Chapter 14
The gate commission for a ranch property outside Tucson is late. Twelve custom wrought iron panels with a desert motif, the kind of project my father would have cleared his entire schedule for. I quoted six weeks, and I’m at seven, only half done.
I don’t regret a single lost hour. I’d lose a hundred more.
Sadie’s been staying with me for four days. Four days of her in my space, her coffee mug on my counter, her books scattered across my coffee table, her presence filling every corner of my house in ways that make it feel more like home than it ever has.
And four damn nights of her sleeping in my bed, in my arms, and wanting her so badly it’s driving me insane, but stopping myself from doing more.
It’s pure torture, but I want her fully present. Not running from fear or anger or Owen’s poison.
I bring the hammer down harder than necessary. I’ve been out here for hours, burning off the restless energy that’s been building since Saturday night when I kissed her in my kitchen and forced myself to stop.
The door to the workshop opens.
I look up.
Sadie stands in the doorway, her curves accentuated by her leggings and one of my flannels over her close-fitted tee.
She holds a plate with a sandwich and a glass of what appears to be cranberry juice.
Seeing her in my clothes does things to me that aren’t helpful when I’m trying to maintain control.
“Lunch break,” she announces. “You’ve been out here for five hours.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Yes.” She sets the plate and glass on my workbench, carefully avoiding the tools. “And you need to eat.”
But she doesn’t leave after setting it down. She leans against the workbench, arms crossed, watching me finish the piece I’m shaping. I should stop, eat, talk to her. But something about the way she’s looking at me—quiet, unhurried, no crisis driving her here—makes me want to let this moment last.
So I keep working. And she keeps watching.
The hammer falls in a steady rhythm. The metal glows and cools and glows again. And Sadie stands in my forge like she belongs here, like she’s always belonged here.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just like watching you work.”
I set down my hammer and pull off my work gloves. “I like you watching, tesoro.”
The nickname still makes her flush pink. She reacts every time I say it.
“How’s the gate coming?” She leans against the workbench, watching me with those eyes that see too much.
“Slowly.” I glance at the plate she brought me. She does this now. She shows up with food when I’ve been working too long, like she’s been keeping track of the hours even when I haven’t. “I keep getting distracted.”
“By what?”
“You. Always you.” I step closer to her. Close enough to see the blue streaks in her eyes. “And it’s always welcome.”
She opens her mouth to say something when the crunch of tires on gravel makes us both look toward the open door. A car pulls up outside the workshop. A car I recognize.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Sadie’s voice is tight.
“Stay here.” I’m already moving toward the door, putting myself between her and whatever bullshit Owen’s about to pull.
I step outside into the afternoon sun. Owen is standing by his car, arms crossed over his chest, wearing that same smug expression he always wears, like he owns the world and everyone in it.
“Mateo.” He nods like we’re still friends, like he didn’t force his way into Sadie’s apartment and grab her. “Is Sadie here?”
“No.” The lie comes easily.
“Really?” His eyes flick past me to the open workshop door. I shift to block his view. “Because her car’s parked at your house. And I heard she’s been staying with you.”
Of course he did. Small-town gossip travels fast.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” I say flatly. “Leave.”
“I just want to talk to her.” His voice is so reasonable. So calm. The same tone he probably used for years to make Sadie feel like she was crazy for having feelings. “Five minutes. That’s all.”
“No.”
“Come on, man. You know how women are.”
“Vete a la chingada.“ Go to hell. “She said no. I’m saying no. Get in your car and get the fuck off my property.”
Owen’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t your decision to make.”
“Actually, it is.” Sadie’s voice comes from behind me. “It’s his property. And he’s right. I don’t want to see you. Leave, Owen.”
She’s standing right behind me in the doorway now, arms crossed, chin up. Defiant, even though I can see the tension in her shoulders. Owen’s expression shifts when he sees her. Something almost like concern crosses his face, but I know better. I’ve seen him use that look before.
“Sadie. Finally.” He takes a step forward. I move to block him. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?” His eyes sweep over her, and I want to punch him for the way he looks at her like he’s cataloging flaws. “Because from what I hear, your shop was destroyed. Your apartment was vandalized. You’re hiding out at Mateo’s place like some kind of fugitive.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“Aren’t you?” Another step forward. I shift to stay between them. “You’re letting this town tear you apart, Sadie. They destroyed your business. Invaded your home.”
