Wouldn’t have thought he could move that fast.

  “Look—”

  “Or maybe I should head over to Ginger’s and ask—”

  “That isn’t necessary—”

  “I hear Raelynn’s looking for new customers. Hell, she might be two towns over, but she’s willing to deliver. I think I’ll let her know she should expect some new customers. All it takes is one phone call for the word to get out.”

  “Leave my customers alone!” he shouts, losing his cool once again.

  “Why? I think all of Lone Star should know you’re shorting your customers. How many more ‘innocent’ mistakes have you made?”

  “That isn’t—”

  “But it is—”

  “It was only Knox!” he finally shouts, done with the back and forth.

  And the minute the confession is out, the minute he realizes I got what I wanted, which was him so worked up that he forgot to keep his lies straight, his eyes widen and his lips fall lax.

  “Yep. You did just say that, Jed. Loud and fucking clear.” My chuckle reverberates through the room, and a part of me wants to glance toward Tate, but I don’t. Instead, I take a step toward him as he takes one in retreat.

  “I didn’t—I mean . . .”

  “Save it. Come clean and admit that you’ve been cheating her, switching out some of the expensive grain she’s been paying for with the cheap grain made from who the fuck knows what because you thought you could get away with it? And you’ve been doing it for a hell of a lot longer than one month.” I cross my arms over my chest, lean my hips against the counter behind me, and just stare at him.

  “It won’t happen again.” His voice is barely audible, and his words do nothing to fix the problem.

  My chuckle says as much. I lean in and keep my voice low and even when I speak. “And if you don’t believe the rumors about me, then you should believe the ones about Tate. They’re all true. She’s a ruthless businesswoman who was burned by her asshole of a husband. Her reputation is already shot to hell in this town, so she doesn’t give a flying fuck about damaging it further by taking a cheating son of a bitch like you down. She has the records, invoices, pictures of the grain, and witnesses to back her up.” When I take a step back, I wink and flash him a grin. “This town might like you, but they don’t like being screwed out of their hard-earned money more.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs before he clears his throat, eyes flicking between Tate and me.

  “The question is . . . what are you going to do about it to make it right, Jed?”

  24

  TATE

  My cheeks hurt from smiling, my mind reeling from what Jed Bateman just agreed to.

  “Did he really say that?” I ask, so stunned and so relieved that I can’t really process it.

  “Top-of-the-line grain for a year”—Jack glances my way as he flicks his blinker on and flashes me a grin—“free of charge.”

  I close my eyes and lean my head back against the seat as relief washes over me. This is huge. Bigger than huge. Not having to pay this will allow me a sliver of breathing room when it comes to my bills. I might be able to get current on one or two of the ones I’m behind on.

  Or I could let those bills stay where they are and try to catch my mortgage payment up.

  Not having to pay for the feed and grain for a year is like free money . . . and that’s something I can’t remember the last time I had.

  I fight back the tears of relief that burn behind my closed lids, and when I finally collect my thoughts, I realize Jack’s truck has stopped.

  When I open my eyes, I find that we’re in a parking lot and he’s studying me, a ghost of a smile on his face.

  “Sorry. I needed a minute,” I murmur as if what just happened wasn’t real.

  “Take all the time you need.” He reaches out and squeezes my hand and keeps it there.

  I shift in my seat to face him, my need to say this suddenly very important. “Thank you for doing that.”

  “You don’t need to thank me, Knox.”

  “But I do. I . . . before—” My sigh fills the cab of the truck as I try to put my thoughts into words, as I try to explain to him the things he probably questions. “I never liked to rock the boat. I never wanted to make waves before.”

  “And now?”

  “And now I’ll capsize the damn boat if I have to in order to stand up for myself.”

  “So I’ve experienced.” His voice is quiet, almost hovering on admiration. “Why?”

  It’s one word but it’s so loaded with curiosity that I’m not sure how to answer him.

  “Because I gave everything up I’d ever known for him. My family. My security. The life I wanted to lead and, I don’t know . . . I lost who I was. The person I wanted to be. The person I was.” I twist my lips and look out the window toward the little boy with a balloon on his wrist being carried by his father, wondering how I ever let myself do that.

  “You’ll find her. I’m certain of it.”

  “I’ve learned from my mistakes. That I’m too proud to walk away, but at the same time, I’m petrified to take steps toward the life I thought I wanted.”

  “You’re fearless, Tate.” He half laughs, half snorts. “Stubborn as hell but fearless.”

  The veneration in his voice has me swallowing over the lump it formed in my throat while the last part has me laughing.

  “Thanks. I guess.”

  “I’m going to rely on you to keep being both.”

  I turn back to him. “What do you mean?”

  “This deal I’m working right now. It’s going to ruffle some feathers in town.” He hits his thumb against the steering wheel a couple of times as he looks around. “Rumors are that the Steely Brothers aren’t thrilled with the quality of the horses they’ve been getting from Hickman Ranch. I plan to woo them over our way.”

