Chapter 7
TORIN
The drive to Claire's place took fifteen minutes, but it felt like thirty. I kept replaying the text she'd sent. It was short but had enough details to make my chest tighten. Her father had mentioned a horse. A bronc named Bad Habit that had shaped the Hollister herd.
Bad Habit.
I'd seen that name before. My fingers drummed once against the steering wheel, then stilled. It was all adding up… the missing file… the breeding records Dawson had pulled from the Wilde Creek archives. The pressure behind my ribs told me we were onto something that mattered.
The Hollister house came into view with warm light spilling from the kitchen window. I parked next to Claire's SUV and climbed out, the gravel crunching under my boots.
She opened the door before I reached the porch, her eyes fixed on me like she’d been watching for my truck. “Come in.”
I stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind me. The house still held the faint scent of dust and old wood, but underneath that was something warmer. Maybe it was Claire’s shampoo. Whatever it was, I liked it.
"Tell me everything," I said.
She led me into the kitchen and gestured toward a chair. We both sat and she finally started filling me in.
"My father mentioned a bronc called Bad Habit. He said it changed the course of the Hollister bloodline, and we still have descendants of his on the ranch to this day. There’s got to be a connection, right?” Excitement made her eyes shine bright.
I pulled out my phone, already scrolling to the screenshot I'd taken of Dawson's ledger. "Bad Habit."
Her gaze snapped to mine. "You've seen the name?”
I turned the phone toward her, and she leaned in, her shoulder brushing mine as she studied the screen. The entry was clear: Bad Habit – bay bronc – shared stock, 1912.
"That's him.”
I zoomed in on the notation. The horse had been listed under both Hollister and Kincaid ownership in the same year. Not sold, not transferred, but shared.
"This proves the bloodlines cross," I said. "Dawson's herd doesn't just trace back to Kincaid stock. It traces back to Hollister stock too. Same animal. Same year."
Claire straightened, her breath catching. "So the rodeo problem—"
"Goes away," I finished. "If Dawson can prove his stock descends from Bad Habit, and Bad Habit was jointly owned, then the feud narrative doesn't hold. The horses weren't stolen or fought over. They were bred together."
She stared at the phone for another beat, then looked up at me. "This changes everything."
"Yeah."
The weight of what we’d uncovered settled between us. This wasn't just about fixing a permit issue or salvaging the rodeo expansion. This was proof that the story Mustang Mountain had been telling itself for a hundred years wasn't complete. And Claire had been the one to crack it open.
I set the phone down on the table, my hand close enough to hers that I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. The kitchen was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft rustle of wind against the window.
"You did this," I said.
She shook her head. "We did it together."
"Claire—"
She turned toward me, and whatever I'd been about to say died in my throat. The way she was looking at me wasn't careful anymore. It was open and direct and tinged with something that made my pulse roar in my ears.
"I keep telling myself this is a bad idea," she said, almost whispering.
"Which part?"
"All of it. Being here. Digging into things people want left alone." Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then came back up. "You."
I didn't move. Didn't let myself reach for her, even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to close the distance between us.
"And?" I asked.
"And I don't care."
The words punched through the last thread of restraint I'd been holding onto.
I leaned into her, one hand sliding to her waist, the other curving along her jaw.
She didn't pull back. Her hands came up to my chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, and when I kissed her, she kissed me back with a kind of certainty that made the rest of the world fall away.
This wasn't like the kiss we'd shared earlier… careful, restrained, both of us testing the water. This was deeper. Hungrier. Her mouth opened under mine, and I groaned low in my throat, pulling her closer until there was no space left between us.
The soft sound she made when my hand slid to the small of her back nearly undid me.
I'd spent years telling myself I was good at keeping my distance.
At staying controlled. At not letting anyone get close enough to crack the walls I'd built.
But sitting at Claire's kitchen table with her pressed against me, her hands sliding up to my shoulders, I realized I didn't want distance anymore.
I wanted her.
The kiss deepened, and I lost track of everything but the way her body fit against mine.
She was soft where I was hard, warm where I was rough.
My hands slid down to her hips, gripping tight enough to leave fingerprints through the fabric of her dress.
She made a sound against my mouth, something between a gasp and a demand, and that was all the permission I needed.
I got up, lifted her onto the kitchen table and stepped between her thighs. The wood groaned under her weight, but I didn’t care. My mouth trailed down her neck, my teeth grazing the pulse point just below her ear. She arched into me and dug her nails into my shoulders.
“Torin—”
“Say it again.”
Her breath hitched. “What?”
“My name. Say it just like that.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Torin.”
Fuck. The way she said it—low, rough, like she was already half-undone—sent a jolt straight to my cock. I kissed her harder, my hands sliding up her ribs, my thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She was warm and solid beneath my palms, and I wanted more. Needed more.
I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. She searched my face like she was looking for hesitation. She wasn’t going to find it.
