17. Winnie
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
winnie
The herd is still being rounded back in. From the far ridge, I can hear the echoing shouts of men. Danger’s not talking. Neither am I.
Don’t ask me how I got him to stay, why he hasn’t already stormed off. I wonder if it’s stubbornness, or if there’s a part of him that wants someone to ask him to stay.
His eyes are a wolf-gray, catching and reflecting the weak yard bulb over the barn door. “You know this won’t stop me, right?”
I move a little closer. “I still get an hour first.”
He lets out a breath—maybe a laugh, maybe not. “Whatever.”
I let the silence speak for a moment. I’m good at silence, at not rushing him.
My mama always says never fill space with noise just to be heard. That you learn more when you can sit in the quiet, and understand it’s not something to be afraid of. But then again, she says that animals know everything before we do. Haven’t figured out if that one’s true yet.
“I have to go,” he says. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“If I let the Kennedys get away with that, they’ll be back. Do worse next time.”
The way he says it—flat, no anger—like he’s used to this.
“Or you could let your brothers help you,” I say, and Danger just laughs.
This time it’s a real laugh.
“I can handle it,” he says. “Either way, it’s my call.”
He pulls off his backwards cap, slides his fingers through his dark hair then puts it back on.
I turn and sit on the bench outside the barn, letting the quiet stretch. The night is still. Danger hardly moves, but I know he’s watching.
“I see through it,” I say simply. “You’re not as good at hiding it as you think.”
Moonlight slips through the trees, catching the edge of his face as he walks closer. “Hiding what?”
“The tough-guy act.” I shrug, like it’s obvious. “I know you’re strong. Everyone does. But I know there’s another side to you. A soft side. I see it with Fisher. I see it slip through sometimes.”
That finally gets his attention. He exhales, then sits beside me on the bench. One arm drapes along the back, easy and careless, “Stop looking for the good in people.”
“No, because everyone should have someone see the good in them.”
He laughs. “If you knew all the terrible things I’ve done you wouldn’t be saying that. I’m not my brother. All you’ve ever paid attention to is Trouble. That’s not me.”
“What?”
“You chased my brother around for years. Don’t pretend you figured me out just because you’ve been around me lately.”
His voice should be cruel, but it’s just tired. He’s right—I did do that. But maybe all this time I’ve been paying attention to the wrong brother.
“I might not have chased you around, but I paid attention," I admit.
Danger arches an eyebrow, mouth tilting in a half-smirk. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” I fix my eyes on the pasture ahead because I can’t look at him when I say this.
“You were the hot, intimidating older brother. The one who dated pretty girls like Rylee. The one no one messed with.” I risk a glance at him.
“You were always the older boy I never had a chance with. The one who would never notice someone like me.”
Even the horses go still. A hundred yards out, ears flicking, they pause like they sense something shifting.
Danger takes his time before he responds. “All I do is notice you,” he finally says.
My heart stutters.
“You do?”
“You think I’m hot?” he asks, like he just remembered the words.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
He lets out a long exhale. His arm stays behind me, easy and possessive, like he’s not aware of it at all. “No, most people are scared of me.”
“I’m not.”
He shakes his head. “You should be.”
“I’ll remember to keep my distance,” I say, even though neither of us moves. “After we’re done fake dating, of course.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. Barely. “Good.”
He stays right there. Doesn't close the distance. Doesn't give me room either. Like he's trying to keep himself under control.
I should probably stop staring at his mouth.
“Tomorrow night is Trouble and Sawyer’s engagement party,” I say, reaching for the first distraction I can find. “The whole town will be there. Rylee. Finn. Everyone.”
I keep talking because some part of him is still somewhere else, and I want all of him here.
“Rylee nearly lost it tonight,” I add with a small laugh. “And honestly? That part was amazing. She actually bought it.”
I swallow.
“But I don’t just want a believable kiss next time.”
He studies me. “You don’t?
I shake my head. “Believable gets people talking for a night. I want unforgettable. I spent so long trying not to take up too much space that I think people forgot I was even there."
I shake my head. "I don't want to be forgettable anymore."
The second I say it, I want to take it back.
But it's true.
His expression shifts, just enough that I almost miss it.
"Forgettable?" he repeats quietly.
I shrug, suddenly fascinated by my hands.
"The last thing you are is forgettable."
My eyes snap to his. He holds my gaze for a moment before clearing his throat.
"But you don't make a man forget the world with one kiss, shortcake."
His whole body is wound tight, like he's forcing himself to stay put when every instinct is telling him to throw his truck into gear and leave.
"Then I guess you better teach me what does."
Nothing. He doesn't even blink.
"Winnie."
It's a warning. Low. Rough.
"Look at me."
"I am looking," he says, but he's not. Not really.
He's still staring at his truck. Still angry. Still ready to leave. I reach for his chin, forcing him to look at me. His gaze drops to my shoulder. My mouth. Then drags away again. Like he's fighting for it. Like he's trying to hold onto being mad. Trying to remember why.
"You’re still thinking about going after them."
"They deserve it."
"Maybe." I shrug. "But I deserve a lesson."
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
I move closer. "Just teach me."
The tension in his shoulders eases just barely. Not because he's calm. Because it's me. Because for all the things Danger can control, I've never been one of them.
