My refrain from last night hits my ears and has me gripping my beer bottle a little harder than I should be.

  “Needed you?” I ask as politely as I can. “Because taking photos took too much time away from grooming horses and playing the part?”

  Her fingers flexing is the only sign she gives me that what I said was accurate.

  My own fists clench in response. My own temper fires at the thought.

  “I had some galleries interested in my work. I had some companies who wanted to purchase some.” Her voice is barely a whisper but the shame in her tone rings through loud and clear.

  “What happened?” I would put money on the fucker’s ego being more important than his wife’s dreams. It had to be about him. His successes were his. His failures were hers.

  “It was bad timing. They called, but I had just lost the baby and—”

  “Jesus Christ, Tate.” I scrub a hand through my hair and feel like the asshole I am for pressing. “I’m sorry.”

  Her smile is tainted with melancholy when she offers it with a slight shrug. “It’s okay. It’s life. It happens.”

  I reach out and grab her fingers atop the table. “Yeah, it happens but it’s still horrible. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say. I was six months along and . . . then I wasn’t.” Her voice is soft and loaded with a sadness I know I can’t chase away so I don’t even attempt to. “Besides, it was a long time ago.”

  “Did you try again?”

  She twists her lips and stares back out the window for a beat before speaking. “The timing was never right after that. A part of the reason I left home was because of the baby and when she was gone, life kind of became about making the ranch work. Another mouth to feed and hospital bills weren’t exactly what we needed.” Her smile is tight when she offers one, and it tells me that a baby might not have been what Fletcher thought was right but was what she still wanted.

  “Even so . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Anyway, where were we? Photos and the people who wanted to buy them?” she asks, obviously not wanting to stay on the subject, and I nod. “It was shortly after we lost her when they called, and instead of letting me drown myself in work and spend hours getting lost in light and depth and shadows and filters like I wanted to, Fletcher decided it was his chance to make me a part of his world.”

  “But what about your world?”

  She looks down at her fingers twisting on the stem of her glass, regret heavy in her slumped shoulders as her teeth worry over her bottom lip. “I had just walked away from everything I had ever known for him and for the baby we no longer had and for the dream he wanted to chase. There was no going back. Call it stubborn, call it stupid, but I wasn’t giving my parents the satisfaction of knowing they were right.”

  Call it her wild.

  I nod as I glance around, giving her a moment to gather her thoughts as I wonder what her life would have been like if she hadn’t met Fletcher.

  “Look at the pair of us,” I say. “Two kids who ran away from their parents to rebel against their expectations but were both too stubborn to admit they were wrong.”

  “Look at the pair of us.” Her smile is soft and genuine, and fuck if it doesn’t tug on parts of me that don’t need to be tugged on.

  Our eyes hold despite the chaos ensuing around us, and it takes everything I have to look away.

  To break whatever hold it is this pixie-sized woman with a heart ten times bigger seems to have on me.

  “You should start taking pictures again. How you view the world through a lens is something you should share.”

  “How would you know how I see the world?” she asks cautiously.

  “I saw the article you wrote and the pictures that accompanied it. Your words were perfectly fine, but your photos . . . now those were phenomenal.”

  I swear there are tears in her eyes, but she blinks them away before I can make sure. “Thank you, but . . .”

  “And,” I say before bringing my beer to my lips, “you should do this more often.”

  “What’s that? Bare my soul?” She laughs at her own joke but I know it’s just to deflect.

  “Relax. Celebrate.” I shrug. “Smile.”

  Her expression falls and eyes grow quiet. “I haven’t had a reason to.” The moment is suddenly heavier than either of us expected, and she scoots her chair back abruptly. “Bathroom. I need to go. I think I should. Yeah. I will.”

  I nod because there’s that fluster again. There’s her wild that she doesn’t even understand she has.

  And fuck if I know what to do with either of them.

  The buzz of my phone has me pulling it from my pocket and sending the call to voice mail. I’ll call my sister later. When I look up, the two assholes from the other side of the bar are standing across the table from me.

  They’re big boys—shoulders broad, arms crossed over their puffed up chests, and sneers on their faces. A couple of pissed off cowboys is not what I need right now.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” I ask, my tone one of indifference.

  “You having fun?” The dark haired one asks, his goatee barely moving when he speaks, and his eyes are shadowed by his cowboy hat.

  I purse my lips and look around as if I’m assessing the bar. “Yeah. The place could use some better music and a few more choices in beer, but for the most part, it’ll do.” I offer a smile that says fuck you.

  “And how about Tatum. Will she do, too?” The bald one says, confirming that their glares from across the room had something to do with the two of us.

  “No complaints here.” I angle my head to the side, trying to figure out if these guys are here defending poor Jed or from Hickman Ranch. After the blow I landed on them yesterday with Steely suspending his contract, I’m not quite sure which one it would be. “And you are?”

  “Concerned citizens.”

  “Ah.” I draw the sound out. The Destin twins, then. “Thank you for your concern, but it isn’t needed.”

