Chapter 4
SANTIAGO
The sound of a desperate man’s screams echo in the old cabin as the flesh on his shoulder sizzles under my hot iron.
When I pull back, he drops his head forward.
The only thing keeping him upright is the rope tying him to the support column in the center of the main room.
The air smells of burnt flesh, cold ash, and weathered pine.
He pants, on the verge of vomiting, as he begs, “Please, please. I’ve told you everything.”
My boots crush the bits of hay as I circle his pathetic form. I note the burns covering every exposed inch of flesh. Each in the shape of a star with the letters “FS” in the center. “You see, Evan, I’m not so sure I believe you.”
Evan Lockhart begins to silently sob.
Weak daylight filters through the grime-coated windows, casting long shadows across the warped floorboards. A freezing draft slips through the cracks in the walls and rattles the loose panes of glass, but it does nothing to cool the sweat dripping down Evan’s face.
The stone fireplace looms behind him, cold and blackened with soot as dust hangs in the air.
We’ve been at this for hours. I’m exhausted, but I’m not giving up until I’m certain that he’s given me every last detail.
I crouch down and unholster my revolver. Pressing the barrel under his chin, I tilt his head so he can look me in the eye.
“Where are the rest?” I ask again with a growl.
Lockhart’s shoulders shake as his cries become more audible. “I s—swear, there isn’t anymore.”
I study his face, searching for the lie.
Blood slowly drips from his nose. His right eye is practically swollen shut. His lips quiver as I click the hammer of my gun, toying with him.
“Creo en ti,” I reply, rising to my full height. I believe you.
Lockhart’s shoulders drop in relief.
I raise the revolver again, aiming it between his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you get to live.”
“Wait! No—”
Squeezing the trigger, the pop of the bullet exiting the chamber rings in my ears.
Checking the time, I realize why I’m ready to fall asleep standing.
Nine hours? Damn. The high school teacher lasted a lot longer than I thought he would.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Walker: Are you done yet? We have a problem.
Me: Just finished. What’s up?
Walker: Clean up, then meet me at the edge of Taylor Morrison’s land.
Me: What happened?
Walker: Just get here.
Damn grunón.
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I groan as my stomach rumbles.
Lunch then Walker.
Killing the engine of my truck, I stretch my neck side to side before heading into Main Street Diner.
If it wasn’t for Javier, my right-hand man at Falling Sky Ranch, I’d be dead on my feet. I gave him a call and let him know there was a mess to get rid of in the old barn on the edge of my property, and that was it. Javier doesn’t ask questions. He’s been with Falling Sky since my father ran it.
Entering the diner, I note the peeling teal paint and the shelves covered in mismatched mugs. The tightness in my chest eases a fraction just by being here.
The usual lunch rush crowds every single table, so I head to the counter to place my order. With Silver Pine located just up the road, we get a lot of tourists.
As I weave between occupied seats across the worn linoleum, I inhale the hunger-inducing aroma of burgers and fries.
“Hey, Martha,” I greet the owner as she taps away at the register screen. I rest an elbow on the short counter, leaning on my side and facing the rest of the diner.
She flashes me a tender smile. “Hey, Santi. The usual?”
I nod. “To go, please.”
By my elbow on the counter are various fliers and ads printed on neon paper. The one for the grand opening of Silver Pine catches my eye.
I know business like this is good for the town. It creates jobs, boosts the local economy, and all that. But Walker has been on edge since he found out about Neil’s plans for the tourist attraction. He says that crime will spike, and while I prefer not to borrow tomorrow’s worries, he’s not wrong.
Scanning the crowd of tourists and locals, my attention stops. I can’t see her face, but something about her has me ensnared. I’m not sure I can even name what it is. Maybe it’s the slope of her neck or the way her ample hips taunt me.
Whatever it is, I can’t look away.
Something about her draws me in. It’s like she’s my center of gravity.
She’s so focused on the notebook in her hand, I’d be surprised if she even noticed the grumpy toddler flinging his food at the table beside her.
I smirk to myself and inform Martha, “Actually. I’ll be over there.” I nod my head in the captivating woman’s direction. I’m not sure if Martha hears my change of plans, but I don’t wait to find out.
The woman’s rust colored sweater hangs off one shoulder, the knit thick. A long silver necklace disappears beneath the fabric, and dark jeans hug her hips before tucking into a pair of brown boots.
Approaching her table, I stop by her side. I clear my throat and ask, “Mind if I join you?”
When she looks up at me from under her long, thick lashes, I feel my cock harden in my jeans. The sight in front of me is one I want to recreate later, but with a lot less clothing.
The sharp lines of her cheekbones and jaw are contrasted by the smoothness of her honey skin.
“Santi?”
The use of my nickname causes me to blink rapidly, and it finally clicks who is sitting in front of me. “Blake?”
I should hesitate. I should run to the nearest church and confess my sins. But my feet won’t move. Something about this feels right. I feel it in my gut, and my gut has never steered me wrong.
