Chapter 17
Tex
Two engines turn over almost in unison—one an old diesel with a rough, uneven idle that speaks to years of hard use. Ranch truck.
The sound cuts through Havenridge’s morning calm, too loud and immediately wrong. Trucks like that don’t come up this road by accident.
In the kitchen, Jane stands at the stove in one of my flannels, sleeves shoved up her forearms, dark curls loose and wild around her face.
She’s barefoot, humming off-key as she stirs something that smells like coffee and intent, looking entirely too comfortable in my space—like she’s been quietly domesticating my life one small habit at a time.
I’m at the counter, skimming the day’s list more out of routine than need, when her humming falters and drops away.
The spoon stills in her hand.
Her shoulders draw tight, subtle but unmistakable, the same reflex I saw in the bathroom—the way she braces without moving, like she’s learned that stillness can sometimes soften a blow.
“What’s that?” she asks, her voice light, almost careless.
I move toward the window.
Two trucks approach the drive, tires crunching over packed snow. They don’t slow down like visitors; they arrive with the determination of men who have made up their minds.
A door slams.
Then another.
Three figures step out.
Jane moves, joining me at the window. Her breath catches when she sees them, and the color drains from her face as if someone pulled a plug.
“No,” she whispers.
I turn toward her. “Jane—”
“How did they—They weren’t supposed to know about—” Her voice breaks.
She’s not speaking to me. She’s addressing the part of her that thought she could take a sideways step without the world catching up.
I glance back out the window.
“Caleb,” Jane murmurs, looking at the tall and broad-shouldered man, his jaw set hard, giving off oldest brother energy.
The next man is leaner and quicker, his head swiveling as if he’s already scanning for threats.
“Weston,” Jane says almost absently. Her gaze flickers to the third man. “And Boone.”
He has a tight, spring-loaded posture, as if too much emotion is coiled within him. He looks like a man who would throw a punch before asking questions.
Caleb. Weston. Boone. Jane’s brothers.
Caleb’s eyes are locked on my cabin as if it’s an enemy stronghold.
Weston says something to Boone, likely a warning.
Boone pulls his hat down harder, as if it will contain his temper.
I don’t like any of it.
Jane’s hands curl into fists at her sides.
“I didn’t tell them I was here,” she says quickly, already defending herself. “I swear, Tex. I just said I needed space.”
“I know,” I reply, my voice low. “They found out another way.”
The auction.
Clover Canyon gossip spreads faster than fire.
And nothing ignites more interest than Jane Cutter being bought by a stranger.
The thought tightens something ugly behind my ribs. Not because I’m ashamed of her, but because I know what this will do to her.
I step closer. “Do you want me to handle this?”
Jane’s eyes flash, wounded pride rising like a shield. “I can handle my brothers.”
Then her throat bobs, and her gaze drops to the floor. “I just... I don’t want them looking at me like I’m stupid. Impulsive.”
“You’re not stupid,” I assure her immediately.
She snorts quietly. “You didn’t deny the impulsive part.”
I turn to look at her. “Because being impulsive isn’t a weakness. It’s part of who you are.”
Her eyes soften for a second before a brittle laugh escapes. “Tex, I auctioned myself off to a man I’d never met.”
My jaw tightens. “It’s a matter of perspective. You made a choice. A brave one.”
Her gaze lifts, raw with emotion. “And they’re going to think I did it to punish them.”
“Did you?”
Jane's mouth opens, then closes. Her silence is answer enough.
Before I can say anything else, boots hit the porch. The knock that follows isn’t a knock at all. It’s a demand.
Jane flinches.
I don’t. I move past her, positioning myself between her and the door, and open it.
Caleb stands on the threshold, his face carved from stone. Weston is half a step behind him, jaw tight. Boone’s eyes are fixed on the interior of my cabin, cataloging everything he wants to destroy.
Caleb’s gaze lands on me, then shifts, homing in on Jane. His expression changes from anger to relief to a pain so sharp that it seems to physically wound him.
“Jane,” he rumbles.
Jane lifts her chin, but her eyes shine. “Caleb.”
Weston’s gaze sweeps over her in my flannel, her legs bare. The warmth of this cabin clings to her like evidence. He exhales sharply through his nose, visibly swallowing whatever he wants to say.
Boone doesn’t bother with restraint. “What the hell is this?” he snaps, stepping forward.
I shift into his path instinctively.
