Chapter 9
nine
Trouble
Beyond the trees, something flickers at the edge of my vision. I ease the reins. “Whoa,” I say, feeling the horse settle beneath me with a soft snort.
Curiosity pulls me closer, and as I round the bend, I spot her—Sawyer, standing on the edge of a hill near the back side of one of our barns. She’s in another damn pair of heels that don’t work with the uneven ground of this ranch.
"Careful now," I call out, easing the horse into a gentle walk as we draw nearer. "Would really hate to see you roll an ankle in those heels and tumble down that hill. But then again, it wouldn't be the first time we've seen a city girl disappear down there."
Sawyer pivots on those heels that look like they gotta hurt. "Very funny," she says, and those piercing blue eyes of hers catch the sunlight like the edge of a blade. "They probably chose death to escape you."
"Nah, city girls always like makin’ a grand exit around here."
Sawyer stands there, all defiant, and I can’t help but wonder what it is about this woman that sets my blood on fire.
"I dropped my clutch when I was about to get in my car, and your family dog took off with it." She gestures below where Benson is in his element, waggin’ his tail.
"Ah, Benson Bone's been into picking things up lately," I drawl, leaning back in the saddle. My gaze follows the erratic path of the dog, racing against the swaying field of wheat and wildflowers.
"Benson Bone?" She laughs as she watches him. "That's kinda cute. And he's adorable and all, but could you do something about it?"
"So, what you're saying is, you need a favor?"
"I guess you could call it that," she says. Her eyes roll up to the sky that matches them.
"All you gotta do is say please, but I doubt you’ll do that because it doesn’t seem like you have any manners."
Her lips part, but she says nothing, just as I thought. She's pride wrapped in blonde waves—a woman who'd probably throw herself down that hill rather than admit she needs help. Especially from me.
"You're one to talk," she finally fires back.
"Alright then," I say, amused. With a subtle nudge of my heels, I cue my horse to move. He begins to ease into a lazy walk away from her. I feel the weight of Sawyer's gaze on my back.
"Alright, can you please help me?"
I turn in the saddle, facing her. Without warning, I bring my fingers to my lips and unleash a sharp whistle.
The sound rolls through the ranch. Scarcely a moment passes before Benson Bone answers the call.
A grey-and-white blur charges toward us with a little wallet clenched in his jaws.
The dog skids to a halt below me, kicking up a storm of dust.
"Good boy," I murmur. "Drop it."
Benson Bone's ears perk up, and the wallet slips from his mouth, landing softly on the ground.
"Thank you," Sawyer says in relief as she bends to retrieve her clutch, then dusts it off. "Now I can go check out that special little boutique in town." Her words are covered in that sarcasm I've come to expect.
Benson Bone, clearly satisfied with his work, trots off to stir up somethin’ else.
"Special" ain’t the right word for the shop she's aiming to visit, but I keep that thought to myself.
I squint toward the horizon where the sky’s mood shifts without warning.
Dark clouds gather fast, rolling in like a freight train.
The first fat drops hit the dry earth—then the wind kicks up, fierce and sudden.
Sawyer raises her hand to shield her head, but it barely helps as the rain begins to fall hard and fast, drumming against the ground and the roof of the barn.
My horse lets out a low, uneasy snort—she always knows when something bad’s coming. I tighten my grip on the reins and urge her forward with a sharp motion.
“Storm’s coming—now!” I call out, voice low but urgent. “Get inside, Sawyer.”
She snaps her head toward me, confusion flickering before realization. I point toward the barn. The horse shifts nervously beneath me, and I pull the reins, guiding us toward shelter.
Sawyer wastes no time, quick on her feet despite those ridiculous heels. When she gets inside the barn, I swing off and lead my horse straight to her stall, securing her inside before turning back to Sawyer. The wind howls through cracks in the walls as the first fierce gusts tear across the land.
The rain isn’t letting up. It’s mean—like it holds a grudge against the barn and against me and Sawyer for being in its way. With a tin roof, every drop sounds even worse than it is. I lean against a stall and watch Sawyer do her best to pretend I’m not here.
She’s seated on a hay bale, knees together, back ruler-straight. She’s in a cream dress, the kind meant for a warm summer day, and her heels are tucked neatly beneath her. Her hair—so blonde it’s almost white—falls like she’s in a shampoo commercial.
She glares through the warped barn window, chin lifted like the storm is personal. It probably is.
Her phone keeps going off in her hand. She keeps ignoring it, but I clock it each time. It’s regular, insistent, like some desperate wild animal gnawing its way through her hand.
She doesn’t break, though. Not even to sigh. Just sits there, hands in her lap.
“You gonna get that?” I say when her phone has vibrated for the tenth time.
She doesn’t even glance over. “Nope.”
“It might be important.”
She snorts. “It’s not.”
“Aren’t you real estate people supposed to answer every call?”
Now she looks. Ice blue, a little tired, and zero percent amused. “It’s not a client.”
So, what, this means it’s the ex-boyfriend? Some Tinder match, maybe? I don’t love either thought.
I give her my best slouch, tip my chin, “You want me to answer that for you? I’m sure your brother would approve of what I’d have to say.”
She laughs, but it comes out sharp-edged. “Harrison would love that.”
“If he’s an ex, why do we care what he thinks?”
She goes quiet. The phone buzzes again, and I see her tongue work at the inside of her cheek.
“We don’t,” she says. And then, she drops her arms like she’s tired of her own bullshit. “It’s complicated.”
It’s in the way she says “complicated” that makes me think she doesn’t believe it’s really that complicated. She drums her fingers against her thigh, nails painted a soft pink, and there’s not a single dent or chip on them. She turns, and really looks at me.
“You ever dated someone you thought was safe?” she asks. “Like, you know you won’t fall hard for them because they don’t even make you laugh, and you know it’s not gonna wreck you if they leave, but then—”
“But then it does anyway,” I finish.
She nods. Rain thuds overhead. “He said he loved me,” she says, letting out a small laugh behind her words. “And then he sleeps with his assistant.”
I’m not supposed to like this, but I do. I like that she’s letting her guard down, even if it’s just because the storm is so loud we can both pretend we aren’t really talking. I like the color in her cheeks, the shine in her eyes that’s not all anger.
“The worst part is that she’s the complete opposite of me,” she continues. “How could he be into both of us when we’re so different? I made him wait six months before we even… and she probably gave it up the first chance she had.”
Did she just say six months?
“You made him wait”—I say, because I’m an asshole and I can’t help myself—“six months?”
“Six months,” she says. “You might not know this, but not every woman gives it up on the first night.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t know,” I say, slow and stunned.
She giggles. “I’m worth it.”
And there it is. I can feel blood rushing in places I don’t want it to. I shift my weight, trying to force my dick to chill, but it doesn’t listen. Now I’m stuck in a barn with this woman who’s off-limits, while I’m horny as hell and thinking thoughts I shouldn’t.
She says it without blinking, without doubt, and I’m sure it’s true. She is worth it. I want to say it—want to say it in a way that’ll land, that’ll matter—but instead I just stand there, tongue heavy, throat dry.
Outside, the rain is relentless. Inside, neither of us is going anywhere.
And I can’t tell which is worse—the danger out there, or the danger in here.