Chapter 12 Devon
DEVON
The barn had become my unofficial headquarters. There was no command center, no glowing wall of monitors or sleek desks. Just weathered wood, the smell of leather, and a wide-open view of the Beck family home.
From the doorway of the barn loft, I had a perfect line of sight to the house. Every window. Every door. Even the little stretch of porch where Lofton liked to sit in the evenings with a glass of wine.
I leaned back in the rickety chair, arms crossed over my chest, boots propped on the beam in front of me.
It had been a week since I’d first rolled through those gates. Seven days of mapping the land, sneaking up to bed after everyone went to sleep, and more than anything, waging war with my brain to avoid all thoughts of Lofton Beck.
Turns out, staying away from her father also meant staying away from her.
And seven days earlier, I would have been fucking ecstatic about that.
And yet, somehow, I wasn’t.
Jenn and Terry had left a few days earlier, so Lofton stayed busy with her father. All of which took place inside the house and left me hanging out in the barn like a seriously overpaid scarecrow.
I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. It wasn’t entirely miserable, though. She fed me.
Celebrities were notorious for surviving on lemon water and green smoothies, so I didn’t have high expectations for what we’d be eating in Tennessee.
So much so that I’d swiped every protein bar from the beach house before we’d left.
But oh, holy shit, Lofton Beck could cook.
I’m talking homemade chicken and dumplings, pot roast, some kind of steak thing she called a London Broil that damn near melted in my mouth.
I’d added running the perimeter to my usual workout, hoping I wouldn’t be going home twenty pounds heavier.
But without fail, every morning, she’d appear in the barn with coffee strong enough to wake the dead and a plate of something fresh from the oven.
Biscuits, eggs, sometimes sausage or bacon, along with a side of fruit.
Lunch and dinner followed the same pattern.
It wasn’t just me either. When Lofton cooked, she did it for the whole army. She’d load up containers and I’d deliver them to the gate for Chris, Matt, and Apollo.
We’d her, repeatedly, that she didn’t have to feed us.
And she’d told all of us, repeatedly, that she enjoyed doing it.
Still, despite all those small daily interactions, the moments between us had been scarce.
Probably for the best, though. That charged tension from the first few days had faded into something quieter. Like both of us had stepped back from the edge of something we never should have approached.
And thank Christ for that.
A sharp vibration buzzed against my thigh. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. The name on the screen made my brow crease.
I answered immediately. “Grant.”
“Got a situation up here,” Chris said.
My posture straightened, my whole body going on alert. “What kind of situation?”
There was a brief pause. “Sebastian Cristobal is here.”
The air in the barn went still. I didn’t know all the details of Lofton’s past, but I didn’t live under a rock either. Sebastian Cristobal was Hollywood’s hottest action star and a global sex symbol. Neither of which I could give a single fuck about.
Though his role as Lofton’s ex-husband definitely piqued my interest.
“What does he want?” I snapped.
“He’s looking for Lofton.”
“Yeah, so is half the fucking country, and one seriously pissed-off stalker.” My gaze shifted toward the house again.
Had she called him?
Told him where she was?
Asked him to come?
And why the hell did that burn?
As much as I wanted to tell the fucker to take a hike and never look back, if she wanted to see him, it wasn’t my job to stop her. I’d learned my lesson on that the hard way years earlier. Hell, it was the exact reason I was in this position to begin with.
“He give you a reason?” I asked.
“No. I told him she wasn’t here. So now he’s pivoted and refusing to leave until he talks to Jenn. I got him waiting in his car. Figured you’d want to know before I call the cops and this turns into a thing.”
It was Lofton Beck and Sebastian Cristobal. Their divorce announcement almost plunged social media into mourning. It wasn’t just going to be a thing; if somebody caught wind that he was there, it was going to turn into front-page news.
I clenched my teeth. “Hold him there. I’m on my way.”
I hung up and brought up her text thread. My thumbs moved quickly, and I damn near broke the screen when I hit the send button.
Me: Your ex-husband is at the front gate.
When she didn’t reply, I called Apollo.
He answered on the second ring. “You want me to screenshot a picture of you with Sebastian Cristobal for your scrapbook?”
“Fuck off.”
He started laughing, but I found not one damn thing funny.
“Does Lofton have her phone on her?” I snapped.
“Let me check. Phone is…” there was a long pause as he presumably scanned the monitors. “Still in the kitchen. She’s in the dining room with her dad.”
