Chapter 17
seventeen
Trouble
It’s the next night, and I’m paying for every damn second I spent in the arena today. My muscles ache, my skin’s still hot from the shower, and all I want is sleep. Then my phone lights up—Winnie’s name pops up on the screen.
Winne
Got a hot date tonight? or can I call first dibs?
My thumb hovers, hesitates, then decides, pressing the side button until the screen is just darkness. Eyelids heavy, I shut them for a moment, when the buzzing starts again—I reckon it's her again, but surprisingly the screen says Mama now.
"Hello?" I sigh, as I lift the phone to my ear.
"Tristan, where you at?"
I run a hand through my hair. "In my bed."
There's a rustle on the other end of the line. "Oh, good," Mama continues. "I need you to go over to the guest house. Sawyer said she thinks someone might be trying to break in. She was about to call the police, but I told her not to worry, that I’d send someone over."
I shoot upright. “Break in?”
“Nothin’ to worry about,” Mama’s voice crackles on the line, way too calm for someone dropping potential home-invasion news. “I checked the cameras. Didn’t see a thing on there. Figured you might wanna go play hero.”
“Oh, did you now?”
“A mama always knows what’s best,” she hums, tryin’ to be slick.
“Mama, that sounds an awful lot like instigatin’ to me.”
She goes quiet for a moment, and I can damn near hear the smirk stretching across her face. Then, with a satisfied sigh, she says, “And over here it sounds like my bath’s ready. Gotta go.”
Click.
I stare at the phone, half amused, half ready to throttle her.
I pull on grey sweatpants and a tee before stepping into the thick night air.
Sliding into my truck, I grip the wheel, headlights cutting through the dark as distant thunder rumbles—like it always does when I’m on my way to her, when I’m headed somewhere I shouldn’t be.
And somehow, knowing that, I want every damn second of it.
When I pull up to the guest house, the porch light’s on, casting a soft glow over the steps, but everything else is wrapped in black and quiet.
I hop out, stalk up to the front, and knock hard—three sharp raps. It echoes, quick and loud in the hush just before the storm heads our way.
The door swings open, and there’s Sawyer—hair tied up in a messy knot, drowning in an oversized shirt that still manages to make her look insanely gorgeous. She tugs at the hem like it might somehow cover her bare legs, but all it does is make me notice them more.
“Trouble?” she asks, glancing around like she expected anyone but me. “I figured she’d send your sheriff friend.”
I smirk, leaning one arm against the porch post. “You’re stuck with me instead.”
“Thank you for coming. I just… I keep hearing something.”
That worry in her eyes doesn’t fit her.
“Show me,” I say, stepping closer. My gaze sweeps around, but not before catching the flush on her cheeks.
She nods, backing up. “Come in here,” she says, her tone soft but urgent.
I step across the threshold, and she guides me deeper inside.
"Listen," she whispers, and I look around, waiting. Then, it comes: a crack of thunder so loud it feels like it rips the sky in two. Sawyer's body tenses and she stumbles backward into my arms. Instinctively, I wrap my hands around her waist, steadying her against me.
"You're alright," I murmur close to her ear. "It’s just thunder. You need to start gettin’ used to it around here."
She shakes her head, and her golden locks brush against my forearm. "No, not that," she whispers, pointing a trembling finger toward the side door. "Listen."
And so, I do. And there it is—a tap tap tap, persistent.
For a heartbeat, we stand still, her back pressed to my chest, my senses heightened by the proximity, by the softness of her, by the incredible way she smells.
I guide her behind me and pull the blinds back, squinting into the darkness outside. Nothing but shadows.
"Stand back, darlin’." I unlatch the side door and ease it open. A faint smile spreads across my face once I realize what it is.
"Looks like we got ourselves a real problem out here," I say, doing my best not to laugh.
"What's funny? Who is it?" she asks, inching closer, peering around me.
And then she sees it—a pair of shiny orbs caught in the act. A big-eyed raccoon, knee-deep in the aftermath of its scavenging stares back at her with equal parts surprise and indignation.
"Dammit," Sawyer mutters under her breath, the fight seeping out of her as she leans back against the doorframe. "Guess you can stand down, cowboy."
“Seems like it,” I say, stepping outside. “Looks like you’re safe from danger after all.” My eyes flick to the door. “Lock this door behind me.”
“Wait.”
The word’s soft, almost swallowed, but it stops me. “For what?”
She tugs at the hem of that oversized shirt again. “I… just made a sangria mix.” She glances up at me, eyes lingering longer than they should. “You wanna sit on the porch and watch the lightning with me?”