Blake tries to hide her perusal of my body but ultimately fails. “Yes, please, sit with me.” She gestures to the seat across from her.
Bending my knees, I move to sit on the bench with her, and she slides over to make room.
Shutting her notebook, she snorts. “A little forward, don’t you think?”
Angling my body toward her, I rest my arm along the back of the booth. “Me? Forward? What gave you that idea?” My words claim innocence, but the smirk I’m flaunting conveys the opposite.
I feel like my conscience should be urging me away, but it remains silent. In fact, it’s cheering me on.
“You’re trouble incarnate, aren’t you?” she surmises as she tries to stave off a smile.
Placing my hand on my chest, I contest, “I’m an angel.”
Blake chuckles into her mug as she sips the dark coffee.
Unprompted, I hold my hand out, palm up. She eyes me curiously but still places her hand in mine. A soothing sensation spreads through my body at the contact. It’s a shock to my system, but one that I embrace eagerly.
I bring the back of her hand to my lips and place a kiss on her delicate skin. Her gasp is barely above a whisper, and a cute blush rises in her cheeks.
I lower her hand, but don’t let go. “It’s nice to see you, Blake.
“You, too,” she breathes out.
“So, tell me. What brings you back to Evergreen Falls?”
She shifts in her seat and drops eye contact. “Business,” she answers.
Well, that’s a flat-out lie, and clearly not a topic of discussion that she’s comfortable with. But I’ll get the truth out of her soon enough.
For now, I’ll try something easier. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, you know. This and that,” she answers with a shrug.
I raise my brows and smirk. “How intriguing.” My eyes wander to the side and catch the notebook she was concentrating on before. “What’s that?” Leaning past her, I reach for it.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she claims as she scrambles to get it away from me.
I tighten my hold on her one hand and look down at the drawing in my other. It’s a sketch depicting a fire in the snow, and it’s highly detailed.
“Blake, this is really good.” Using my free hand, I set the notebook down on the table and turn the page.
“Have you always been into art? How did I not know that about you?” Blake’s cheeks turn pink as she chews on her bottom lip.
On the new page, I catch a quick glimpse of what looks to be me, Levi, and Walker. “Why did you—”
The drawing is snatched away. “That’s enough of show and tell.”
“Do you draw me often?”
Blake rolls her eyes. “Next subject.”
Definitely circling back to this later.
“So…Where have you been?”
“Here and there.” Blake won’t look me in the eyes.
I shake my head. “Nah. You don’t get to be vague with that one.”
She sighs. “New York.”
My eyes widen. “What? What took you there?”
She finally gives me those beautiful brown eyes. Clearly avoiding my question, she asks, “What about you?” Blake sets her elbow on the table and rests her hand on her fist.
I don’t like her evasiveness, but I’ll let her have her privacy for now. She shouldn’t get used to it, though. I want to know everything about this woman.
Intimately.
I tip my hat. “Still running Falling Sky Ranch.”
She nods. “Still love it?”
“Always. I was born and raised in a saddle.”
“Ooo. A true cowboy,” she teases. “My Mama always warned me about cowboys.”
“Hey, no todos somos iguales,” I say with a wink. We’re not all that bad.
Blake makes a face, conveying her doubt teasingly.
I won’t let her brush me off so easily.
“What’s wrong with vaqueros?”
She holds up two fingers. “There are two types. The players and the statues. The players are the ones who promise you the world but only deliver regret and a half-assed orgasm. The statues are the ones who draw you in, but their hearts remain cold and closed. I wonder, Santiago,” She lifts her hand and flicks the brim of my hat, “which type are you?”
Leaning in close, I eye her lips, then look back up at her alluring brown eyes. Lowering my voice, I ask, “You want to find out?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but our connection is interrupted by a brown paper bag dropping on the table in front of us. Peering over my shoulder, I find an unhappy Martha.
“Leave the girl alone, Santiago,” she commands as her eyes glare at Blake’s hand in mine.
“It’s okay, Martha,” Blake interjects. “Santiago was just making sure I feel the Evergreen Falls neighborly love.” Her explanation is said in a playful tone.
“Your food’s ready. Time to go.” Martha grabs the elbow of my shirt and pulls. I follow her direction and stand, even though a small woman like Martha wouldn’t ever be able to make me move.
I’m not a boulder or anything, but I’ve worked on the ranch my whole life. It’s the kind of work that builds strength.
Blake squeezes my hand before she lets go. “Thanks for the company,” she says as she looks me up and down one more time.
“I’ll see you soon, Mi Cielo,” I promise.
Martha shoves the bag of food into my hands and steers me to the exit.
Climbing into my truck, I peer through the large window at the front of the diner and watch Blake and Martha deep in conversation—hopefully, about me.
The tension surrounding Blake is so thick I could bathe in it. That kind of conflict usually wards people away, but not me.
I want to dive into the deep end and discover all her secrets.
I’m not the type of man to get attached, which, I’m sure, is why Martha was determined to get me away from Blake.
But something’s different with Blake.
She has immediately become my obsession.
And I won’t take no for an answer.