Of course, she was. Murphy’s law and all.
I exhaled slowly. “All right. I’m going in.”
Apollo barked another laugh. “Have fun with that.”
I ended the call and climbed down from the loft.
Dirt and hay crunched under my boots as I jogged out of the barn and across the driveway to the house.
I debated knocking, but opted just to type in my security code and walk inside, hoping like hell I could get her attention without her dad spotting me.
The front door creaked as I stepped into the house. Voices drifted from the dining room. I couldn’t make out the words, but Lofton’s tone was soft and gentle and her father’s chuckle was deep and rich.
With stealthy steps, I made it through the living room. I paused just long enough to settle my expression into something neutral before peering around the doorway.
Her back was to me.
Her father’s was not.
He froze mid-bite, spoon hanging in the air as his smile fell.
Lofton followed his gaze over her shoulder. When our eyes met, she shot out of her seat, nearly knocking over her chair.
For a brief second, I forgot why I was there.
She was wearing short denim overalls with a white cropped t-shirt beneath, boots, and her hair pulled into a messy knot.
It was simple. Practical. Farm girl.
And somehow, the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen.
Drawing in a deep breath, I sent up a quick prayer that I could pull this off without triggering him. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Her eyes flashed wide. “Everything okay?”
I tilted my head toward the door. “Actually, I could use some help with one of the horses. It’s being … difficult.”
Her father stared at me, face blank and unreadable.
Holding my breath, I debated introducing myself as the new farmhand to jumpstart the connection in his brain rather than waiting for the fallout.
Lofton appeared equally torn, her nervous gaze bouncing between us.
Finally, the old man put us both out of our misery.
“Sounds like Salty,” he muttered before sliding the spoon into his mouth.
Lofton’s exhale was audible, and she reached up to slide a small diamond back and forth over the thin gold chain at her neck. “Probably. Let me go and check. I’ll be right back.”
He nodded and didn’t spare me another glance as he ate a piece of bacon.
She hurried past me, not stopping until we were at the front door. Pride puffed my chest when she didn’t immediately walk outside, potentially putting herself in more danger had I been there for a different reason.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, panic filling her features.
Unable to stop myself, I glided my hand up and down her arm. “Relax. Everything’s fine.”
She flicked her gaze back to the dining room. “Then why’d you come inside?”
I opened the door and guided her out onto the porch. “You didn’t have your phone. Your ex-husband is at the gate and I need to know how you want me to handle this.”
She froze. “Sebastian?”
I arched an eyebrow. “You got more than one?”
“Apparently, because there is not a chance in hell Sebastian Cristobal has the balls to show his face here.”
In the last two minutes, I’d gone from pissed off to frustrated to holding my breath. But at that, my mouth split into a grin.
“Oh God, did you let him in?”
“Absolutely not. Though he’s refusing to leave, so we might have to call the cops.”
She peered up at me, all beauty and innocence. “But we don’t trust the cops?”
Overalls, attitude, and following my rules? Fuck me. Was she trying to seduce me?
I cleared my throat. “No. But I think they can handle a trespasser.”
“Not if it’s Sebastian He’ll cause a huge scene and end up getting arrested. Then his mug shot will get leaked, and the entire world will assume we’re back together.”
I shrugged. “I can kill him.”
She barked a laugh. “We do have a backhoe that would make digging an unmarked grave a breeze.”
“Say the word and I’ll have Apollo cut the cameras.”
She beamed up at me. “Tempting, but maybe I should just talk to him instead. See if I can get rid of him.”
“We told him you weren’t here. You think he can keep his mouth shut if he finds out you are?”
“Well, he certainly kept his mouth shut about me when we were married and he slept his way through the cast of his last three movies.”
“No shit?”
She cut her gaze to the side and confirmed, “No shit.”
The muscle in my neck strained. I already didn’t like the asshole on preconceived notions alone. But it took a special piece of shit to have a woman like Lofton—her ring on your finger—as you took another woman. “Right, so I guess we’re back to me killing him.”
She laughed, but it was short lived. When her eyes came back to mine, that damn shame from our first night had returned. “Can you drive me down to the gate? He’s never been here, and I’d really like to keep it that way. He’d have all kinds of judgments if he saw this place.”
Oh, this motherfucker.
Rage burned through my veins.
I wanted to tell her no.