Chapter 2
Daniel
I check the north fence line for the third time this morning. Splinters bite through my work gloves as I grip the fence post. The cut wire from earlier is clean—too clean. Deliberate. But that’s not what’s got me wound tight enough to snap.
Delaney Phillips took our clusterfuck of a morning and turned it into pure efficiency. No panic. No hand-holding required. Just competence that made me so hard I had to adjust myself twice behind the barn.
The background noise in my head never stops except—
Except when Delaney’s close enough that her addictive scent overrides everything else.
When she brushes past me in doorways, and I have to lock my knees to keep from pulling her against me.
When she says my name in that exasperated tone that makes me want to give her a real reason to say it.
Truth is, I’ve barely taken my eyes off her since she and her sister Kitty arrived at Havenridge Ranch a few months ago. I immediately knew she had the potential to destroy me in the best way possible.
Dark hair, velvet brown eyes, and curves that could make a man weep. The way she keeps her hair pulled back in a severe bun and her shoulders squared like she’s constantly braced for battle should be a deterrent. But it’s not. Her strength and fortitude only make her more attractive.
And that voice, steady and controlled, with a husky edge. What would it take to make her lose that control? What sounds could I drag from her smooth throat if I pushed her against the office wall and showed her exactly what she does to me?
And the way she stood her ground when I tried to override her system, chin up, eyes flashing?
Christ. I adjust myself again, grateful for the barn’s shadow.
Three weeks since she transferred from Havenridge—our cousins’ ranch—to Stoneridge. Works here during the day. Leaves at night. Like I’m supposed to stop thinking about her just because she clocks out.
Three weeks of cold showers that don’t help, of jerking off like a teenager, her name on my lips when I come.
Three weeks of pretending I don’t notice how her jeans hug her ass when she bends over the desk, how her throat moves when she swallows her coffee, how her breasts press against her shirt when she reaches for high shelves.
It’s a fucking problem.
“You’re doing it again.”
I whirl around so fast the toolbox nearly slips from my hand, and I end up holding it weirdly high—elbow bent like I’m mid–funky chicken dance—to keep it blocking the very obvious situation in my jeans.
My brother Ethan leans against his truck, arms crossed, smirk locked and loaded. “Do you always stand like that now?”
“It’s ergonomic,” I grit out, adjusting the stupid thing another inch higher when my dick decides to stage a protest.
“Right. Because nothing says back support like hovering a toolbox over your crotch at a ninety-degree angle.”
“Shut up.”
He lifts his hands in surrender but keeps grinning. “Hey, you do you. Or, well… clearly you already have.”
I resist the urge to throw the toolbox at his head. Mostly because if I move it even an inch, OSHA’s gonna need a bigger clipboard.
“This is your third patrol this morning,” Ethan continues, pushing off the truck. “Which, coincidentally, keeps taking you past the office window. Where Delaney is working.”
My gaze automatically swings to the window to see Delaney bent over at the filing cabinet, her heart-shaped ass perfectly outlined in her snug jeans.
Fuck. I force myself to look away before my cock punches a hole through the toolbox in front of me.
Jesus, the woman drives me insane without even trying.
I glower at my brother. “I’m checking fence integrity after this morning’s cut.”
“Right.” Ethan moves to stand beside me, following my sight line straight to the office window. “Is checking ‘fence integrity’ why you’re gripping that hammer like it’s your cock?”
I look down at my left hand like it’s an alien.
Sure enough, I’m white-knuckling the hammer at my hip, fist curled a little too familiarly around the handle.
Fantastic.
“Go away,” I mutter.
Ethan ignores me. “You could just talk to her,” he says lightly. “Maybe tell her you can’t stop staring at her ass like it’s the eighth wonder of the world.”
“That’s not—” I choke on my own lie.
He tilts his head. “You realize she’s been here three weeks, and you’ve said exactly three useful words to her? ‘Morning,’ ‘paperwork,’ and—my personal favorite—‘grmfph.’”