Boone stops, narrowing his eyes at my chest. “You’re Tex,” he states, as if the name tastes wrong.
“That’s what people call me,” I reply evenly.
Boone’s gaze flicks back to Jane. “You didn’t even tell us.”
Jane’s voice shakes. “I told you I needed space.”
“Space isn’t a goddamn auction!” Boone barks.
Caleb’s hand shoots out, catching Boone’s shoulder. “Boone. Enough.”
Boone shrugs him off but stays back.
Caleb steps forward until he’s close enough for me to smell cold air on him. “We’re taking her home.”
Jane stiffens. “No.”
Weston’s eyes flash. “Jane—”
“No,” she repeats, louder. “I’m not a horse you can haul back to the ranch because you don’t like where I wandered.”
Boone scoffs. “You’re our sister.”
“And that’s the only thing you ever let me be,” Jane snaps, her words cracking like a whip.
Silence slams into the room. Even the flames in the fireplace seem to dim.
Caleb’s face tightens. “That’s not fair.”
Jane’s laugh is sharp and painful. “Isn’t it? I’m twenty-six, Caleb. You still look at me like I’m ten and about to fall off a fence.”
Weston’s voice softens, revealing his role as a peacemaker. “We were worried.”
“I know,” Jane replies, her breath trembling. “I know. And I love you. But being worried doesn’t give you the right to own me.”
Boone’s jaw ticks. “No one owns you.”
Jane’s eyes flash. “Then why does it feel like I have to ask permission to breathe?”
Caleb flinches. That hits him. Good, because she’s right.
I’ve seen this dynamic a hundred times in different uniforms and families—love twisted into control because control feels safer than fear.
Caleb’s voice drops. “You left. You were deliberately vague when we messaged. We didn’t know where you were."
“I checked in,” Jane says too quickly.
Weston’s gaze flicks to me. “She’s with you.”
“Yes,” I confirm.
Boone’s eyes narrow. “And you think that’s okay?”
Jane turns on him. “Don’t.”
Boone holds up his hands. “I’m not talking to you, Jane. I’m talking to him.”
“And that’s the problem, right there,” she snaps. “You always talk over me like I’m not here.”
Boone's face reddens. “Because you do stupid—”
“Boone,” Caleb warns.
“Say it.” Jane’s voice is deadly quiet.
Boone looks like he wants to swallow his words, but his anger is too strong. “You do stupid things, and we have to clean up the mess!”
Jane goes completely still.
Her face goes blank in a way that makes my chest ache. She’s shutting down, pulling on the same mask I’ve seen her wear when she’s drowning but doesn’t want anyone to throw her a rope. Because feeling too much hurts, but asking for help hurts more.
Then she nods once, slow and controlled. “Okay.”
Caleb’s brow furrows. “Jane—”
“No,” she repeats calmly. Too calmly. “It’s fine. You’re right. I’m a mess. I always have been.”
Weston steps forward. “That’s not what he meant.”
“It’s what he said,” Jane replies.
She turns toward the hallway as if heading to her room, then stops. She looks back at them, eyes bright but steady. “I didn’t do this to punish you. I did it because I needed to know who I was when you weren’t holding the leash.”
Boone’s face pales. “We never—”
Jane lifts a hand, stalling him. “You don’t even realize you do it. Just like I don’t realize I’m creating a mess until it’s too late.”
Her gaze flicks to me for a split second, small and devastated.
Then she grabs her coat from the hook by the door and shoves her feet into her boots without sitting down. She moves fast, like if she stops, she’ll crack.
Caleb steps forward. “Jane. Come on. Let’s go home.”
Jane’s laugh is hollow. “Home?”
Weston’s voice softens again. “Please.”
Jane shakes her head. “I can’t breathe right now.”
Then she turns, yanks open the door, and steps out into the cold.
I instinctively move to follow her. “Jane—”
She storms down the porch steps and heads toward the field behind the cabin—the same stretch of snow where I caught her when she fell. The same place where our first kiss detonated.
I glance back to see her brothers behind me on the porch.
Caleb looks like he’s been punched.
Weston looks like he wants to chase her.
Boone looks like he wants to tear the world apart.
I stop at the base of the steps and turn to face them because they don’t get to follow her into that field as if they own her pain.
Caleb’s voice is strained. “We’re not here to fight you.”
“I don’t care," I reply flatly.
Boone bristles. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
I hold his gaze without blinking. “The man she chose.”