Chapter 12
twelve
Sawyer
A woman with a head full of fiery waves steps boldly into the Stetson circle.
It’s the same woman who was all over Trouble the other night.
She reaches for him, hands landing on those broad shoulders like she’s done it a hundred times before.
Without missing a beat, he spins her into his arms, and she laughs—a sound that almost makes me want to stab myself in the eye.
Watching him, I can see he is every bit the untamed force people whisper about. He’s full of himself but also full of an energy that tries to draw you in and hold you captive.
Unable to watch any longer, I turn back to Honey behind the bar. She slides a glass across the polished wood toward me.
"Sweetheart, you know you stole the show tonight on that bull," she drawls, wiping down the counter with a damp cloth as she speaks. "Had half the men in here all sorts of rattled. One fella even scribbled an extra zero on his tip, so thanks for that." Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles.
"Happy to be of service," I say, my gaze fixating on the polished wood grain before me. "Trouble thinks I'm some fragile city girl." I roll my eyes. "Had to set the record straight and show him that I can ride just as well as him. I grew up here, and I'm tougher than he gives me credit for."
"Don't let him get to you, Sawyer. You ain’t gotta prove nothing to Trouble."
My gaze drifts over my shoulder once more, a reflex I can't seem to keep in check.
Trouble is still on the dance floor, that redhead still attached to his hip.
His smile doesn't reach those dark, enigmatic eyes that seem to find mine even in the crowd. I pull away quickly and turn back to Honey, who’s watching me with an all-knowing arch of her brow.
"I know," I say, stirring the straw in my drink. "He just gets under my skin, you know?"
Honey leans forward. "Trust me, I know." Her hands, adorned with rings that catch the light, dance across the countertop.
"He's not the easiest to get along with.
A lot of people around here don't like that family.
Could be jealousy of the land they own, maybe their reputation.
.. Not sure. But what I do know is, being behind this bar, I see people for who they really are.
I see their true colors. And that one," she nods toward him, "he's got a heart of gold. "
A disbelieving laugh slips out before I can stop it.
Seriously? That man? Why does everyone keep saying he has a big heart?
The one currently two-stepping some girl into next week like he's the star of a country music video?
Toothpick in his mouth like it's part of his brand? Yeah, no. All swagger, zero substance. Probably thinks emotional availability is some kind of horse breed he’s never heard of.
“I think we’re talking about two very different cowboys,” I mutter mostly to myself.
"Oh shit," she breathes out. Her eyes go wide and fix on something—or someone—behind me, telling me all I need to know. Whatever she sees isn’t good, and it's written all over Honey's face.
"What?" I whisper, turning to follow Honey’s stare. It’s the sheriff I met the other night. Except, he doesn’t look happy to be here. His face is stern, and there's something about the way he’s moving, almost like he has tunnel vision.
The Stetsons are laughing, unaware of the approaching storm.
It's Danger who sees him first, a silent nod acknowledging the intrusion before he taps Trouble on the shoulder.
With another nod, Danger signals Charming and Rogue, and just like that, the four brothers are all cowboy hats, hard stares, and the kind of silence that makes the entire bar feel unsettled.
The air crackles with tension as the Stetsons and the sheriff exchange words I can't hear over the music. It's clearly not good. They're all walking towards the door, and every sane person in the room knows to get the hell out of their way.
"Let's go." Knox's voice is a sudden gust, breaking through my trance. "Dad already left, and I’ve got business at the Stetson ranch, so you’re getting dropped off. And you’re locking the damn door."
"Knox, what's going on?"
"Nothing," he says, but his jaw is set, and I can tell he’s lying.
We weave our way to the exit, and I do my best to keep up with him until we reach his truck in the parking lot. Nothing never means nothing, especially not tonight. But I let the silence linger, biting my tongue to hold back all the curiosity running through my mind.
"I'm going with you," I finally break through, shattering the quiet.
He doesn't look at me right away, keeping his gaze on the dark country road. Then he gives me that side-eye, a glance sharp enough to cut. "Like hell you are."
"You really expect me to stay locked inside when I know something's happening at the ranch I'm staying on?"
"Better to make sure you're safe."
"Knox, you've known me my whole life. You won't win this battle."
He doesn’t respond right away, just narrows his eyes like he’s daring me to back down first. When I don’t, silence stretches, and then his shoulders sag before he finally speaks again.
"Fine," he grumbles. "But I don't know what's going on. If I check it out and say that we need to get you out of there, then I mean it, Sawyer."
"Okay," I agree, just as the truck's tires crunch over gravel and we approach the scene. My throat tightens when the outline of a truck emerges from the night. Its barely standing, melted. Firefighters swarm around it, water streaming against the burnt shell.
PJ is there. Her robe is cinched tight around her near the backdrop of flashing red and blue lights. Concern pinches the corners of her eyes, and Knox and I leap out of the vehicle before it fully stops.
"What happened?" he calls out, demanding answers without tipping into panic.
"I was getting ready for bed," PJ says, shaking her head. "And then... this loud noise. I looked out the window and—my truck was on fire."
"Thank goodness you were inside," I manage, questions flooding my thoughts as I shift uncomfortably on my feet.
"Crazy part is," she murmurs, wrapping her robe tighter around her body. "I had bingo tonight, but it got cancelled."
Knox stands beside me, his eyes scan the surroundings, searching for something—or someone—out of place.
"Where the boys at?" he asks, the drawl in his voice does little to mask the edge of concern.
"Really, don't go getting them all worried," PJ insists. "I'm fine."
The ranch feels alive with secrets, and I can't shake the feeling that the darkness hides more than just the remnants of the fire. We stay with PJ until the firefighters are finished.
Then it hits—a deep, throat-rattling growl that cuts through the dark like a warning.
Headlights slice across the night, burning through the darkness as engines snarl closer.
The trucks roll in slow, like wolves circling a kill.
Tires crunch gravel. The first to arrive?
Danger and Charming. Still. Silent. Deadly.
Even just pulling up, they radiate a don’t fuck with us energy.
Then Trouble steps out of his truck. Not the smirking, cocky flirt I rolled my eyes at earlier—he’s bare-knuckled, blood-smeared, and unbothered. This version? He’s wrecked—and dangerous.
His shirt’s ripped, his cheek split open, and there’s a wildness in his eyes that says someone messed with the wrong person.
And yet he moves like he’s untouchable—shoulders loose, jaw set, eyes burning straight through me.
He’s heat and violence and something primal wrapped in denim and muscle.
And all I can think is: God help the man who tried to start something with this family because Trouble must have just finished it.
And now he’s here. Looking at me, almost like he might handle me next. It makes every part of me soften for him.
Firefighters move past us, the world still spinning, but all I can see is him—standing there like violence and destruction had a baby and named it Trouble.
Then he rushes to his mom. No hesitation. No swagger. Just presses a kiss to her cheek like the blood on his hands means nothing if it kept her safe.
And we all know I’m not his biggest fan.
But seeing that?
Knowing whatever he did—however brutal it was—was for her?
Yeah.
It hits me somewhere I don’t want it to.