Chapter 8
CLAIRE
The morning light crept through the curtains, soft and golden, painting stripes across the old quilt.
I blinked against the brightness, my body sore and sated in the best way.
Then I registered the warmth at my back, the solid weight of an arm draped over my waist, big fingers curled just under my ribs.
Torin.
I lay still, listening to the quiet of the house, the creak of the floorboards settling, the distant hum of the refrigerator, the slow, even rhythm of his breathing behind me.
His chest rose and fell against my back, his body relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before. Not guarded. Not on duty. Just present.
It should’ve felt strange. Waking up next to someone after years of sleeping alone, in a bed that wasn’t even mine, in a house that still carried the ghost of my aunt’s presence. But it didn’t. It felt… right. Like something I’d been missing without realizing it.
I shifted slightly, testing the weight of his arm.
He didn’t move, just exhaled slowly, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
A smile tugged at my lips. Torin Thompson, the man who never let his guard down, was sound asleep and totally defenseless in my bed.
The thought sent a flicker of warmth through me, low and sweet.
I turned carefully, sliding onto my back so I could see him. His face was softer in sleep, the usual sharpness of his jaw relaxed, his lashes dark against his skin. A lock of hair fell across his forehead, and without thinking, I reached up to brush it back.
His eyes fluttered open. For a second, he just looked at me, his gaze sleep-heavy and warm. Then the corner of his mouth quirked. “Morning.”
His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual. It did something to me, sent a shiver down my spine. “Morning.”
He didn’t pull away. Just lay there, his arm still wrapped around me, his thumb tracing slow circles against my side.
The sheet had slipped low, barely covering my breasts, but I didn’t reach for it.
I didn’t want to hide from him. His gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted back to my face, something dark and hungry flickering in his eyes.
“You’re dangerous like this,” he murmured.
I raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“All soft and warm.” His hand slid up, his palm cupping my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple. “No walls. No arguments.”
I arched into his touch, my breath catching. “I have arguments.”
“Not right now, you don’t.” His mouth found mine and he kissed me slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world. Like we weren’t in my aunt’s house, like there wasn’t a town full of people who’d have opinions about this. Like it was just us.
I melted into him, my hands sliding up his chest, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. He groaned into the kiss, his body pressing closer, and I could feel him hardening against my thigh.
Then he pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against mine. “We should talk about last night.”
A flicker of unease ran through me. “If you’re about to tell me it was a mistake—”
“It wasn’t a mistake.” His thumb kept moving, slow and deliberate. “But we did figure something out about the land, and about the horses.”
I exhaled, some of the tension leaving my body. Right. The ledger. Bad Habit. The missing piece that connected everything. “We did.”
His hand stilled. “You think your family knows?”
I considered it. “If they do, they’ve never said anything.
But Lois knew. She had to.” I thought of the empty file folder, the careful labels, the way my aunt had always been more observant than she let on.
“She was looking into it. That’s why she left me the house. The land. She wanted me to find it.”
Torin was quiet for a moment. Then, “You’re not just settling an estate, Claire.”
I met his gaze. “No. I’m not.”
Something passed between us… an understanding, maybe. Or the weight of what we’d uncovered. The feud, the land, the way the town had built its stories on half-truths. And now we had proof. Proof that could change things.
Torin’s hand slid down, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist, then lower, over my hip. “What happens now?”
I should’ve been thinking about the land and the records. The way this would ripple through Mustang Mountain. But with his touch burning against my skin, his body warm and solid against mine, I couldn’t focus on any of that.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But right now? I don’t care.”
His mouth found mine again, harder this time, his tongue sweeping in with a hunger that matched my own.
I rolled toward him, my leg hooking over his hip, my body pressing against his.
He was already hard, his cock thick against my stomach, and when I rocked against him, he groaned, his hands gripping my hips.
“Claire—”
I nipped at his lower lip. “We’ll figure it out later.”
He didn’t argue. Just flipped me onto my back, his body covering mine, his mouth trailing down my neck, past my collarbone, and over the swell of my breasts. I arched into him, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my breath coming faster as his teeth grazed my nipple.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered against my skin.
I laughed, the sound turning into a gasp as his hand slid between my legs, his fingers finding me already wet, already ready. “Then it’ll be a good way to go.”
He growled, his mouth crashing back to mine as his fingers worked me, slow and deep, until I was writhing beneath him, my hips lifting off the bed. I reached for him, my hand wrapping around his cock, stroking him in time with his touch.
He pulled a condom from the nightstand where he’d set an extra the night before and rolled it on with a speed that made my pulse spike. Then he was back, his body settling between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against me.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he murmured, his voice rough.
I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. “Yes.”
He thrust into me in one deep stroke, filling me completely, and I cried out, my nails raking down his back. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. His hips moved in a rhythm that was almost brutal, each thrust driving me higher.
