6. Rogan
CHAPTER SIX
ROGAN
If I had to pick the exact moment I lose my mind, it’s probably three hours before the date, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, a towel knotted at my waist, razor in hand. I’ve never been this goddamn nervous in my life.
I splash cold water over my face and brace my palms on the counter, leaning into the mirror like maybe if I stare hard enough, I’ll see some version of myself who isn’t about to self-combust at the thought of a woman in his kitchen.
Get it together, Hawke.
The plan seems straightforward enough. Cook her a steak dinner. Open a bottle of wine. Try to hold a reasonable conversation. If I’m really on my game, maybe I’ll get through the meal without embarrassing myself or making her want to run for the hills.
Easy, right?
I towel off and stalk across my bedroom, tossing the wet thing into the laundry. I’ve set out a shirt and my one pair of nice, hole-less jeans. I pull on the shirt and button it up, roll the sleeves just enough to give my forearms room to breathe.
I stare at my reflection a little too long. This is not me. I’m not the type to fuss over my appearance, to iron the collar or check the way the shirt hugs my shoulders. I always figured, if a woman didn’t like what she saw, she could look the other way.
But this isn’t about any woman.
This is Sierra.
Which is how I end up standing at my desk, palms sweating, chewing on the end of a pen while I scribble and re-scribble a note that isn’t supposed to look like it took me thirty goddamn tries.
I want her to know how much tonight’s date means to me. And exactly what she means to me.
In the end, I write the first thing that seems real:
My pulse is beating so loud in my ears it feels like a drum line as I slide the note under her door and walk away before I can talk myself out of it.
Then I spend the next two hours running around the kitchen like an actual maniac. I want everything perfect. I mean, it’s borderline embarrassing how hard I want to impress her, but there’s no going back now.
I ignore my pounding heart and get my ass into gear. I throw together a loaded, cheesy baked potato casserole. Then I toss fresh green beans with chili flakes and garlic, and sauté them in olive oil.
The steaks I picked out to grill are perfectly marbled, thick cut, and ready for the grill.
By the time I finish, the whole kitchen smells incredible. I check the clock. Fifteen minutes until seven.
I pace the kitchen. Re-check the seasoning on the steaks. Try to convince myself to stop fucking stressing.
I’m about to lose my mind when I hear soft, unhurried footsteps in the hall. The dining room opens onto the kitchen, and when I look up, she’s just there, standing in the doorway.
Time actually stops, and I almost swallow my tongue. Fuck. She’s so goddamn stunning.
She’s wearing a pink T-shirt, nothing fancy, and those black pants that fit her so well it’s criminal.
Her wild hair is loose and falling over her shoulders, catching the evening light and shining with copper and gold.
Her skin glows, and when she looks at me, her eyes are so wide and brown and alive I want to drown in them.
She smiles, and there’s something new in it—something that says she’s not nervous at all, or if she is, she’s not about to let it slow her down.
“Hey, Boss,” she says, voice low and smoky. “Is it dessert time already?”
I forget how to speak. I just stand there, steaks in hand, grinning like an idiot while my brain melts down.
She steps closer, eyes never leaving mine. “You look very nice.”
“You look pretty goddamn gorgeous yourself.” I wrap my arms around her waist and lean over to place a soft kiss on her lips.
Her gaze lingers on my chest, then flicks up to my mouth. “Thank you.”
The awkwardness that’s haunted every interaction is gone, replaced by this charged, humming energy that makes the air itself feel alive. She’s not playing anymore. Neither am I.
I point at the counter with the plate, my voice rough. “I’m about to put the steaks on the grill. First, I’m going to feed you the best steak you’ve ever eaten, then we’ll move on to dessert.”
She grins. “Sounds like a plan to me.” For a second, I just look at her, and all the bullshit falls away. She’s real. She’s here. And I want her more than I want anything else in my goddamn life.
I grab two glasses, fill them with wine, and hand her one. Our fingers brush. Electricity.
“To new beginnings,” I say, feeling like a dork but meaning every word.
She lifts her glass. “To dessert.”
We drink, and the world narrows to this moment—the heat, the anticipation, the promise of what comes after.
I want her. But more than that, I want every minute that leads up to her.
She follows me out onto the patio, and I fire up the grill. As the flames catch, I glance back and see her watching me, lips curved in a sly half-smile.
Out back, the patio is already humming with the sound of cicadas and the metallic clink of the grill heating up. It’s Saturday, so the ranch hands are all at the bunkhouse, and we’re the only ones anywhere near the main ranch house.
The sun’s on its way down, sky going streaked and wild with every shade of orange and hot pink. Sierra wanders across the patio, wine glass in hand, and for a second, she just stands there, taking it all in.
She moves to the railing, leans back against it, all confidence and curves, and the setting sun wraps her up like something out of a fever dream.
As I slap the steaks on the grill, the sizzle fills the air around us. I can’t help myself. I stare at her while I should be watching our steaks.
She turns, catches me mid-ogling, and grins. “You’re going to burn those if you keep eyeballing me like that.”
I smirk. “I’m the king of multi-tasking.”
She sets her glass on the railing, crosses her arms, and gives me a look. “Tell me about yourself.”
I don’t even hesitate. “Fourth generation on the ranch,” I say, tongs in hand, and for some reason, I don’t sound nearly as awkward as I expect.
“My family’s owned this land since before Texas had real roads.
” I pop the lid off the grill, letting the sizzle fill the gap while I try to get my mouth to cooperate.
She shifts her hip against the railing, and I catch her watching me, head cocked, like she’s taking in every word. It does weird things to my insides.
