto the porch as the sheriff climbed out.
“He’s expecting us,” Bex’s dad told us. “Still not sure he’ll talk, but it’s worth a shot.”
Judge’s motorcycle rolled in only a minute later. He climbed off, removed his helmet, and fixed the cuffs of his button-down dress shirt like he was heading into a courtroom instead of to a dusty ranch.
I walked down the steps. “I’m coming too.”
Bex’s dad looked mildly surprised, but when Brogan nodded, he didn’t argue. “Your call.”
We split up for the drive. The sheriff took his cruiser while the rest of us climbed into Brogan’s SUV. I started to open the back door so Judge could have the front, but Brogan’s hand settled on my lower back.
“Passenger seat.”
“But Judge’s legs are longer,” I protested.
“Passenger seat, Jacqueline.”
I huffed but climbed in. Judge just smirked and folded himself into the back without complaint. Brogan drove, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my thigh the entire way.
The rancher’s place was smaller than ours, the fences in worse shape. The man who met us at the gate looked like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. His gaze darted between the sheriff’s cruiser to Brogan and Judge, then to me before he finally spoke.
“I don’t know anything,” he grumbled.
The sheriff kept his tone even. “We’re not here to cause you trouble. Otis Rutledge recorded a partial plate matching a trailer that went missing from your place. We’re just following up.”
The man’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know anything about anyone named Wade.”
“No one’s asking you to make an official statement today,” Judge murmured. “We’re simply trying to understand the pattern of thefts in the area. If someone has been threatening you or your family—”
“I said I don’t know anything.” The rancher’s voice cracked slightly on the last word, and he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “You should all just leave it alone.”
I watched the way his hands trembled before he shoved them into his pockets. There was no anger in me toward this man, only sympathy. Wade had taught people that speaking up came with a price.
No wonder Grandpa had tried to collect proof instead of relying on witnesses.
Brogan’s hand brushed the small of my back as we turned to leave. He didn’t push the man. There was nothing to gain by forcing someone already living in fear.
As we walked back to the vehicles, I glanced up at Brogan. He was already watching me, reading whatever was on my face.
The drive back to the ranch was quiet. Brogan’s fingers stayed tangled with mine, his thumb moving in slow, absent strokes like he needed the contact as much as I did. Judge didn’t try to fill the silence, and when we finally pulled into the driveway, the sun was already dropping behind the hills.
Judge lingered only long enough to exchange a few low words with Brogan, then left us alone.
Inside, the house felt heavier than it had that morning. I made a simple dinner while Brogan checked in with the prospects and walked the perimeter one more time. We ate at the kitchen table without saying much. Every so often, I caught him watching me, like he was making sure I was okay.
After dinner, we ended up in the living room. Brogan leaned against the corner of the couch with his boots propped on the kitchen table. I cuddled against his side, and his fingers toyed with the ends of my hair.
The television was on low, but neither of us was really watching it. My eyes were just drifting closed when the window exploded.
Glass sprayed across the floor. A brick hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud and skidded to a stop near the coffee table.
Brogan moved before I could even react, rolling me onto my back and pressing me into the couch cushions, his much bigger body completely covering mine.
“Stay put,” he ordered.
His tone didn’t allow for any argument, so I only twisted my neck so I could watch while he crossed the room and crouched beside the brick. A piece of paper was wrapped around it, secured with a rubber band.
Grabbing a pen from the end table, he inched the note free without touching it. Then he used the pen to unfold it, reading what was written on the paper in thick and ugly letters. Biting out a low curse, he turned the note so I could read it too.
THE OLD MAN’S BOOK.
MIDNIGHT.
SOUTH BARN.
I stared at the message, realizing Wade had somehow found out about Grandpa’s notebook. And now he wanted it.
Brogan was already on his phone.
“Lock the property down. Now. Full perimeter.” He listened for a moment, then added, “Brick through the front window. Message demanding the notebook at midnight. Doesn’t give us much time to get our shit together.”
He ended that call and immediately made another.
“Raines. We just had a brick come through the window with a demand for Otis’s book.”
I could hear Bex’s dad’s voice on the other end, though not the words. Brogan’s expression darkened further. “Yeah. Pissed about the outcome, but I can’t blame him.”
When he hung up, he came back over to the couch and tugged me to my feet. “After we left, the rancher panicked and called Wade. Warned him about the records.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I leaned against his chest. “Are we going to make the exchange?”
Brogan pressed a finger under my chin to tilt my head back. His eyes were hard, but when they met mine they softened just a fraction. “No, but we’ll let him think we might.”
I appreciated that he wasn’t shielding me from the truth. He was keeping the promise he’d made by keeping me in the loop, even when the news was ugly.