His laugh is low. Humorless. "It's not the time."
"I think it's the perfect time," I say, hooking a finger through one of his belt loops.
He looks down at my hand, then back at me. "You really want this lesson?"
I nod.
"First." He catches my wrist before I can move. "If you want a cowboy thinkin' about kissin' you..." His voice trails off as his thumb brushes over my pulse. "Don't start with his mouth."
“Then where?"
He studies me for a long moment, like he's deciding whether to answer. "You don't aim for where he expects."
"Why?"
"Because if he knows what's coming..." A small smile tugs at his mouth. "He quits paying attention."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then you've got him."
“Hmm.”
I take a chance and lean forward, pressing my mouth to the rough edge of his collarbone, where his shirt is open. I smell his aftershave and something distinctly him. He swallows, like it’s out of pure resistance.
"Slower," he rasps.
My teeth graze the same spot, and the muscle under my lips jumps once, hard, like he's already losing this battle. He exhales sharp, almost a hiss. His hand slips off the back of the bench and finds my hip, fingers digging in just enough to tell me this is working.
"Good," he says, quieter now.
My mouth moves higher, tracing up his neck slowly. His pulse thrums against my tongue, faster now. His grip tightens, but he doesn't stop me.
I linger under his ear, breathing him in. His chest rises, falls, rises again, uneven.
"Now he's payin' attention," he breathes.
My lips brush the shell of his ear, and his breath catches. His thumb flexes against my side, probably leaving a mark.
I quit trying to guess the right move and just go with the moment. I lick the curve of his ear, slow. His entire body jerks. His hand slides up my back, just holding on.
"How's that?"
He exhales. "You keep this up and I'm gonna be out of a job."
I grin, but I don't stop. My fingers hook beneath the bottom of his shirt, brushing the warm skin of his stomach. His muscles tighten instantly beneath my touch.
His eyes track my hand, his breathing just a little less steady than before.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I close the distance. Just the lightest brush of my lips against his. A question. An invitation. A mistake. Because the second he breaks, he breaks completely. One hand drags slowly up my spine before closing around the back of my neck. The other drags me closer.
And just like that, whoever he wanted to fight doesn't exist anymore. Whoever they are dies against my lips, swallowed whole by the rough, unhurried press of his mouth. He doesn’t ask.
He takes. And god, do I let him. His tongue slides against mine, tasting like whiskey and the best kind of bad decision.
His hands are everywhere now, moving from my face to my hips like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
No rush. No question.
And suddenly I’m moving as he guides me until I’m straddling his lap, knees on both sides of him.
The bench creaks softly beneath us. He doesn’t break the kiss.
Doesn’t even react to how sharply I inhale.
Like this was inevitable. Like he knew exactly where I’d end up the moment he decided he was done holding back.
"Fuck, Winnie," he says, voice wrecked. "You feel that? That’s what you do to me."
I do. I feel everything. The thick, aching length of him pressed against my core, the way he shifts to meet my desperate rolls, the way his fingers tighten possessively on my ass, pulling me harder against him.
His hat’s knocked off somewhere, those dark curls I love tangling in my fingers as I fist my hands in his hair.
His mouth finds my throat, slow and unhurried, like he’s forgotten the world exists beyond this bench.
“Do you still wanna leave?” I ask, grinding shamelessly against the hard ridge in his pants. “My time is almost up.”
He takes a deep and filthy breath. “Not a chance.”
“Thought so,” I say, smiling against his ear.
“Don’t outsmart the teacher,” he murmurs against my throat, teeth scraping over my pulse.
I should probably remember this is supposed to be practice. Instead, all I can think about is him. How good he feels. I rock into him, needy, reckless. The feeling of turning on Danger Stetson is intoxicating, the only air I want to breathe in.
A sound slips from him—half laugh, half groan—as his grip tightens, holding me firmly in his lap. Like if he lets go, he’ll die right here. My pulse is everywhere. In my throat. My lips. The place where he’s holding me steady. I let a soft moan slip.
He answers in a kiss—deeper, slower, like he’s choosing me instead of the fight burning under his skin. Instead of leaving to go straight for blood.
“Boss! Cattle’s back in. Fence is fixed—for now.” A voice yells out, shattering this bubble we’re in.
I jolt, scrambling off his lap just as boots crunch around the corner of the barn. My cheeks are on fire, lips swollen, heart still pounding like I just ran a mile.
Danger stays seated, an arm dropping along the back of the bench. Calm. Collected. All sharp edges and control again.
“Good,” he says evenly. “Pull in a few more hands. I want extra eyes on the ranch the next few nights.”
“On it.”
The man disappears as quickly as he came, leaving the night ringing with what almost could have happened.
When we’re alone again, Danger looks at me, and something dark and amused flickers through his eyes.
“You realize,” he says quietly, “you saved a man's life tonight.”
My lips are still buzzing. My knees feel weak.
“That was the plan,” I say, grinning like it might calm my nerves.
It doesn’t.
“This deal of ours,” he says, his mouth curves, slow and dangerous.
“What about it?”
“We have rules,” he says. “Don’t forget them.”
Right. His rules. No feelings. No fucking.
I swallow, counting every way I’m going to make him break them.