Chapter 10
ten
Gage
That day by the fence throws me for a loop, and it sticks with me longer than I want it to.
I spend most of the day avoiding Sloane because I don’t want to hash out feelings or try to make sense of what happened. What happened between us is a lapse of judgment—two consenting adults crossing a line I should’ve guarded better.
With all the pent-up frustration, it boils over like a pot of water on a piping-hot stove, and this is where it lands.
I know Sloane would make it into something bigger. I know the moment she comes by the fence, it’ll be the conversation I’m dreading, but when it doesn’t come,
I’m caught off guard. Worse, I’m curious about the moment when it finally does. I know she wants to talk, but she’s been around me long enough now to understand how little I engage with anyone—especially her.
I spend a good part of my life keeping to myself. It feels better that way, less chance of being disappointed.
The only person I ever let close to me was my uncle, and look how that turned out. I date here and there, but that always turns out to be a mistake.
Women make you feel good one moment, then want something more the next, and suddenly you’re not enough—but that’s a whole other story.
With Sloane, I keep my distance for a reason. From the moment she steps out of her sedan, I know she isn’t like any other woman I’ve met. She’s difficult, stubborn, and far too much like me, and that’s a problem.
Most women I’ve known are less confrontational, but every woman I’ve dated turns vindictive.
Somewhere along the way, I accept that I’m better off alone, and I stop trusting easily. That’s why Sloane stays at arm’s length. She might mean well—but how can I truly know?
She’s only been here a few weeks, and in that short time, she’s already poked around in places her nose doesn’t belong.
What is it with all the questions about the water main? Why is she digging through the woods looking for an old system? Why does she care so damn much about the functionality of a ranch she doesn’t even plan to keep?
There are too many questions, and I know I’ll never get real answers. Even if I asked, how would I know she was telling the truth? I wouldn’t. I’d never really know—and maybe that uncertainty is safer.
When she says what she does, I see the desperation in her eyes. I don’t know what it means—I still don’t—but she wants me to see her. And that’s the problem. I already do. I see more than I want to, and I hate it.
Everywhere I go on this ranch, even when she isn’t there, she’s still with me. I don’t want anything to do with her.
It’s hard not to, anyway.
She’s a fierce presence, and she doesn’t even try to be. She carries it with her, draws attention without asking for it. Even when I’m focused on something else, the second she’s nearby, I notice.
She pulls me in, and I resent it. I tell myself getting my frustrations out would end it, but she’s still here—still lodged under my skin, still a pain in my ass.
Today proves it. From the porch, I watch her struggle with hay bales twice her size, refusing to quit. Earlier I saw her picking horse manure without complaint. I know that smell; it clings, and it sure as hell doesn’t smell like daisies.
For a city slicker, she holds her own better than most. I don’t make it easy for her—I tell her to stay out of the way—but she does the work anyway. And I’m quite sure Hank’s been teaching her when I’m not paying attention.
I’ll need to have a word with that old man.
Still, she leaves me with more questions—especially about myself. I keep circling back to what I tell Monty after the branding. She’s changing me. I brush it off then, but now, with everything else happening, it’s impossible to ignore.
She is changing me, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
I know there are things she wants to tell me, but she’s waiting for me to let her in. That door has been closed for a long time now.
I didn’t plan for any of this. I also know what she wants to say isn’t just about me—it’s about the ranch. I just don’t know if I have the stomach to handle whatever that is.
I don’t realize how deep I’m in my own head until a horn blares loud enough to cut through it.
The honk of a horn pulls me away as a beat-up pickup rolls up to the gate. Ah, hell. It’s Aunt May. I’d recognize that rusted hunk of junk anywhere.
The only reason she hasn’t turned it into spare parts is because my grandpa built it for her, and she’s sentimental like that.
She’s an amazing woman. She helped raise me after my parents decided the parenting life wasn’t for them.
If it weren’t for my grandparents, the ranch, and my aunt and uncle, I’d probably have ended up in serious trouble. Ranching humbled me in ways I can’t even begin to explain.
I owe my life to this place and to the family that built it.
I get up from the porch and walk to the gate, opening it so she can drive through. She stops as she lines up with me.
“Well, look at you being lazy. How unlike you,” she says.
I roll my eyes and tap the top of her truck. “Park on up.”
She laughs as she pulls into the driveway, parking near the other cars. She cuts the engine and hops out, already reaching for a covered dish. That’s another thing about Aunt May—she never shows up empty-handed.
She’s the reason I work as hard as I do around here. I have to burn off all the cobblers and pies she brings over.
“Brought you and that fine lady a cobbler,” she says, handing me the dish.
I sigh, take it, and carry it inside so she can follow me.
“Where can I find her? I’d love to meet her,” she adds, her smile brighter than the hot sun outside.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” I mutter as I slide the cobbler into the fridge.
“And why ever not?”
I close the fridge and look at her. “Because the last thing I need is for you two to get close. Then she’ll never leave.”
She rolls her eyes and swats my shoulder.
“Now, we didn’t raise you to not show a lady kindness, Gage Hollis,” she scolds, much like a mother would. Even at my age, I’m still not immune to it. She crosses her arms. “What’s going on with you?”
There are a dozen ways I could answer that, but none of them would make sense to Aunt May. She’s been one of the few people worried about me growing old on this ranch with no woman by my side.
It isn’t for a lack of trying—life just has a way of getting in the way.
“It’s nothing.” I lean back against the counter and look at her. “I’m assuming the cobbler isn’t the only reason for your visit,” I say, just as the door opens and Sloane stumbles inside, her boots off and slick with grime from a day of ranch work.
