Chapter 26
twenty-six
Trouble
She shouldn’t be looking at me like that.
Not with him ten feet away watching her every move.
Sawyer half-turns, already one foot out the door when she pauses.
“I shouldn’t ask you to come with me just to piss him off.”
I take a slow step forward. “But you’re going to anyway.”
“I definitely shouldn’t use you like this.”
I smirk—just enough to pull her in. “Who says I mind being used?”
She tries to play it cool, but I know that look. She’s spiraling—and she likes it.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers, leaning in anyway.
“Most of mine are,” I say.
Then—
“Pick me up and carry me to your truck,” she orders urgently.
I blink. “You serious right now?”
She grabs a fistful of my shirt, tugging me closer. “Dead serious. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
A slow grin pulls at my mouth. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”
“Less talking, more carrying,” she shoots back, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.
I glance around. My brothers are watching, suspiciously. The Ken doll in the suit is getting more angry by the minute. If I do this, there’s no going back. No way to deny it to my brothers.
“Well,” I sigh dramatically, sliding a toothpick between my teeth as my hands find her waist, “guess I better give the lady what she wants.”
Before she can answer, I scoop her up and throw her over my shoulder. She squeals, laughing.
“Tristan!” she giggles, swatting at my back. “You could’ve given me some warning.”
I cock a brow, keeping my voice low so only she can hear. “Darlin’, you told me to pick you up. You didn’t say how.”
She reaches low to pinch my ass. “Show-off.”
“Maybe. But you’re the one makin’ your ex turn redder than a boiled crawfish.”
That earns me another laugh, screechy and unguarded, and she tucks her face into my back like she can’t hide it fast enough.
I carry her across the lot, holding her legs against me, her perfume wrapping around us. Uniquely Sawyer, all summer thunderstorms and wildflowers. “You’re heavier than you look,” I tease.
Her legs squirm. “Excuse me?”
“Relax, you know you’re perfect,” I chuckle. “I meant all that sass you’re packin’. About breaks my back.”
She laughs again, shaking her head against my back, and I feel every little giggle.
I ease the truck to a stop in front of the guest house. The automatic porch light flickers on.
“Alright, now. You go get yourself some more of that beauty rest.”
But instead of reaching for the door handle, she hesitates. Her eyes dart toward the porch, then back to me.
“Can I… go to your place for a while?” she asks quietly. “If Harrison finds out where I’m staying and shows up, I’d rather not be here.”
The muscle in my jaw ticks. I wish he’d try.
She doesn’t know it, but I always got eyes on the guesthouse.
She’s safe anywhere on this ranch. Amped up our security the moment someone messed with Mama’s truck.
No one is gettin’ near either woman on this ranch.
But one look at her eyes—wide, uncertain, vulnerable—and there’s no way in hell I can tell her no.
I reach up, brushing my thumb on her jaw. “Then you'll be with me. Let’s go.”
Her shoulders drop like I just lifted a weight off them.
A few minutes later, my tires crunch gravel as we roll further down to my place. I cut the engine and glance her way. Neither of us moves to get out. Sawyer leans back against the seat, her head tilting toward the roof.
She sighs heavily. "I just can't believe he came all this way."
I drape one arm around her, one hand still resting on the steering wheel. "I can."
She looks at me then, eyebrows raised in question.
"If you were mine," I continue, the words slipping out before I can hold ‘em back, "I'd cross more than a few state lines to find you, too."
Something flickers in her eyes. She’s caught off guard, maybe even flattered. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying not to smile.
“Wait. Was that a real compliment?”
“Careful,” I say. “You point them out, I’ll start making you do ranch work for ‘em.”
She lets out a soft laugh, but it fades quickly. A moment passes before she exhales.
"I should have seen it earlier," she finally says, voice soft but edged with anger, maybe. Or hurt. "Obviously, he was still keeping her around for a reason. He kept having these business trips, was still staying late. Classic signs, right? And I missed every one of them."
“You didn’t miss the signs,” I say. “You just didn’t wanna believe ‘em. Happens sometimes—you try like hell to see the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it.”
I don’t know much about bein’ in love. But I do know what it looks like when someone believes in it.
I saw it in Mama—how she kept believin’ in a man who let her down more times than he ever lifted her up.
How all of us boys gave Daddy more chances than he deserved, 'cause that's what you do when your heart’s tied to someone who don’t deserve the rope.