“Thought you couldn’t stand bein’ stuck with me during a storm,” I say, thunder rolling like it’s backing me up.
Her smirk is quick, but there’s warmth in it. “What can I say? Storms make me reckless. And it feels like they’ve been chasing me lately.”
I always figured storms were messages, sent down from the ones who came before us.
My granddaddy tryin’ to speak to me most of all.
Every bolt of lightning or rumble of thunder felt like him warning me, or maybe even sayin’ he was proud.
And lately… Fuck if it doesn’t seem to roll in every time she’s around.
Doesn’t seem like a coincidence, more like somethin’ I oughta pay attention to.
“Reckless how?” I tip my chin up, knowing damn well I shouldn’t ask.
“For starters, letting you stick around... but you did save my life tonight.”
“Guess that earns me a drink,” I say, taking a seat on the porch.
She disappears inside. When she comes back, two glasses glow dark red in the storm light. When she passes one to me, her fingers brush mine, sparking something hot that has nothing to do with the weather.
“Cheers to me rescuing you from death by raccoon,” I say, raising my glass.
“Congrats on the rescue, cowboy. But in Chicago, I once watched a rat bigger than that drag an entire slice of deep dish pizza off the train. Your little ranch raccoon doesn’t even rank.”
“Well, darlin’, I may not deal with subway rats, but I did drive across the ranch to fight your garbage monster. That’s gotta earn me somethin’.”
I catch her grinning over the rim of her glass. “If you keep making me smile, I might start thinking you’re good company.”
“I make damn good company,” I tell her, lifting my glass toward the sky. “And you can’t tell me city life’s got anything on this.”
Lightning forks in the distance, the sky putting on a show, but it’s nothing compared to her.
Sawyer’s sittin’ across from me, glass in hand, hair piled up in a messy twist like she didn’t even try.
No makeup, nothin’ but her—and somehow she’s the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
It knocks me sideways, the way she’s got me feeling.
Like the storm ain’t just out there in the sky, it’s workin’ its way through me too.
“It’s beautiful here,” Sawyer says after she takes a drink. “But it’s just a vacation. I’ve gotta get back to reality. My job. Harrison will probably hold this trip over my head for months, and his dad will eat it up. He just loves any excuse to say I’m not cut out to be an agent.”
I let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a place I wouldn’t wanna work.”
She gives a humorless laugh. “I’ve worked my ass off for years, proved myself over and over. Still never feels good enough—for his dad, and sure as hell not for him.”
“And what, there aren’t any other jobs out there?”
“Things are always so simple with you,” she says, shaking her head. “But for me, nothing’s ever that simple. Every choice I make… it matters.”
I lean back, boots scraping the porch steps. “You talkin’ about your job or your ex?”
For a moment, Sawyer's silent. She bites her lip, and damn if that simple act doesn't almost unravel me, stirring up something deep and dangerous. It's the kind of thing that shouldn't even register to me, but I notice.
She doesn’t look at me right away. “All of it.”
“What’s the issue? If people don’t treat you the way they should, if they don’t give you what you deserve? Fuck ’em. Your man, your job, all of it.”
For the first time, her gaze locks on mine, sharp but searching. “Harrison is not my man.”
"So you’ve said. Does he know that?" The words slip out, rough-edged and low.
“You talk like you’ve got it all figured out. Have you never actually been in a relationship?”
I’ve never wanted to be in one, never thought it mattered.
My pulse ticks faster, though I keep my face easy. “I don’t like labels.”
“Admit it. Label or not, all relationships are complicated.”
It pisses me off that she’s clingin’ to whatever that mess with her ex is. Hate that she’s callin’ it a damn relationship. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as the sky cracks open with another roar. “Complicated,” I echo. “I don’t really think they’re all that complicated.”
She turns to me, one brow raised. “That sounds like something a man says when he’s avoiding them.”
“So now you’re gonna lecture me about settlin’ down? Careful now, you’re startin’ to sound just like my mama.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Well you don’t exactly scream, ‘I can’t wait to purchase an engagement ring’.”
“That’s not me, sweetheart. One saddle, one rider. Always been that way, always will be.”
There’s a flicker in her expression—something between curiosity and disappointment—but it fades fast. She’s good at hiding things. I’m better.
I glance out across the dark, open land again.
“I think you know exactly where you stand with someone though,” I add, voice quieter now. “Whether they show you with their actions or tell you with their words—you know.”