  “How about you keep your nose out of her business.” Baldy’s smile is anything but sincere.

  I lean back, cross my arms over my chest, and scrunch my nose. “If it’s her business, shouldn’t you do the same?”

  “We look after our own here.”

  My laugh is loud and draws attention of those around us, which is what I intended. “Your own? Seems to me you left Tatum on her own to fend for herself after her husband died. If you were looking out for her, why didn’t you lend a helping hand at the ranch? Why didn’t you step in and teach her what she needed to be doing to make sure she had enough foals to sell off come spring? I mean, those are all things someone would do if they were looking out for someone, right?” I prop my boots on the chair across from me as if their threat doesn’t bug me one bit. “But you weren’t looking out for her, were you? You’re just like every other asshole around here and would rather her lose everything . . . now, why exactly is that?”

  “If she thinks things have been rough for her, she hasn’t seen anything yet. You should probably talk her into selling,” the dark-haired guy says, crossing his arms over his chest to mimic my posture, and probably to make sure I see the size of his biceps.

  “And you should probably kiss my ass.”

  I get the reaction I expect, which is clenching fists and testosterone flaring, and they bump into the chairs across from me to reinforce their bullshit threat. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Goatee Man growls.

  “More than you can handle.” I take my time unfolding my legs and standing to my full height, which puts us eye to eye and renders their attempt to threaten me by towering over me non-existent.

  “It isn’t smart to test us,” Goatee Man says.

  “I think you have this all backward,” I say, taking a step closer. “It’s you who shouldn’t be testing me.” I take a sip of my beer to draw out everyone’s attention, to make sure that the rest of the crowd who isn’t following the competition is taking notice. “You have no goddamn clue who you’re messing with.”

  “Ranch hands don’t worry us,” Baldy warns.

  But my laugh rings out loud and clear. “You keep thinking that’s all I am, and I’ll keep trying to figure out who the fuck sent you two assholes because you and I both know you’re standing in front of me threatening me for Tate’s sake. So, tell me, did Jed send you to make sure we don’t tell everyone he’s been shorting Tate out of the grain she paid for? Is he afraid others might start checking their orders a little more closely? Oh, no. You must be from Hickman, then. It must suck when another credible horse ranch threatens longstanding relationships you have with huge clients because you rested on your laurels and got lazy.” The muscles in their jaws clench, and their eyes bore into mine as I offer them a lazy smile and a go-fuck-yourself glare right back. “Not that? Hmm. Is it her land in general you’re trying to run her off? Rumor over at Ginger’s is that Fletcher stole that land right out from under the nose of a pair of brothers who thought they deserved it. That wouldn’t happen to be you two, now would it?”

  “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

  “Another empty threat.” This time I smile even wider. “Can I buy you a drink?” I hold my finger up to our server. “You look like you could use it. What’ll you have?”

  “You’ve been warned.”

  “So have you.”

  They walk off just as Tate gets back to the table, and all of the people slowly turn their attention back to the contest.

  “Dare I ask why everyone is looking at me like they saw a ghost?”

  “That part I told you about things getting a little rough before they get better?”

  “Yeah?” She swivels her head on her neck and looks around.

  “The first warning shot was just fired over the bow.”

  “Let’s hope you shot back with a much bigger gun.”

  I throw my head back and laugh, hoping the two fuckers hear it.

  I hope they know we won’t be intimidated.

  And when I look back at her, the only thought that fills my head is just how bad I want to kiss her.

  Right here.

  Right now.

  Stake my claim so every other asshole in this town not only knows she’s taken but also knows she’s protected.

  I fight the urge that owns me because I don’t need to shield her. The damn woman is strong enough on her own. That much I know for sure.

  But it’s her lips I want.

  It’s her moan I want to earn.

  And fuck if that isn’t a problem.

  26

  TATE

  For some reason, I look at the ranch through fresh eyes when we drive through its gates.

  Maybe it’s because I’m looking at all this land and possibility through the haze of hope, which isn’t something I’ve had for a long time.

  I look at the front door of the house and remember when Fletcher carried me over its threshold. Was that the last time I felt it?

  Can’t be.

  There’s no way I’ve lived here for the past six years and not felt it. Is there?

  Losing the baby was the first piece of hope I lost. A stillbirth at six months when the nursery had already been painted and would remind me of her every time I walked by was more than enough of a reason to lose some.

  Then Fletcher bought Ruby, and I thought maybe we could do this. Live this life and make the best of it because . . . what choice did we really have? I mean a Thoroughbred with a Kentucky Derby winner in her blood was just what we needed. At least, that’s what Fletcher told me. We could breed her and sell her foals and make a fortune. I was so ignorant to all the pitfalls in his plan when we bought her, I never considered just how much it would cost in stud fees to make that happen.

  Then there was Fletcher’s mass purchase of quarter horses, which unbeknownst to us, had been exposed to the neurological strain of the EVH-1 virus. We lost a third of them to it and the vet bills to keep the remainder alive drained a huge portion of our savings.