  “The Steely Brothers as in—”

  “Yes, as in the largest broker of barrel and bronco riding horses in the nation. We have quarter horses, and I intend to convince them ours are better than Hickman’s.”

  “Oh.” Caution edges the sound as my insides slowly soar, the hopes I held back earlier this morning finding a leg to stand on.

  “It’s nothing set in stone, but I sold one of the shareholders a ranch a ways back, and . . .”

  “And what?” I ask, but he just shakes his head and laughs to clear the faraway look from his eyes.

  “Nothing. I just wanted to let you know that things here in town might get worse before they get better.”

  “It isn’t as if I’m not used to nasty, Jack.”

  “Yeah, but we’re messing with one of their own here.”

  “I understand. I’ll be ready for it.”

  “Good. But you’re going to have to do the one thing you aren’t too fond of.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Open your ranch up to the Steelys. They’re going to want to inspect it. They’re going to want to see if it’s suitable for them to come and bring their studs during the month to be on standby for when the mares are ready. You’re going to have to let them in when you normally shut everyone out.”

  I chew my lip and stare at him because that doesn’t sound like the protocol I remember Fletcher following. Studs don’t travel to mares, the mares travel to them, which is a big reason I have been so concerned about the cost.

  “How did you finagle this?”

  “Because I’m that good.” He flashes me a grin that could melt my panties right off, but I have a feeling it’s to distract me. I sense that Jack Sutton might have a little more clout and power than he says he does.

  That begs the question, just who is he?

  “Jack. This isn’t normal. I don’t understand why a big customer like Steely would take these measures when they are the ones in control.”

  He leans over and gets close enough that I can smell the shampoo in his hair and see the flecks of gold in his irises. “Because I can sell anything when I believe in it . . . and I believe in you.”

  My sigh fills the cab of the truck because, as much as that’s a believable response, it still doesn’t answer my question.

  “Enough of this. C’mon.” He slides out of the truck without giving me a chance to respond, and I follow suit before he can come around to open the door for me.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Taking a time out.”

  “A time out?” I ask.

  “You have to celebrate even the small victories when they come, Knox.” He places his hand on the small of my back and directs me to the front of the shopping center. “And we just got a small victory.”

  I let him lead me around the corner to where the old diner with crappy food and even worse service is, and I almost pull him to a stop and tell him that I refuse to eat there, but then I freeze. The diner is gone. In its place is what looks like a bar with a marquis that reads Axe’s with a three-dimensional axe as the apostrophe on the sign.

  “It’s the new hot spot—if there is such a thing in this town.” He winks and ushers me to the door. “Work hard, play hard, right?”

  “I have a million things to do at the ranch—”

  “Stop thinking about work,” he says with another smile and another tug on my hand. “Just humor me.”

  Next time.

  It reminds me that I need to stop. That I need to make this the start of all of my next times.

  It’s hard to think of this simple moment in time with Jack as a new beginning, as a the first step toward my next time—especially because nothing long-term is going to happen between Jack and me—but I have to start somewhere. I have to at least try.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?” He raises his eyebrows and knocks me over with a shy grin that gives me pause.

  “Yes. Okay.”

  The whoop he rewards me with makes me laugh as he steps to open the front door for me.

  The bar’s decor is industrial ranch house with iron pipes and dark wood. The bar is on one side and there are designated throwing alleys on the opposite side of it. It’s busier than I expected for a mid-afternoon, and a few Lone Star residents who are seated at tables glance our way when we enter. I exhale a breath when they turn back to their business instead of staring at us.

  Within minutes, Jack has us on an open throwing lane.

  “Who thought alcohol and axes were a good mix?” I ask as he stands beside me to try to show me the best technique to throw one.

  “No clue, but if you don’t correct your shoulders, you’re going to give that man next to you a Mohawk.” I gasp in horror, but then he steps up behind me to give me more direction.

  My breath catches when he places his hands on my shoulders and presses the heat of his body to my back.

  If he is trying to make me concentrate harder, this is not the way to go about it. Every brush of his body against mine, each whisper of touch from him, has me reliving his body on mine—in mine—last night and throwing an axe is the last thing I’m thinking of.

  “Like this,” he murmurs, his hands and arms shadowing mine as he mimics a throw so I understand what he means.

  “Yes. Okay. Sure. I’ve got it.” I try to step forward, to gain some distance, but he stays put.

  “Do you always ramble, Knox, or is it only reserved for me?”

  I glance over my shoulder, hating and loving that he makes me feel like this. Flustered. Seen. Heard. Admired.

  “I’m not. This is just . . . unnerving.”

  “Unnerving?”

  “More like distracting, and if I’m distracted, I’m going to be looking your way and accidentally throw it so . . .” I eye the empty space behind him for him to step into and give me distance. “There are certain parts of your body that I’m sure you’re overly fond of.”

  “I didn’t hear you complain about those parts,” he says coyly, the grin on his lips telling me he’s not complaining either. The way his eyes drink me in tells me his mind is there too.