Her lips were swollen, her brown eyes dark with need. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I didn’t wait. I hooked my arms under her knees and behind her back, lifting her against my chest. She let out a surprised laugh but wrapped her arms around my neck to hold on.
“You’re going to break your back,” she murmured against my ear.
“You underestimate me, Sweetness. You’re light as a feather.” I took the stairs two at a time, my boots heavy on the old wood. “And you’re mine.”
The words came out rougher than I meant them to, but I didn’t take them back. Because right now, in this house, with the weight of her in my arms and the taste of her still on my tongue, I wasn’t just kissing Claire Hollister. I was staking a claim.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the hallway light spilling through the open door. I set her down on the edge of the mattress, my hands already working at the buttons of her dress. She reached for my belt, her fingers fumbling with the buckle.
“Slow down,” I growled, catching her wrists.
She glared up at me, her chest rising and falling fast. “I’ve been waiting years for this. I’m not waiting another second.”
The admission hit me like a punch to the gut. Years. She’d been gone, but she’d thought about this. About me.
I groaned, my forehead dropping to hers. “Claire.”
Her hands slid up my chest, her touch sure now. “Shut up and kiss me.”
I gave my girl what she wanted. This time, there was nothing careful about it. My mouth crashed into hers, my hands tangling in her hair, tilting her head back so I could take the kiss deeper. She moaned into me, her body arching against mine, and I lost what little control I had left.
Her dress came off in a rush. Buttons popped and fabric pooled at her waist before I shoved it the rest of the way down her legs. She kicked it aside, her hands going to the hem of her cami, but I stopped her.
“Let me.”
She swallowed hard but nodded, her fingers falling away.
I hooked my thumbs under the thin straps and dragged them down her arms, slow, watching her face the whole time. The cami joined the dress on the floor, leaving her in nothing but a lace bra and panties. My breath stuttered.
“Fuck, Claire.”
She was beautiful. Soft curves, full breasts, her skin flushed from my mouth and my hands.
I reached behind her, unhooking her bra with one flick of my fingers, and then she was bare to me.
I didn’t waste time. I cupped her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she gasped, her back arching.
“Too much?” I murmured.
“No.” Her hands gripped my wrists, not to stop me, but to hold me there. “Not enough.”
I groaned, my mouth replacing my hands. She tasted like salt and heat, her skin smooth under my tongue. I took my time, learning what made her breath catch, what made her nails dig into my shoulders. When I finally pulled back, her lips were parted, her eyes glazed.
“Your turn,” she whispered, pushing at my shirt.
I stripped it off in one motion, then kicked off my boots. Her hands went to my belt again, this time with more success. The buckle clinked open, the zipper hissing down. I wriggled out of my jeans as fast as I could, leaving me in just my boxer briefs with my cock straining against the fabric.
Claire’s gaze dropped. Her tongue slipped out and ran along her upper lip.
“You keep looking at me like that, this isn’t gonna last long,” I warned.
She didn’t stop. Instead, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of my boxers and tugged. “Then stop talking.”
I let her pull them down to free my cock. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t hesitate. Her hand wrapped around me, her grip firm, and I hissed through my teeth.
“Claire—”
“Oh, shush.” She grinned at me as she swept her thumb over my head.
I caught her wrist with one hand and reached for my wallet with the other. “Stop teasing me, Sweetness and help me find a condom.”
She flipped open my wallet and handed me the condom I always carried just in case. I took it from her, tearing it open with my teeth. Her eyes tracked my every movement as I rolled it on.
Then I was on her, my body covering hers, my cock pressing against her thigh. She spread her legs, her knees falling open, and I settled between them, the head of my cock notching against her entrance.
“Last chance to tell me to stop,” I growled.
She wrapped her legs around my hips, her heels digging into my ass. “I’d rather you just fucking moved.”
This woman was something else. I didn’t need to be told twice. I thrust into her in one deep stroke, burying myself to the hilt. She cried out, her nails raking down my back, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not when she was tight and wet and finally mine.
I set a punishing pace, my hips snapping against hers, the bed creaking under us. She met me thrust for thrust, her body moving with mine like we’d been made for this. Her low moans drove me harder, faster.
“Torin—please—”
“I’ve got you.” I grunted and slid my hand between us. My fingers found her clit. I circled, applied pressure where she needed it, and she shattered with a cry, her body clenching around me.
The sensation pushed me over the edge. I buried my face in her neck, my release tearing through me, my cock pulsing inside her as I came harder than I ever had before. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing and the weight of my body pinning hers to the mattress.
Then she turned her head, her lips brushing my ear. “Took you long enough.”
I huffed out a laugh, rolled onto my side and pulled her with me. She came willingly, her body fitting against mine like she belonged there because there was no doubt in my mind that she did.
“You were worth the wait,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
She hummed, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. “We’re going to have to do that again. Soon.”
I groaned, my cock twitching at the thought. “Give me ten minutes.”
She laughed, the sound warm and real, and I felt the truth settle in my chest. I was already in too deep.