Chapter 4
LILAH
My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out. Not because of the fall I’d taken, but from the man standing six inches away with his hand still wrapped around mine and his mouth close enough that I could still feel the warmth of his breath.
I should've stepped back. Should have put distance between us and pretended that kiss hadn't rattled something loose inside my chest. But my feet stayed planted and my fingers stayed locked with his.
"We should go," I somehow managed.
"Yeah." But he didn't move either.
The wind kicked up and sent my hair across my face. Dawson reached out and tucked it behind my ear. His fingertips brushed my jaw and lingered half a second too long.
I pulled back first, forcing myself to climb into the truck and shut the door before I did something stupid like kiss him again.
The drive back to the ranch passed in silence. Not the comfortable kind where two people existed without needing to fill space. This was the charged kind where every breath felt loud and every glance carried meaning.
Dawson's hands gripped the steering wheel like he was trying to strangle it. His jaw worked, but he didn't say a word. I watched the landscape roll past and tried to convince myself this was temporary…. the training… the attraction… all of it.
I'd been here before. Different town, different cowboy, same mistake waiting to happen.
When we pulled up to the barn, I opened the door before the truck came to a full stop.
"Lilah."
I paused, one boot on the running board. "What?"
"You need to ice your side. Twenty minutes. It's going to swell if you don't."
"I know how to handle bruises."
"I'm sure you do." He killed the engine and climbed out. "That doesn't mean you should have to."
I dropped to the ground and winced when my weight shifted wrong. Damn it, he noticed. He seemed to notice everything.
"I'll grab a bag of ice and meet you in the kitchen."
"I can get it myself."
"Sure you can, but you're going to let me get it for you." He walked past me toward the barn, his stride long and deliberate. "Give me five minutes, and don't make me come looking for you."
I stood there in the cold and stared after him. Bossy didn't begin to cover it. He was protective when he had no right to be, maybe even more stubborn than I was, and apparently determined to drive me out of my mind.
And the worst part was… I kind of liked it.
I followed the worn path to the main house, pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and eased into it carefully, my side throbbing in time with my pulse.
Dawson came in two minutes later with an ice pack and a dish towel. He crossed the kitchen and set both on the table, then leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms.
"Lift your shirt."
My head snapped up. "Excuse me?"
"I need to see the bruise."
"No, you don't."
"Come on, Trouble.” His voice dropped lower. Not threatening but still demanding. "I've seen enough injuries to know when someone's trying to hide how bad it is. Let me take a look."
"It's fine."
"Then prove it."
We stared at each other across the kitchen. His blue eyes didn't waver, and his jaw stayed set in that stubborn line I'd already seen a few times that meant he wouldn't back down.
I huffed out my frustration and lifted the hem of my thermal shirt. The bruise had already started to darken along my ribs, spreading from my hip to just below my breast. It was purple and angry and worse than I wanted to admit.
Dawson's expression didn't change but his hands curled into fists at his sides. "Dammit, woman."
"It's not broken."
"You don't know that." He pushed off the counter and crossed the space between us.
"Yes, I do." I dropped my shirt and reached for the ice pack. "I've broken ribs before. I know what it feels like.”
"Give me that." He crouched next to my chair and wrapped the ice pack in the towel before pressing it gently against my side.
I sucked in a breath.
"Too much?"
"No." The cold burned but in a good way that meant the swelling wouldn't get worse. "It's fine."
His hand stayed on the pack, holding it in place. His knuckles brushed the bare skin just above my jeans and a wave of heat surged through me that had nothing to do with my injury.
"You scared the hell out of me today."
"What?" I blinked back my shock. In the short time we’d known each other, it seemed like the only thing Dawson Griffith gave a damn about was his horses.
"When you fell." His gaze lifted to mine. "I thought—" He stopped and shook his head. "Doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does. What were you going to say?”
"No." He stood. "It doesn't."
The ice pack slipped, and I caught it, pressing it against my side with both hands. My heart hammered for entirely different reasons now.
"Tell me."
He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the ceiling. "I shouldn't have kissed you."
The words stung, like a slap across the face. "It wasn’t just you. I kissed you back."
"I know. But I started it and I shouldn't have." He turned toward the window, his shoulders tense. "You're here to train. I'm here to work. That's it."
"That's it," I repeated, my voice flat.
"Yeah."
I set the ice pack on the table and stood, ignoring the protest from my ribs. "Then what was that in the parking lot?"
"A mistake."
"That mistake felt pretty intentional to me."
