My hands are sore. The burn in my arms the only release as I repeat the movement. Over and over.

  “Wait. You’re leaving?” The look in her eyes matched the tone in her voice—confused, uncertain . . . rejected.

  I won’t be a mistake.

  Those were the words that ran through my head but were so very different from the ones that I said to her. “It’s probably best this way, Tate.” A tight smile, a soft kiss on her lips, and then a step back when all I wanted to do was dive back in again. “We blurred a lot of lines tonight. You need to make sure you’re still okay with this. With what just happened.” Another brush of lips before I slid my hand over her hip and let it come to a rest on her ass. “Sleep in tomorrow. You might have a hell of a headache from the wine anyway.”

  My shoulders ache, but I force myself to remember why I walked away. Of why I had to. Of what the fuck I just did.

  But the ache doesn’t do shit to erase the hurt that was in her eyes or the war that waged over her features as she kissed me one last time and then closed the door.

  My chest burns. My breath is harder to catch. My heart is pounding in my ears.

  “Jack. Son. I need you to come home. There are some things I need to tell you. About your sister and your brother.”

  That first phone call my Dad made to me. Who knew it would be the one that would start this whole goddamn ball to roll down the hill and lead me here?

  My muscles scream with an ache that can’t even begin to rival the one in my chest or the emotions I felt—still feel—after all was said and done.

  The need to outrun or outdo the memory of that day is still burning strong.

  But it’s the guilt that eats at me. Why I felt it then and why I couldn’t give a fuck less about it now.

  “Jack-Jack . . . I’m so sorry. Dad died.”

  My arms falter on the pull-up. My strength wanes as I am hit with the emotions of that day. I’d been in the airport, rushing to get home, with my phone to my ear in the middle of hundreds of people trying to get somewhere and feeling as if I were lost.

  It was as if I had lost something I hadn’t realized I needed.

  All the hatred I held on to was gone.

  All the rebellion had no purpose.

  All the love I felt for him would never be known.

  At least I had the chance to though.

  At least I was given that.

  21

  TATE

  I hate that I wait for the sound of his engine and that I expect to see his truck’s headlights flash through my bedroom window as he heads to the bar.

  I hate that I wish he would have stayed tonight and that he was probably right. We’re adults who work together and need to keep working together. We won’t be able to do that unless we are on sure footing despite the desire still burning beneath the surface.

  I love that, even as the night burns into the morning, his truck never starts. Its lights never cause shadows to dance over my walls.

  I love that, for the first time since Jack has come here, he doesn’t go to the bar.

  As I sink into sheets that used to smell of my husband, I replay the events of the night and dream of another man instead.

  And I’m okay with that.

  22

  TATE

  “You needed to talk about schedules?” I ask when I enter the stable. The butterflies that have been flittering with anticipation of seeing Jack again are in full flight.

  When he looks over to me from where he’s teaching Will something, I know he feels the same way I do.

  Unsated.

  Satisfied.

  Wanting more.

  So many contradictions at the same time.

  The slow spread of the smile on his lips does more than should be legal to my insides. The subtle soreness from the sex we had last night is forgotten as the sweet ache of wanting him again spreads throughout my body.

  “Good morning,” Jack’s voice rumbles.

  “Morning, ma’am,” Will says, and it takes all that I have to look his way and smile.

  Because it’s Jack who owns my attention as I remember what the rasp of his goatee feels like against my skin. What his fingertips can do. What his cock can accomplish.

  “Did you have a good night?” Jack asks with a lift of one eyebrow and amusement loitering in the chocolate-color of his eyes.

  “No complaints here,” I say, and I’m sure my cheeks flush because I swear I’m wearing a neon sign above my head that reads: This girl had great sex last night. “What about you two?”

  “Homework’s always a good time,” Will jokes.

  “Television. A workout. A good dinner. Can’t complain either,” Jack says, but when Will looks down to what they were doing, Jack flashes me a megawatt smile followed by a wink that erases any and all awkwardness I had feared would be between us.

  “Schedules?” I ask as I suppress my own grin.

  “Yes. Will and I are coordinating with a local ranch as well as a few from farther away to get quotes so we can keep the bloodlines from becoming too linear.”

  “That’s always important,” I muse as I step forward and look at what they have worked up. Austin is about two hours away. Dallas two. Oklahoma four.

  I twist my lips and worry about the logistics and the costs associated with his proposal. And then, of course, the veterinary bills, having to pay Jack his salary, and not having sold Ruby yet . . .

  The sigh I emit is one reflecting serious concern.

  “This is extensive,” I murmur, silently adding everything up.

  “And much needed after looking at how the breeding was handled before. You need to go outside.”

  I meet Jack’s eyes over the paperwork, and for the first time ever, I truly trust him. Blame it on the sex or the conversation last night or whatever works, but I feel like he really is out for the good of the ranch.

  “I know.” I twist my lips and take a step back. “It’s just going to take me some juggling on money to make it all work.”

  “As is expected. If it helps, I do have a few of the owners of the studs who are interested in keeping the foal. Some are willing to hold off on your payment for the stud fee so long as, upon the delivery of a healthy foal, you deduct the fee from the purchase price.”