The world narrowed to the way his body moved inside mine, to the way he was watching me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I came with a broken cry, my body clenching around him, and he followed with a groan, his release tearing through him as he kissed me like he never wanted to let me go.
I didn’t want him to.
I pressed a kiss to his chest, my fingers tracing the steady beat of his heart. “We should probably get up.”
“Why?”
I smiled against his skin. “Because if we don’t, we’ll just keep doing this.”
His hand slid down, his fingers teasing the inside of my thigh. “And that’s a problem?”
I laughed, the sound light and easy in a way I wasn’t used to. “Not yet.”
But eventually, we’d have to face the rest of it. The land. The town. The way this would change things. But not yet. Right now, it was just us. Just this. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.
The drive through town felt different than it had a week ago. The same fences ran alongside the road, the same mountains rose in the distance. But I wasn't the same woman who'd climbed through a window trying not to wake the neighbors. And Torin wasn't just the deputy who'd found me there.
His hand rested on my thigh as he drove, his thumb tracing lazy circles that made it hard to focus on anything but the memory of his mouth on my skin, his body moving inside mine.
I forced myself to look out the window instead.
"You're quiet," he said.
I glanced at him. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"How much this is going to change things." I gestured toward the folder in my lap, the printout of the ledger entry with Bad Habit's name listed under both Hollister and Kincaid ownership. "For the rodeo. For Dawson."
Torin's jaw tightened slightly. "For you?"
I considered that. "Maybe."
He didn't push, just kept his hand where it was, steady and warm. That was Torin. He didn't need to fill every silence with words. He just existed beside me, solid and unshakable.
Wilde Creek Ranch spread out ahead of us, the main barn rising against the valley like it had been there forever. Dawson was already outside when we pulled in, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze tracking us as we climbed out of the truck.
"Didn't expect to see you two this morning," he said, though his tone carried more curiosity than suspicion.
Torin nodded toward me. "Claire found something."
I stepped forward, opening the folder and holding out the printout. "My father mentioned a bronc named Bad Habit last night. Said he was foundational to the Hollisters in the early 1900s. I thought it might be worth checking against your records."
Dawson took the paper, his eyes scanning the entry. His expression didn't change, but I saw the tension leave his shoulders, saw the way his fingers tightened on the edge of the page.
"March 1912," he murmured. "Hollister and Kincaid stock listed together."
"It’s the same horse," I confirmed. "Which means—"
"Which means the bloodlines intersect." Dawson looked up, relieved. "This resolves the lineage question."
Torin leaned against the truck. “The stock's legitimate. Rodeo plans can move forward."
Dawson let out a long, slow breath, like he'd been holding it for weeks.
Maybe he had. He disappeared into the barn and returned with the old ledger, flipping through the brittle pages until he found the matching entry.
He set it beside my printout, comparing the dates, the names, the careful handwriting that had recorded the partnership over a century ago.
"It's the same," he said. "The families were still working together in 1912."
I nodded. "At least until 1914, based on what you showed Torin."
Dawson's mouth pressed into a thin line. "And then it stopped. Completely."
The weight of that hung in the air between us. A partnership that had lasted years, maybe generations, severed so cleanly that no one talked about it anymore. No one remembered. Or maybe they just chose not to.
"Is this what you needed?" I asked.
"Yeah." Dawson's gaze lifted to mine. "This is exactly what I needed. Thank you, Claire."
Something warm bloomed in my chest. Maybe it was pride, or possibly satisfaction.
I'd spent years being defined by my last name, by the weight of being a Hollister in a town that couldn't let go of old grudges.
But this felt different. Like I'd finally contributed something that mattered.
Not because I was a Hollister, but because I'd been willing to dig into the past instead of running from it.
"Happy to help," I said, and meant it.
Dawson tucked the ledger under his arm, the air around him lighter than it had been when we arrived. "I'll get this documented. With the lineage confirmed, the insurance and permits should clear without issue."
Torin straightened. "Let me know if you need anything else."
"Will do." Dawson's gaze flicked between us, lingering just long enough to make me aware of how close Torin and I were standing. But he didn't comment, just nodded and headed back toward the barn.
As we climbed back into the truck, I felt the satisfaction begin to shift into something else. Something heavier.
"Everything okay?" Torin asked, starting the engine.
I looked out at the valley, at the land that had divided families for as long as anyone could remember. "If they were still working together in 1912, then the feud didn't start until after that."
Torin's hands tightened on the wheel. "Yeah."
"Which means whatever happened—whatever broke them apart—it happened between 1912 and 1914."
He didn't answer right away. Just drove, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
"Lois was looking for it," I continued. "Whatever caused the split. That's what the missing file was about. She knew there was more to the story."
Torin glanced at me. "And you're not going to stop looking."
I met his gaze, steady and sure. "No. I'm not."
Because Aunt Lois had left me more than a house and a piece of land. She'd left me a truth that had been buried for over a century. And I wasn't going to let it stay that way.