His jaw tightened but he didn't turn around. "That doesn't change what it was."
Heat flooded my chest, and it wasn’t the good kind. It was the angry kind that swept over me when someone decided what I wanted without asking. "You don't get to decide that on your own."
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." I crossed the kitchen and stopped behind him. "You kissed me. I kissed you back. We're both adults who made a choice. You don't get to call it a mistake and walk away like I don't have a say."
He turned then, his eyes dark and conflicted. "I'm not good at this."
"Good at what?"
"This." He gestured between us. "Whatever the hell this is."
"Neither am I." I held his gaze. "But I'm also not going to pretend it didn't happen."
"Lilah—"
"I'm not asking you for anything. I'm not asking you to fix my life or rescue me or make promises you can't keep." I paused to suck in a breath. "But don't kiss me like that and then act like it meant nothing."
His jaw clenched, then unclenched. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then he reached up and cupped my cheek like he'd decided to stop fighting whatever was going on in his head.
"You’re right. It didn't mean nothing."
My breath caught.
"But I don't know what the hell to do with it." His thumb brushed my cheekbone. "You're leaving in a few weeks. I'm staying here. We both know how this ends."
"Maybe." I leaned into his touch. "Or maybe we stop worrying about endings and see what happens."
"That's not how I work."
"Then maybe it's time you tried something different."
His mouth curved. Not quite a smile but close. "You're trouble."
"You're stubborn."
"Yeah." His hand dropped and he stepped back, putting distance between us again. "Seems like we have that in common."
The loss of contact stung more than it should have. I picked up the ice pack and pressed it against my side again, using the cold to ground myself.
"I'm going to finish my afternoon work," Dawson said. "You're going to stay here and ice that bruise. Twenty minutes minimum."
"And then?"
"Then you're going to take it easy the rest of the day." His gaze held mine. "Tomorrow we'll figure out the rest."
He left before I could argue. The door closed behind him, and I stood alone in the quiet kitchen with melting ice against my ribs and questions I couldn't answer running through my head.
I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Coming to Mustang Mountain was supposed to be temporary. A stopgap while I fought to get my horse back and figured out my next move. Training with Dawson's stock made sense. Kissing him didn't.
But damn, I didn't want to take it back.
I sank into the chair and held the ice pack in place, watching through the window as Dawson crossed the yard toward the barn. His stride was long and sure, his shoulders squared strong. He carried himself with a quiet confidence that probably served him well when breaking horses.
People weren't that different from animals. We both ran when we got scared. We both fought when cornered. And we both learned to protect ourselves after getting hurt enough times.
I'd been protecting myself for years. Walking away from bad contracts and worse partnerships. Keeping my distance from anyone who might complicate things. It worked. It kept me safe. It also kept me alone.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw three missed texts from my lawyer. Updates on the case. Nothing good. The promoter's legal team was stalling, and my savings were running thin.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket and closed my eyes.
Outside, a low sound cut through the quiet. It wasn't a bark, but something deeper. I crossed to the window and looked out.
A wolf stood in the yard, massive and unmoving, his dark coat blending in with the late afternoon shadows. Dawson walked toward him from the barn. The wolf didn’t move until Dawson crouched, then stepped forward and let Dawson run his hand over its head.
My lungs squeezed tight.
The wolf lifted his head and looked straight at the house. At me.
Before I could move, he turned and padded toward the porch. Dawson followed, and a moment later the door opened.
“Hey, Lilah. Hades wants to meet you,” Dawson called out.
“Meet me or eat me?” I moved toward the door, my steps slow and cautious. I’d heard about Hades, the wild wolf that looked after the residents of Mustang Mountain. But hearing about him and seeing him standing ten feet away weren’t the same thing.
“He won’t hurt you.” Dawson stood just inside the door with the gigantic wolf next to him.
This close, Hades looked even bigger than he had through the window. He took a couple of steps toward me, his nose twitching like he was studying my scent. I stayed still, trusting that he wasn’t about to rip me to pieces.
After a long beat, the wolf pressed his nose to my hand. I exhaled and rested my fingers against his thick fur. The wolf sat down at my side like he’d made up his mind that I was safe.
“He likes you.” Dawson gave me a rare smile. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend, Trouble.”
“Trouble, huh? Is that what you’ve decided you’re going to call me?”
“Suits you. Don’t forget to ice your side. Twenty minutes.” He turned to go, leaving me there with a bruised side, a wolf sitting at my feet, and the uneasy sense that something had just shifted.