  Aware that people are most likely eavesdropping on our conversation, I stand there, axe over my head ready to throw and question how to answer that question. I’m his boss and we had sex but I don’t know what, if anything, that means. I’ve never done this. The sex before a relationship thing, so how exactly is one to act?

  When we’re at the ranch, it’s one thing. But here, in public . . . I‘m not sure.

  And I think Jack sees the panic in my eyes because he just stares at me above the rim of his beer as he takes a drink and redirects the conversation away from everything that is in my expression. “Point the axe that way, Knox.” A wink. A lean of his hip against the wall to the side of me. “Throw it. I promise it’s therapeutic.”

  “But what if I accidentally throw it too late and it hits my leg and cuts it off?”

  “Christ, woman.” He chuckles with a shake of his head. “Then you’d be a peg-leg pirate, and that isn’t a good look for a rancher, so I suggest you don’t do that.” I laugh. “Try it.”

  With a deep breath and a little yelp of fear, I let the axe fly.

  It hits the wood with a thump and falls to the floor with a thud. “Shit.” I reach back to grab another one. “I want to try again.”

  And this time, when the axe hits the outer edge of the target and sticks, I let out a whoop of satisfaction.

  25

  JACK

  “Wasn’t it therapeutic?”

  Tate stares at me above the rim of her wine glass, eyes alive, and cheeks flushed as she nods. “It was.”

  She looks back over to where there is some kind of competition going on. Who knew there were axe-throwing leagues? When I follow her gaze, I catch sight of the two jackasses who’ve been sitting in the corner paying more attention to us than anything else in here, but pay them no mind.

  It’s her I’m drawn to.

  It’s the smile that widens on her lips and the wisps of hair that’ve fallen out of her ponytail. It’s the tension that has eased from the set of her shoulders, and the way she’s had enough to drink that she’s stopped caring about what everyone else in this bar thinks of her.

  Even with all of that, the only thing I keep thinking about is last night and how fucking bad I want to have her again.

  Only in a bed instead of on the table.

  This time I want to taste her pussy.

  This time I want to demand she look at me so she knows it’s me who’s buried deep inside her.

  Christ.

  I shift in my seat to adjust for my dick getting hard.

  “Thank God, they kicked us off the lane for”—she waves her hand in indifference to the teams of men lined up to compete— “whatever it is that has those men looking way too damn serious. It is not safe for me to throw an axe right now.” She holds her empty wine glass up as her laugh rings out. “Cheap date alert, right here.”

  “That’s something that probably isn’t best to advertise too loudly,” I say jokingly.

  “Not like any of them would step within five feet of me.” She snorts.

  And I’d kill them if they did.

  The thought comes out of nowhere at the same time as a cheer goes up to our left. Someone has hit the highest point marker on the target, and I’m grateful for the distraction so I can shake the thought away.

  Where the hell did that come from?

  But when I look back to her, I know exactly where it came from.

  God, she’s fucking beautiful, incredible . . .

  I lift my finger to the waiter for another round of drinks because I’m pretty sure I need it right now.

  “Hey?”

  Tate’s voice draws my attention back to her even though my mind hasn’t stopped thinking about her. “Hmm?”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Nowhere.” I offer a tight smile.

  “Tell me something about you that I don’t know.” The unexpected question throws me.

  “Something about me?”

  She bites her bottom lip and nods like an eager kid.

  “I thought I was invincible when I was younger.”

  “Don’t we all?” she murmurs as she rests her chin on her hand and leans forward.

  “I tried my hand at bronco riding.”

  “You did?” she asks, her eyes widening as she tries to take a sip from her empty glass and then giggles.

  “I did.” I lean back. “It wasn’t pretty.”

  “No?”

  “No. The scar across my collarbone is a reminder of the end result. A hoof to the chest is never a good thing.”

  She winces and runs a hand over her own in sympathy. “What made you try something like that?”

  I was hurt and rebelling and trying to live up to expectations that I’d never reach. Doing something rash to thumb my nose at my dad seemed like a good idea at the time.

  “Stupidity,” I say through a laugh. “Quid pro quo.” Her eyebrow lifts in acknowledgment. “Why don’t you do photography anymore?”

  There’s a falter in her body language that tells me this is a touchy subject.

  Good. It should be. If the images she posted in the newspaper were any indication of her talent, then her putting the camera down is a damn travesty.

  “I do sometimes.” She looks over to the competition where a huge cheer just went up. “Did you see that? He—”

  “Uh-uh, Tate. You are not skating out of answering this question. You have serious talent. Your pictures should be on a wall somewhere.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Her lips say the words but her eyes have a flash of regret or maybe resentment in them.

  “What happened? Why did you stop pursuing it?”

  “I had some opportunities, but Fletcher needed me on the ranch.”

  That’s such bullshit, but I bite back the comment about what a crap move that was on Fletcher’s part.

  Look at me, Tate.