  I can’t remember anyone ever offering this to us in the past. “I don’t understand,” I say even though I do.

  “It’s good to know people,” Jack says nonchalantly, as if he has no idea he’s just secured the ranch a future income without me having to outlay any cash on the front end. “And I’m working on a deal that might secure things on a consistent basis.”

  Apprehension smothers any hope that might attempt to take hold. Fletcher used to say much the same thing, but instead of questioning Jack about it, I review his income projections on the sheet. I also try to work through how I’m going to stay afloat for the next twelve months until those foals are born. Sure, I’ll have the income from the current batch of foals that will be born soon, but that’s only if I can sell them.

  And then if I don’t sell them, if I don’t—

  “Hey, Will, can you go grab that binder on my desk?” Jack asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  We both watch Will’s long legs eat up the space, and the minute he’s out of earshot, Jack lowers his voice. “We’ll figure out the in-between, okay? I know that look on your face, and I’m working on it.”

  I refuse to meet his eyes and nod, feeling slightly overwhelmed. The high of last night is replaced so easily by the worry of today and the constant apprehension over how I’m going to make the finances work.

  “Here you go,” Will says, saving me from having to face Jack.

  “Thanks,” Jack says.

  “Is that all?” I ask, needing to go groom the horses and use the time to figure out everything.

  “Yeah.” Jack’s voice is gentle where it had been almost harsh in the past. “Wait. There is one more thing. The feed that was delivered yesterday . . . is that the same quantity and mixture you always order?”

  “Yeah.” My response is cautious as I look between the two, hating the tingles I’m getting on the back of my neck from it. “It’s on a schedule from Lone Star Feed. Why? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Jack says with a shake of his head as he closes the binder with all the breeding info and grabs his keys from his pocket. “I’ll be back in a bit. I have to run into town.”

  There’s something in the way he makes the comment—an underlying anger I don’t understand—that has me chasing after him as he strides out of the stable.

  “Jack. Wait up. Where are you going?” He doesn’t wait for me, forcing me to run after him. “Goddamn it, Jack! Tell me what in the hell is going on.”

  I grab his arm and yank on it right as he gets to his truck. When he turns to look at me, his face is a mask of measured fury that has me stepping back momentarily.

  “They’re cutting your grain.”

  “Cutting it?” I ask because I have no idea what that means, only that he’s livid about it.

  “Yeah. Cheating you by adding the cheapest filler to your high-end grain.” He yanks open the driver’s side door of his truck.

  “You knew this and you were going to leave without telling me.” For some reason, it’s easier to focus on him than on them. “Don’t you think I had a right to know?”

  “This is where you trusting me comes into play,” he says with a subtle nod. Where my voice is shrill, his is even as can be.

  “But—”

  “You hired me to manage the ranch, now you need to let me do my job, Knox.” He climbs in and slams the door with a reverberating slam, his elbow resting on the open window as he looks at me, the harsh lines etched in his handsome face slowly softening.

  “How did you—I mean, what makes you think we’re being screwed?” I ask still trying to wrap my head around it all.

  Jack’s usually stoic expression struggles against the anger I can see fighting its way through. “I’ve suspected it for a while but wasn’t sure until just now. The pellets varied so much from one batch to the next, but I needed to get a new shipment to confirm it. I wasn’t sure if your records were off because of an honest mistake, a past employee who was pissed about pay and skimming product, or possibly even you. Hell, you were learning as you went for the most part, so I was waiting to get our first full shipment so I could know for sure.”

  “Those assholes,” I mutter and shake my head, feeling both dumbfounded and duped. My judge of character questioned once again, my ability to trust outright tested anew. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Will saw it right away. It was good to have him here for that,” Jack explains.

  “Christ,” I say as I turn my back and step a few feet away from him so I can work through my thoughts and emotions on this.

  Bracing my hands on the top rail and a foot on the lowest one, I hang my head and try to wonder how I could have missed this.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Tate,” Jack says as I hear the truck door open and the crunch of his boots on the gravel before he steps up beside me, his posture mimicking mine.

  “I should have seen it. I mean, all this time I’ve been paying a fortune for the top-of-the-line shit while I’ve been getting bottom of the barrel crap.” I blow my bangs out of my eyes and shake my head, mentally chastising myself. “I did call them months ago to ask why there was such a color variation in the pellets I’d received. There’d always been some, a few light brown pellets amid all the dark brown ones, but the mixture was beginning to change with each delivery so that there were more of the lighter ones. They told me it was a new supplier they were using and that it was all mixed together in the silo. I should have known better.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t doubt yourself. Remember what I said to you. This is your ranch, you fucking defend it . . . even when you don’t know the answers.”

  “But why, Jack? To hurt the horses? To get back at me for Fletcher?” Questions run through my head faster than I can process them, but the most prevalent one of all is the hurt I feel. The betrayal. The everything.

  “Because they can.” Jack turns and looks at me. “Because they’re assholes. Because, for some reason, they have a hard-on for you and want you to fail.”

  “They were the first ones I paid back in full after I found out about the outstanding balances. I don’t understand.”