“I grew up on the ranch knowing one day I’d take it over.
” I clamp down on the memory, shove it behind my teeth, but her eyes are warm and wide and inviting, so I keep going.
“Dad died ten years ago of a heart attack.” My voice comes out calm, but it definitely wasn’t at the time. “After that, I took over.”
She doesn’t say sorry or make the face most people make when you mention dead parents. She just listens, like she knows what it’s like to hold a story that heavy.
“I keep the ranch running. Forty-thousand acres. Livestock, people, broken fences, you name it. Sometimes I don’t sleep for days, just trying to keep up.” I force a little shrug. “Not complaining. It’s a great fucking life.”
She sips her wine, eyes never leaving mine. “You ever just relax? Or are you always on high alert?”
I think about lying. I really do. But something in her eyes just bulldozes my instincts to bullshit. “I’m better at working than relaxing. Always have been.”
She laughs. “Maybe we can change that a little.”
The way she looks at me makes me want to puff up like a damn rooster.
Her eyes travel from my face down to my boots, pausing at my rolled sleeves where they stretch across my forearms. She lingers on my chest where my shirt pulls tight, and I swallow hard.
I force myself to focus on the steaks, spooning herbed butter over the sizzling meat while pretending I’m not about to throw her over my shoulder and head for my bedroom.
She tips her head. “What about fun? What do you do for fun around here?”
I crack a smile. “You’re looking at it. Grilling, beer, maybe a movie if I’m feeling fancy.”
She rolls her eyes. “You need better hobbies.”
“Yeah?” I arch a brow. “You volunteering to teach me?”
She closes the gap between us, takes the tongs out of my hand, and bumps my hip with hers. “Step aside, Hawke. I’m pretty sure you’re overcooking those.”
I let her, half-amused and half ready to see how she handles the steaks. Her body is right up against mine, the warmth of her radiating through those black pants and that soft pink shirt. She pokes at the steaks, makes a show of sniffing them, then leans back and gives me a look.
“They’re almost done,” she concedes, winking at me.
We stand there, face to face, and I can’t help myself.
I reach out, brush a wild curl off her cheek, let my hand linger there.
She leans into the touch, not shying away, and suddenly, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Just her and me, the sunset, the smoke from the grill, and the faint music of a hundred crickets going berserk in the grass.
This is better than any sticky note. This is better than anything.
She nudges me again, softer this time, and I realize I haven’t felt this light in years. Maybe ever. Every fear, every wall I’ve built to keep people at arm’s length, they’re just gone. With her here, I don’t need them.
I lean one shoulder into the railing, trying not to look as desperate as I feel. “All right. Enough about me. Tell me about you.”
She laughs, short and sharp, but there’s no wall behind it. “Not much to tell.” Her fingers trace the rim of her glass. Her eyes go soft, brown velvet in the dusk. “My parents weren’t exactly parents of the year. Or… ever.”
That makes me want to hunt down whoever made her feel like that and show them what happens when you screw up something precious.
She just shrugs it off, like she’s talking weather, not trauma. “I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen. Finished school by piecing together classes at night and online.” She drains her wine and doesn’t flinch. “Worked whatever jobs I could get. My only real goal was to not end up like them.”
I can barely process. My chest actually hurts hearing it.
She’s so damn resilient, it makes my heart ache.
She shrugs again, brushing a wild curl out of her face.
“I took this job for the money. Two or three contract cycles, and I can actually afford to go to college. You know, something stable, with an actual future.”
No self-pity. Just… matter-of-fact. Like she’s never even considered whining, just keeps moving forward. I stare at her, actually in awe.
“Fuck, Sierra,” I say. “That’s…” Words fail.
So, I step closer, crowding her against the railing, and I swear to God, I’d stake everything I own on making her see how much she matters.
“You’re so goddamn perfect.” She huffs a laugh at that, but I see the way her eyes flicker, something raw and open gleaming in the evening light.
Her arms are folded across her chest, not to keep me out but to see if I care enough to find my way in.
The tilt of her chin, the slight tremble at the corner of her mouth, the way she leans just an inch closer while pretending she isn’t. Challenge accepted.
I set down the tongs, the steaks forgotten, and step right up to her, pinning her against the porch railing. My hands bracket her hips, and she melts into my touch like she’s been waiting her whole damn life for it.
“Look at me,” I rumble. She does, all breathless bravado and wild curls.
I can’t help myself. I press my thumb to her cheek, tracing down to her jaw.
“You’re mine now, Sierra. You want something, I’ll make sure you get it.
We’ll do it together.” I lean in, and my voice drops, raw and rough.
“You got dreams? I’m your backup. You got a future to chase? I’ll run beside you every step.”
She blinks, like maybe she’s not used to anyone giving a shit. That makes my chest burn hotter than the grill. I want to fix every stupid thing that’s ever hurt her.
“Wow. You’re too good to be true.” Her voice is small, but there’s a tremor underneath. Hope.
I tip her chin up, make sure she can’t look anywhere but at me. “Nothing is too good for you.” I lay my cards out on the table. “I want you to stay. Here. With me.” It comes out blunt, almost harsh, but I can’t help it. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.
She smiles, slow and steady, and the look in her eyes is pure sunshine. “Let’s start with dessert, and we’ll see how things go from there.”
“I love the way you think, sweetheart.”
And as the sun finally dips below the horizon and the stars blink on, I know with absolute, bone-deep certainty that I’m never letting her go. Now, I just have to prove to her that she can trust me.