Aunt May whips around, and it’s my worst nightmare. “Oh, honey! You must be Miss Carter,” she says, already crossing the room to wrap her in a hug.
Sloane looks at me, confused, but I don’t bother rescuing her. Aunt May turns back to me. “Now, Gage Hollis, you didn’t tell me she was a beauty!”
If Sloane’s skin weren’t already heated from the sun, I’d swear she was blushing.
“Must’ve slipped my mind.”
Aunt May looks between us. “Oh, that reminds me—you two should come to the annual Barn Block Party tonight.”
I sigh and shake my head immediately. “Aunt May, no. You know I don’t do well with people, and I’ve got to be up early tomorrow.”
She waves me off, her eyes already back on Sloane. “It’s a community get-together. All the local spots bring food, folks come out, there’s music and dancing. It’s a grand old time. And I’m hosting this year.”
Sloane nods, forcing a polite smile. “That actually sounds really nice. I’d love to go.”
Aunt May claps her hands together, leaning in. “Now if you can get him to stop being a jackass, it’ll be the perfect night.”
“I heard that!”
She turns to me with that bright, knowing smile—pure Southern charm, and she knows it. “Ah, you were meant to.”
Sloane bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing. I was right. Them meeting was a mistake.
“Well, I’d better get out of your hair. See you both tonight. Lovely meeting you, Sloane,” Aunt May says, already heading for the door.
“Aunt May, I said I wasn’t going!”
“See you tonight!” she calls back.
I curse under my breath and shut the door harder than necessary. When I turn around, Sloane meets my eyes.
“I like her.”
She turns and heads up the stairs. Watching her go, all I can think about is how awful tonight is going to be. These get-togethers are good for morale and community—but they’re also good for one thing.
Gossip.
Sloane leaves before I do, which is for the best. The last thing I need is people talking about me showing up with a woman they’ve never seen around here.
In a town this small, everyone knows everyone—and that means everyone knows your business.
Which is why, when I walk into Aunt May and Uncle Henry’s big barn and see Daisy managing the food tables, already buzzing with speculation, I know this is going to be one of those nights.
Daisy’s a sweet old woman, but she loves to talk. I let it slide because she makes a hell of an apple cobbler. I just don’t need the questions.
The sound of country music blares through the open barn as people dance and mingle. My eyes pan across the crowd before landing, in the far distance, on the bane of my existence.
Her long brown hair is clean and styled, catching the rope lights as she talks with Aunt May, a beer bottle loose in her hand. The white floral dress stops just at her knees, showing off tan legs, finished with pristine cowboy boots.
My jaw clenches hard, drinking her in like a tall mug of something cold. I start toward her, then stop short when a man in a white cowboy hat steps up. They exchange a few words, and Aunt May takes Sloane’s bottle, sending her off with him.
I stand back and watch too long as he places a hand at her waist and draws her close. My fists clench as something darker than frustration settles in. It isn’t his fault—hell, it isn’t even Sloane’s.
It’s mine.
Their smiles burn into my head, and I’ve had enough of watching. I cut through the crowd as the song ends and step in beside them. “Mind if I cut in now?” I ask, even though I would’ve done it either way.
He nods politely, flashes her a friendly smile, and leaves us alone. As the tempo slows, I set my hands at her waist; she hooks her arms around my neck, a little awkward.
“This is interesting,” she says. “You don’t want to be near me, but you don’t want me dancing with other guys, hmm?”
I shoot her a look. “You can dance with whoever you want,” I say—though it isn’t true.
“Then I should call him back.”
She points toward the cowboy, but I tug her closer and rest my forehead against hers. She shudders. “I rest my case.”
“You want the truth?” I say. “I don’t want anyone else’s hands on you —period.”
She gasps softly. As the song ends, I know I can’t wait—and by the glassy look in her eyes, neither can she.
I take her hand and pull her out of the barn toward the main house. Inside, I don’t stop until a guest room door shuts behind us. I press her to it and kiss her—no anger this time, something else entirely. I know exactly what I’m doing this time—and I do it anyway.
I ease her out of her dress, my hands finding bare waist. Feather-light touches raise goosebumps as my mouth traces her neck and shoulder. She breathes deep while I finish undressing her, then I step back and take her in.
She’s breathless. Beautiful. “Seems like I’m at a disadvantage,” she says, and I chuckle softly.
“Come here and do something about it,” I reply with a smirk. She does exactly that, lifting my hat from my head and setting it on the night table before working my plaid shirt free and helping me out of it.
She makes quick work of my belt and jeans; they hit the floor with a clatter as I pull her with me onto the bed without hesitation.
She flips her hair aside as she straddles my waist. I grip her hips and press up into her.
She groans, rolling slowly, making sure I hit the spot she needs. Her hands slide over my chest, nails dragging lightly, and I shudder under her touch.
“What are you doing to me, woman?” I groan. She chuckles, and it only spurs her on.
She moans my name. “Gage.”
Hearing it from her lips hits different than it should. I didn’t expect to want it the way I do, but damn if I’m not hoping to hear it again tonight.
I meet her rhythm, thrusting up as she moves. Watching her bite her lip as I bring her to the edge is an image I won’t forget.
This moment is different from the last, in every way that matters. I don’t know what it means or how it changes things, but I know this isn’t anger. It’s something steadier—something we haven’t fully unraveled yet.
Watching her come undone on top of me is unlike anything I’ve experienced. I’ve been with women before, but none like Sloane. Not even close.
She’s something special, and I’m a fool for not seeing it sooner.
But I see it now—and that might be the problem.
Because the second she matters, she becomes something I can lose.