  “You’re a female, and assholes like to screw women over to feel like they’re bigger men,” he says. “That, and as sad as it seems, you’re an outsider and this Podunk town doesn’t seem to take well to outsiders.”

  I roll my shoulders and angle my head up to the blue sky above.

  “I’ll take care of it, Tate.”

  “And then what? They can laugh that I’m too dumb to have questioned more and high five each other because they were right and it took a man to point it out?” I fight the tears of frustration I don’t want to well. “I’m sick of running and hiding, Jack.”

  I jump when his hand slides to the small of my back. The jolt is a kneejerk reaction, but his hand there has me realizing just how much I miss having someone to talk to when things got tough. Just how much I miss having someone wrap their arms around me to tell me everything is going to be all right.

  “Get in the truck.”

  23

  JACK

  “You want to explain to me why I should believe a goddamn word you say?”

  It takes every-fucking-thing inside me to keep from knocking his teeth out, but my forearm is pinned to his chest, my temper a riot of anger as he sputters in much the same way my brother did the last time he tried to extort money from me.

  This is all too ironic. All too much of a clusterfuck of coincidence that I shake my head and sneer at the asshole.

  His eyes are bugged. His breath is labored and stinks of the bag of Doritos he has hidden behind the counter. The sweat ring on his T-shirt that he tries to pass off as high dollar but is a knock-off grows.

  “Believe the rumors they say about me, Jed. Believe them and realize this is your chance to do the right thing before I take pleasure in doing all the wrong things,” I threaten without a fucking clue as to what the town is saying about me.

  This is where keeping my mouth shut has come in handy.

  “I swear. It’s just . . . it was . . . an honest mistake.” Spittle flies as he sputters, and I’m so pissed it doesn’t even faze me.

  “An honest mistake?” I ask with a laugh. “If it were an honest mistake, Jed, then why did you threaten to call the cops the minute I walked in here, huh?”

  “I swear. If you’ll just give me a second, I can explain.”

  “Maybe that’s how you should have started this conversation rather than taking a swing at me before I ever said a word.”

  I fist a hand in his shirt and shove him back against the wall before I take a step back from the spineless son of a bitch.

  He’s the personification of guilt. How he came out from behind the counter the minute he saw me. How, when I asked him why the Knox Ranch was being screwed, he threw a punch as if I didn’t see it coming a mile away. How he threated to call good ol’ Rusty and charge me with trespassing. How he is still claiming it was an honest mistake without so much as checking an invoice first. He knows damn well what he’s been doing.

  Fucking unbelievable.

  And Tate’s been dealing with all of this on her own? She’s been managing pricks like this? No wonder she hides up at the ranch.

  The owner of Lone Star Feed is still standing there, probably trying to figure out how he can punch back at me and get out of this situation. His eyes dart over my shoulder to where Tate is standing at the doorway, arms crossed, back against the wall, expression completely unaffected by what she’s seeing.

  The fight to get her to stay in the truck was futile, so I compromised, agreeing to let her come in so long as she stood nice and quiet while I worked.

  “I’m waiting.” I raise my eyebrows and drum my fingers on the counter beside me.

  “It was an honest mistake.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “We-we have a new employee and he made a mistake on your order.” His eyes flicker to Tate, to the side door where the stockroom is, and then back to me.

  “Oh, so the person you’re pinning this on is back there? Should I go talk to him?” I take a step toward the stockroom, but Jed puts his hands up to stop me.

  “He’s just a kid. Like I said, it was an honest mistake.”

  I twist my lips and look down for a sec as if I’m actually buying the bullshit he’s spewing. When I look back to him, my eyes are hard, my face impassive.

  “So, how new is he? I mean, if this has been happening for some time, you’d think, being the owner and all, that you’d have corrected it. Or at least called the customer and apologized for it.”

  He blubbers for an answer he doesn’t have.

  “Look, I get it.” I lower my voice, good cop now in effect. “Her old man owed you money. He hurt you and your business, maybe even your finances, so you’re getting back at him by screwing over his widow.”

  He shakes his head emphatically. “I told you, it was a mistake.”

  The bell rings, signaling a customer coming through the door, and we both turn to see two guys standing there. Jed’s face turns red as he stutters. “We’re closed temporarily. We—I—business meeting.”

  “Is everything okay, Jed?” the man asks, his shoulders squaring as he reads the situation.

  “Should I ask him about his grain?” I murmur under my breath so Jed hears it, and the sudden jostle of his head tells me I just scared the shit out of him

  “Yeah. It’s fine, Kenny. Just sorting some stuff out,” Jed says. “We’ll be open in a few.”

  Kenny nods, eyes wary as he ushers his friend back out of the store but not before staring at Tate for a second.

  “What’s wrong, Jed? You didn’t want me to ask Kenny about his deliveries? He owns the place up off the south end of Jergens, right? I’m sure he orders a significant amount.” I take a step toward the counter where a log of deliveries is sitting on a clipboard. “In fact, why don’t I contact all of these customers and tell them they should check their feed because it might not be up to par.” When I reach out to grab the clipboard, he yanks it out of the way.