We never told anyone publicly about the apartment. The shop was visible — everyone saw the boarded windows. But the apartment break-in was in the police report and nowhere else.
“And you’re still planning to stand up at that town hall meeting and defend yourself?” Owen continues. “For what?”
“Because I’m not running,” she says.
“Maybe you should.” His voice drops, taking on that manipulative edge I’ve heard him use before. “This isn’t worth it. The shop, the book, this town—none of it is worth what they’re putting you through.”
“That’s not your call to make,” Sadie says.
“Someone needs to make it for you, because you’re not thinking clearly.” He shifts, trying to get a better view of her around me. “You never do when you’re emotional. That’s always been your problem, Sadie. You let your feelings cloud your judgment.”
“Owen—“
“Come back to California with me,” he interrupts. “I can manage this. The publicity, the sales, the brand. You need someone who knows how to handle this kind of attention.”
“You’re insane if you think I’m going anywhere with you.”
“Why? Because of him?” Owen’s gaze flicks to me. There’s contempt there now. “Because the town blacksmith is playing hero? You think he actually cares about you? He just wants to get in your pants, Sadie. And once he does, he’ll realize what I already know.”
“Careful,” I warn. “Be very careful about the next words out of your mouth, pendejo.”
“What? That she’s not worth the trouble?
” Owen laughs. “Look at her, Mateo. Really look. She’s a mess.
Those curves you’re probably desperate to touch?
Trust me, they’re not worth it. She writes smut for a living because she’s incapable of fulfilling a man’s fantasies in real life, her family is ashamed of her, and she can’t even run a bookshop without the whole town turning on her.
Now she’s standing there in your clothes like she belongs there, like anyone would actually want to keep her.
What exactly do you think you’re getting here? ”
Sadie flinches. A tiny recoil that says his words landed exactly where he intended.
Fuck this.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say. “Now.”
“I’m trying to help her.”
“You’re trying to manipulate her.” I take a step forward. “And if you think for one second I’m going to stand here and let you tear her down.”
“She’s already torn down,” Owen snaps. “I spent years trying to build her up, trying to make her into something better, and she threw it away. For what? To write porn? To run a failing business in a town that hates her? To desperately crawl into the arms of an ex’s friend knowing he pities her?”
“We’re not fuckin’ friends, man.”
“Owen, stop—“ Sadie starts.
“No. You need to hear this.” He’s getting agitated now, the calm mask slipping.
“You think people are going to support you? Buy books from your store? You wrote porn about their town, Sadie. Who’s going to want to walk through those doors once they see what you really are?
You’re sitting on a goldmine, and you’re too stupid to see it.
Number one on , Sadie. Do you know what that’s worth?
And you’re letting these people—Mateo, Macy, Isabel—leech off your success while you play grateful victim.
You need someone who knows how to manage this.
How to manage you. You’re not cut out for this life.
You’re not strong enough. You need someone who can protect you from yourself, someone who—“
“Someone who what?” Sadie’s voice is sharp. “Someone who makes me feel small? Someone who criticizes everything I do? Someone who forces me to stay when I try to leave?”
“I was trying to make you listen—“
“You were trying to control me. You spent years doing it, and I’m done.” She steps forward, moving beside me now instead of behind. “I don’t need your protection. I don’t need your help. And I don’t need you.”
Owen’s face darkens. “You’re making a mistake.”
“The only mistake I made was staying with you as long as I did.”
“Really?” His laugh is bitter. “You think you’re better off with him? Look at yourself, Sadie. You’re not exactly a prize. That self-righteous attitude about your writing? Those extra pounds you can’t ever seem to lose—“
He takes a step toward her.
My fist connects with his jaw before I can consider the consequences. It doesn’t matter. The satisfying crack of impact. The way his head snaps back. The shock on his face as he stumbles backward.
It’s all worth it.
He hits the ground hard, blood already blooming from his split lip.
“Mateo!” Sadie’s hand is on my arm.
I’m breathing hard, my knuckles already screaming, but I don’t care. I’d do it again.
Owen pushes himself up to a sitting position, touching his mouth. His fingers come away bloody. “You just assaulted me.”