  Another piece of my hope died with each of them.

  The pressure mounted, and from what I know now, the bills did too. Fletcher’s temperament changed and he had violent mood swings more and more often. The excuses. The secrecy.

  Each and every one chipped at my hope until I was left with none at all.

  Then he died. Died and left me to deal with a non-existent bank account, a mountain of debt, and my name on everything because his credit was ruined from what he said were mistakes with credit cards he made right after he graduated high school.

  “Hey,” Jack says. “You okay?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I murmur and take another look at the ranch. The setting sun is lighting up the sky in oranges and pinks and casting a glow over the land I own, over the chaos I’m trying to manage.

  “Tate?”

  I shake my head and look his way, a soft smile on my lips, the wine making me sleepy and sentimental. “I’m good.”

  He gets out of the truck and opens the door for me, and for the briefest of moments, we stand there staring at each other. There’s a neigh of a horse in the distance. A chirp of a bird. A rustle of trees.

  But we just stand there, not making a sound.

  “I have stuff I need to take care of,” Jack says and hooks a thumb over his shoulder but doesn’t move.

  Come inside.

  “Yeah. Sure. Me too.”

  Please, come inside.

  “’Kay,” he murmurs, taking a step in retreat without dropping his attention from my eyes.

  I don’t want to be alone right now.

  “Good night, Jack.”

  “’Night.”

  We both stand there, though, facing each other, trying to navigate this newfound situation we’ve put ourselves in.

  One I don’t have the slightest clue how to handle.

  When all you’ve ever known is relationships and the sex that results from those emotions, how exactly are you supposed to know how to handle the physicality without the rest of it?

  Turn and walk, Tate.

  One foot in front of the other.

  I give Jack one last long look, taking in the sky at his back and the sincerity in his eyes, and then turn on my heel and start heading to my front door.

  “Hey, Knox?”

  “Yeah?” My pulse races as I turn to look at him, my stomach somersaulting.

  “We did well today.” His smile is wide, his eyes quiet.

  “We did.”

  THE HOUSE IS SILENT, and my mind is preoccupied thinking of Jack.

  Cleaning the kitchen table makes me think of him and what we did here last night.

  Walking by the window and looking toward the stable has me wondering what he’s doing.

  But there’s only so much picking up of the house I can do to avoid acknowledging the fact that I’m thinking way too much about a man who I shouldn’t be.

  It was just sex.

  Incredible sex, but just sex all the same.

  I blame my turbulent emotions on the fact that I hadn’t had sex in over a year. Maybe a small part of it is because the only other person I’d slept with was Fletcher and that has me thinking about it—about him—more than I should be.

  Now that I’m telling myself not to think about him, I open my laptop and enter Jack Sutton in the search engine to find out more information on him. The same things that I found when I originally searched for him after he submitted the resume come up, but I’m looking for information about him through a different set of eyes.

  I want to know more about him, not just what skills he can bring to the table.

  A LinkedIn profile that seems to have gone dormant since it says nothing about the real estate work he told me he did. There is no social media besides a private Facebook account that shows nothing other than his profile picture—an old one, at that.

  There seems to be a million Jack Suttons in the world, but I can’t find a single thing useful about the one I want.

  “Well, shit,” I mutter before navigating over to my old photography website. One that has about as many cobwebs on it as Jack’s LinkedIn page. I flick through the old images of my portfolio, critiquing them even though years have passed.

  “How you view the world through a lens should be shared.”

  I shove away the nagging thought and close my laptop to reinforce how much I don’t need to think about it and pick up my book. But after reading the same page ten times and having no clue what it says, I close the book and stare out the window, allowing my preoccupied mind to wander.

  Thoughts of the past and the future merge together. Worries about this new Steely prospect Jack has worked on when I had no clue he was even doing it. If I sell the foals I have when they are born, can I stretch those funds out long enough to last the next eleven to twelve months until the new batch of foals Steely wants are born?

  How is that even possible when I already have collectors breathing down my neck? When I have Jack’s ridiculous salary, which he’s more than earning, to pay.

  Ruby.

  She has to be that bridge for me.

  The thought pains me considering she brought me so much hope, but now hope is coming in other forms.

  I press my fingers to my eyes and just hold them there for a few minutes and know that nothing is definite. Of all people, I know that.

  How am I going to hold on long enough to make this work?

  “Next time you won’t give up everything you love for someone else.”

  The immediate anger I usually feel when I remember what Fletcher had written isn’t as strong this time. The emotions don’t feel as raw.

  “How you view the world through a lens should be shared.”

  Jack’s comment rings so loudly that it’s screaming at me.

  Click.

  On reflex, I head to my studio and push the door open without giving myself a chance to think this through.

  The disaster is still there—the shredded photos of a life I don’t even remember living but have the emotional scars to show that I did are strewn everywhere, but there is so much more under it.

  The urge to clean this up and purge the bad memories it represents takes hold like never before. One scrap of photo paper after another, one image after another, depict a life I no longer live and wouldn’t want to go back to if I could.