Broken Outlaw (Iron Ridge #2)

Chapter 1

MASON

Itell myself I'm here for the whiskey.

It's a lie, and I know it before I push through the door of the Rusty Spur.

The same lie I've told myself each time I’ve come here.

The same bar. The same stool at the end where I can see the exits and keep my back to the wall.

The same drink—two fingers of bourbon I nurse for an hour while I pretend I'm not watching her.

I’m here for her, and tonight I’m going to make contact.

I do a sweep of the room. She’s not here yet, but I know she will be.

Just the thought of it has me hard, my hands gripping my glass so tight my knuckles go white.

It’s been driving me crazy, this hunger.

I force myself to breathe through it, to lock it down, just like I’ve been doing since the first time I saw her walk through that door.

I’ve never felt anything like it, but it’s to a point that I can’t ignore it any longer.

And this afternoon, as I watched a ranch hand “accidentally” run into her in the parking lot of her veterinary clinic, I knew I was done denying myself. If I don’t move, some asshole is going to claim my woman.

Not gonna happen.

The cameras I’d installed around her house and work to keep an eye on her are well and good—I like watching her walk through her day—but it’s not enough, and I will not lose her. She is mine.

So tonight I'm going to stop hiding in the shadows. Tonight I’m going to stop pretending I'm just a man having a drink. Tonight I want her, her trust. I want those pretty guarded eyes on me. That shaky little breath she gives when I step too close? I want to feel it on my skin.

And, God help me, I want to find out what she’d sound like if I finally touched her the way I’ve been imagining for the past two months.

The bar is busy. Friday crowd, locals mixed with ranch hands blowing off steam.

Music blares from the jukebox—something country and forgettable.

Keeping my Stetson angled low over my eyes, I take a spot at the bar, order my usual drink, and settle into the familiar rhythm of watching without being noticed.

I lift the glass to my mouth, hoping the bite distracts me from the relentless need.

It doesn’t.

My eyes lock in on the door. We've never spoken beyond a muttered hello, but from the first moment our eyes met across this bar—hers sharp and distrustful—she’s stayed with me. Burrowed under my skin like a splinter I can't dig out.

The more I see of her, the more I want to uncover.

I shouldn't be here. I should be at the ranch, running perimeter checks, or cleaning my rifle, or doing literally anything that doesn't involve sitting in a crowded bar hoping to catch a glimpse of a woman I have no business wanting.

But I can’t help it, and I’m done fighting it.

I want Lily Carter.