“I did not say grmfph.”
“You did.” He nods solemnly. “It was deeply erotic.”
“She’s my employee,” I bite out. “I’m her boss. There are rules.”
“And yet”—Ethan gestures lazily at the toolbox—“your anatomy seems profoundly uninterested in regulations.”
I grit my teeth. “It’s just attraction. It’ll pass.”
He whistles low. “Yeah, sure. Any day now. Meanwhile, you’re out here playing peekaboo with your boner.”
From the office, Delaney straightens, stretching up on her toes to slide a file into the top drawer. Her shirt rises to show a soft strip of skin above her waistband.
My lungs forget how to function. My dick turns into a steel girder. The toolbox tips forward under the pressure, and I hike it back up with a muffled curse.
Ethan watches the whole display, eyebrows climbing. “You need a minute for some… self-care?”
“No,” I say through clenched teeth. “I need distance.”
Ethan claps me on the shoulder. “Brother, you’ve got it bad.”
“What I’ve got is a ranch to run. And an operations coordinator to manage.” I force myself to move away from that window and far from the curvy temptation in cotton and denim. “She keeps reorganizing systems that already work.”
“She made them better.” Ethan falls into step beside me. “Even Dad noticed. Said she saved us days by organizing the chaos of his invoicing system. And,” he adds, ticking a finger up, “she got the feed supplier to knock ten percent off without even trying. Dad almost cried.”
Dad. Who’s been locked in his office with bills spread across his desk like battle plans.
Who mentioned insurance premiums doubling and feed costs that don’t make sense.
Insurance up eighteen percent. Feed costs up twelve.
Bank wants a meeting about “restructuring options,” which is corporate speak for we’re worried you’re going to default.
The ranch is bleeding. Has been for months. And I can’t fix it by sheer force of will, which is the only tool I’ve ever trusted.
And Delaney… She’s not just capable—she’s invaluable.
That makes everything harder. Because now I need her here for reasons that have nothing to do with how she makes my chest tight and my thoughts scatter.
“Boys.” Miss Maggie appears at the back door of the ranch house, hands on hips. “You hiding from work or from that pretty girl who’s got Daniel looking like he needs a very cold shower?”
“Neither,” I lie.
“Uh-huh.” She studies me with eyes that have seen forty years of Sutton men losing their minds over women. “That girl’s good for this place. Don’t you dare run her off.”
“I’m not—”
“You hover and glower and make everyone nervous. Including yourself.”
“Miss Maggie.” The warning in my voice would be enough to stop anyone else, but she just snorts.
“Don’t you ‘Miss Maggie’ me, Daniel James Sutton. You’ve been watching her as closely as a barn cat stalking a mouse. Only this mouse has sharp teeth, and you like it when she bites.”
Ethan chokes on a laugh.
“She’s an employee,” I remind Miss Maggie. Remind myself.
“She’s exactly what you need. A strong woman to handle all that”—Miss Maggie waves at me as we approach—“intensity you’ve got locked up. Just like your daddy was with your mama.”
The mention of Mom hits sharp like it always does.
I remember Dad’s face at her funeral. The way he aged ten years in a single afternoon. The way he looked at me afterward and said, You’re the eldest. You understand.
I understood. Understood how Dad shielded Mom from every tight month and hard decision until the day she died without ever knowing how close we came to losing everything twice over.
“Speaking of which,” Miss Maggie continues, “your daddy’s looking for you. Something about the bank calling.”
I nod. “I'll handle it.”
“Course you will.” Miss Maggie pats my arm. “And maybe take another shower before you see him. You look ready to eat something alive, and I’m guessing it isn’t a fence post.”
She bustles away, leaving Ethan laughing and me contemplating fratricide.
“She’s right,” my brother says when he catches his breath. “About Delaney being good for you. Though I’m starting to worry you’re going to spontaneously combust if you don’t do something about it soon.”
