Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
TIMOTHY
Later that morning at the Tadlock Horse Farm I wished I hadn’t offered to oversee the installation on the main house.
I was an inch from strangling the new kid Deck had hired ten days ago.
Sleep deprivation lowered my patience to less than ten percent.
The new hire arrived forty minutes late smelling like stale beer.
In the one hour since, the nineteen-year-old already asked twice if we could “call it a day early.” Apparently hunched over outside was too much hardship.
Unfortunately, hiring help around here was damn near impossible. So, instead of unleashing the lecture building behind my teeth, I focused on teaching him how to install two new air-conditioning units.
It should’ve been simple.
It wasn’t. The kid treated tools like they were decorative.
He held a screwdriver with the disdain of someone who’d never been asked to use his hands for anything other than accepting participation trophies in grade school.
At one point, he nearly started working without cutting power to the unit.
My soul briefly left my body to go update my will.
Deck hadn’t hired an HVAC apprentice. He’d hired a future OSHA case study.
I realized we needed a different wire and straightened with a sigh that scraped my lungs raw. “Hold tight while I grab something from the truck. Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”
Not that I needed to worry. The second I stepped away, he backed into the shade and whipped out his phone.
As I rounded the side of the house, I scrutinized the white truck parked near mine. Hudson Raynes stood with the back door open, digging through a storage box until he came up holding miniature forceps.
When he looked up and saw me, the temperature dropped about ten degrees.
“Timothy Hurst,” he said flatly.
“Hudson Raynes.” I leaned against my truck.
“Gia told me all about you.”
Interesting. “She didn’t mention you to me,” I lied smoothly. “Should she have?”
“She broke it off with you. So, stay the fuck away from her.” That possessive she’s-mine edge in his voice ran across my nerves like sandpaper.
I let my gaze drag over him slowly. His clean jeans lacked even a speck of dirt on them. The wrinkle-free polo had his name stitched neatly above the pocket. He pinched the tiny forceps between his fingers like he was preparing for emergency surgery on a hamster.
Meanwhile I was sweaty, grease-stained, and half covered in attic insulation. I knew I could put this man through drywall without breathing hard.
I rolled my jaw once. “Did you talk to Gia about this stay-the-fuck-away plan of yours?”
“She’s dating me.”
“Is she?”
His nostrils flared. There was a flicker underneath the anger. Not confidence and not certainty. It was the sharp little crack of a man who knew he’d stepped too far onto another man’s ground but couldn’t retreat now without looking weak.
“Someone like you could never give her what she needs,” he said.
I pushed off the truck slowly, steel-toed boots crunching against the gravel as I closed the distance between us. Not close enough to touch him. Not enough for anyone watching to call it a threat. Just enough that Hudson had to tilt his head back a fraction to keep eye contact.
“Tell me, Dr. Raynes,” I said softly, “what exactly do you think Gia needs?”
His stare held mine for a second too long before it dipped to glare at my hands—the grease ground into my knuckles and the rust streaked over my wrist like dried blood.
“She needs someone who understands our job,” he said with a sneer. “Not some…” His eyes swept over me. “Maintenance guy.”
Something dark uncoiled low in my chest. Not because he insulted me. I hated that Gia had spent years around men who thought polished boots and framed degrees made them better. These kind of men looked at her like something to acquire instead of someone to understand.
Hudson lifted his chin a little higher, reading my silence wrong.
“You might be a big deal in the equine world,” I said, almost conversationally, “but you don’t know much about Gia.”
“I know being around you hurts her.”
That one hit me hard. For half a second, last night flashed through my head—Gia in my arms, soft and looking at me like she wanted to trust me even while she was bracing for the impact of some sort of hurt.
Hudson saw the hit. The smugness that crept into his expression shredded my patience.
I glanced down at the screwdriver still in my hand, turning it once between my fingers before looking back at him.
“Careful,” I said quietly.
The word barely carried. Hudson stilled.
“You’re mistaking restraint for weakness.”
The breeze shifted between us. I took one more step forward. Hudson’s shoulders locked.
“If Gia ever comes to me hurt because of you, you better hope I’m in a forgiving mood.” No raised voice. No shouting. That was the thing about real danger. It didn’t need volume.
Hudson swallowed. He slammed his truck door hard enough to rattle the windows and stalked off across the gravel.
I watched him go, rolling the screwdriver once more through my palm.
Yeah. He’d understood me perfectly.