People get it wrong. It ain’t love that blinds you, it’s hope. It’s hope that holds you back, trips you up, and makes you put up with someone else’s bullshit.
Mama wanted to see the best in that man. And I can’t fault her for that. Means her heart’s good—even if he wasn’t.
"I just wanted someone who respected me," she says, laughing bitterly as she throws her hands up.
"Instead, I picked a man who was more faithful to his Rolex than to me. Always polishing that damn thing, checking it like time mattered more than I did. Even when he talked about our future… he couldn’t keep his hands off his assistant.
And me?" She shakes her head, eyes glassy.
"I'd just pay good money to smash that watch into a million pieces. "
“If…” I start, then squint like I’m trying real hard to recall. “What was his name again? Guy who looks like he probably steps off a yacht with a sweater tied around his neck. Harold… Hemmingway?”
Sawyer throws her head back with a laugh. “Harrisson Windsor the third,” she says in the world’s worst fake accent I’ve ever heard.
"Even worse," I say, shaking my head.
I lean closer, drawn to her like always, unable to keep the distance I should. "If whatever his name is can't see how gorgeous you are, what a catch you are..."
She's watching me now, really watching me, those blue eyes dialed in. I should stop talking. Should remember that I'm just a temporary escape from her real life. A distraction for her.
But I can't seem to help myself around her. Never have.
"And you’re still a catch, even if you do sing off-key," I tease, doing my best not to sound like I’m laying it on too thick.
She rolls her eyes, but her mouth curves like she can’t stop it.
"And when you laugh, it distracts half the room from what was even funny."
She chuckles, tilting her head. “Please. You’re exaggerating.”
"Not even a little," I say, honestly. "The fact that you don’t take my shit, it makes you pretty damn irresistible. And don’t even get me started on those eyes.”
As I look over at her, I realize what I'm doing. Listing all the little things I noticed about her. All the things I like. All the things that make her special, even the imperfect parts. Especially the imperfect parts.
I know how dangerously close I am to saying things I can't take back. Things like: I think about you every day. Things like: I’ve never been this intrigued by a person, ever.
Her fingers find the edge of my sleeve, toying with the fabric. It's a small touch, but it anchors me to this moment, to her.
“Hardly even knew you noticed me,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
"You’re hard to miss, Sawyer," I admit, the words raw and honest in a way I haven't allowed myself to be, maybe ever.
Sawyer's breath catches, almost imperceptible. But I notice. I always notice every little thing about her.
"He never really noticed me," she says. "Not like..."
Not like you. She doesn't say it, but I hear it anyway.
"His loss," I say simply. “And just so we’re clear—just ‘cause your ex thinks somethin’s gonna happen tonight, doesn’t mean it has to. We can take a walk, go for a ride, sit out on the porch and count sheep if you want.”
“Yeah, we could.” Her eyes flick to mine, bright and teasing. “But I’d rather do this.”
She closes the gap between us so suddenly, I don't have time to react. Her hands find my face, and then her mouth is on mine. Fierce. Demanding. Like it’s all she’s wanted to do.
My head spins with the realization, then instinct takes over—I kiss her back, one hand sliding into her hair, cradling the back of her head. She tastes like expensive liquor and decisions we'll probably regret come morning. I don't care.
The kiss deepens, her lips parting, inviting me in. Time seems to slow, stretch, suspend around us. There's just this—her mouth on mine, her fingers now sliding under my shirt, the small sound she makes in the back of her throat when I pull her closer.
She kisses like she does everything else—all in, no hesitation, taking exactly what she wants. My hand slides down to her waist, fingers spreading against the curve there, feeling the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her dress.
She pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against mine. Her eyes stay closed, like she's afraid to see my reaction. I can feel her trembling slightly beneath my hands.
"I shouldn't have done that," she whispers, but she doesn't move away.
"Probably not," I agree, my voice rough with want. "But I’m known for doing things I shouldn't."
Her eyes open then, meeting mine. The vulnerability there knocks the breath right out of me. For all her strength, all her independence, Sawyer's taking a risk with me. Even if this is some summer fling for her, there’s always a risk.
"Tristan."
I brush my thumb across her cheekbone, a soft touch at odds with the fire raging through my blood. "I've got you," I promise, meaning it in ways that go beyond this moment.