“She works for us. That’s it.”
“Right.” Ethan watches me too carefully. “That’s why you nearly broke your coffee mug when one of the ranch hands mentioned she looked good in her jeans.”
Every muscle in my body locks. “Ethan.”
He holds up his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay. Just thought you might like to know that I spoke to Tom earlier, and he told me that Kitty’s meeting Delaney at Spur and Spoon for lunch.
” He says it casually, but his eyes are trained on my face.
“You know how that crowd gets. Bunch of gossips with nothing better to do than talk.”
Spur and Spoon. The diner in town. Where they’ll whisper about Delaney like she’s entertainment. Where some asshole might look at her like she’s available.
My jaw tightens. I’ve heard the whispers. Seen the looks when she walks into the feed store or the post office. Rejected bride. Must be something wrong with her.
“I need to go to town anyway,” I say. “Feed store’s got that supplement on sale.”
“The supplement we ordered last week?”
“Different one.”
Ethan’s grin is insufferable. “Sure. Different supplement you suddenly need, when you’ll happen to walk past Spur and Spoon and glower from the doorway, marking your territory and warning off any competition.”
“I don’t glower.”
“You growled at the mailman yesterday when he smiled at her.”
I did. Full-on rumbled in my chest when Pete lingered too long handing her the mail, eyes dropping to her breasts.
I run a hand through my hair. The morning heat is already oppressive. A storm is building somewhere beyond the mountains, matching the storm in my chest.
Ethan’s expression softens. “Delaney can handle herself, you know. Saw her shut down one of the ranch hands who made some comment about city girls. She gelded him with words alone.”
She did. I watched from the supply room, ready to intervene, but she handled it. Made me so fucking hard that I had to stay hidden for ten minutes after.
Just like this morning when she ran my ranch better than I do, bent over the desk in a way that almost had my tongue on the floor like a fucking cartoon character. When she stood close enough, I could see the pulse in her throat. I wanted to put my mouth there. Leave a mark for everyone to see.
Mine.
The word pounds through my head every time I see her. Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to fucking worship once she lets me.
I look down at my worn work shirt, stained with dirt, then check my watch. 10:47. If I finish up now, I can take another cold shower that won’t help, change into something that doesn’t smell like sweat and sexual frustration, and make it to town by noon.
Ethan pauses to look back as he heads inside. “Daniel? When you’re done pretending you’re not about to piss a circle around her at the diner, maybe consider that she doesn’t need protecting. Maybe she needs someone to show her she’s wanted.”
He’s gone before I can respond. Not that I can deny it. Because he’s right, and that’s the problem.
Delaney doesn’t need saving. She needs someone to match her strength, someone who recognizes that her competence isn’t just impressive, it’s fucking sexy. Someone like me, who sees a woman holding onto control because she doesn’t know how not to. Guess that’s something we have in common.
I was always in control until Delaney Phillips. Now my control is shot to hell. I can barely think straight.
The feed store excuse is transparent, but I don’t care. This isn’t subtle, nor is it smart. And it certainly isn’t maintaining professional boundaries.
But if anyone at that diner looks at her wrong, if anyone makes her feel like she’s anything less than—
I’m not a man who loses control. Five years in combat zones taught me to keep my head when everything around me was chaos.
I’ve held steady through firefights, through explosions, through eighteen hours trapped in darkness with the weight of a collapsed building pressing down and the screams of dying men in my ears.
I don’t lose control.
But the thought of someone hurting her—even with words, even with whispers—makes me want to burn the whole damn town to the ground.
Every possessive instinct I’ve got is screaming that she’s mine to claim, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
Even if she’d probably knee me in the balls for thinking it.
I’m heading toward trouble I can’t avoid any longer.
Because Ethan’s right—I’ve got it bad.
And Delaney Phillips is about to find out exactly what happens when a Sutton man decides a woman is his.