Where my smile is wide, his scowl is startled.

  I have him wedged solidly between blackmail and pressed charges, and he knows it.

  “This is your only warning, Destin. You or your brother ever go near the ranch, her business, or her in general, then all of this goes straight to Rusty. Possibly even the Feds since it seems you run a multijurisdictional operation here.” I step into him so that there is no mistaking my threat. “There will be no next time. Understood?”

  He spits a mouthful of blood onto the concrete and nods before I slide back into my truck and peel out of the lot.

  Adrenaline courses through my veins the entire way back to the ranch, my body jittery from the high of knowing I did something that will protect her when I’m gone.

  Christ. When I’m gone.

  The thought eats at me just as potently as the events of the last half hour do.

  Two things I can’t control but tried to.

  Fuck.

  I park the truck and just stand there in the driveway to take a minute to calm myself before joining the barbecue. I have to pretend as if nothing happened when I feel like so much has changed.

  From where I stand, I can see dinner is in full swing. A bonfire is burning in the pit, its orange glow lighting up the darkened sky, and everyone seems relaxed and happy.

  But my thoughts go back to a man I never knew.

  To someone who has affected the turn of events in my life.

  Fletcher Knox.

  Before tonight, I hated him with everything I had. His selfishness. His deceit. His sense of entitlement. The way he could convince people he was worthy of the things he stole from everyone else around him.

  For putting Tate in a situation to be harmed.

  But something happened on the way home. A part of me realized that in the end, Fletcher might have finally tried to do one selfless thing in his life. The man who was a selfish chicken shit, who lied and cheated and stole from his wife as he racked up debt and couldn’t face her or the situation he’d created, might have tried ending this all with his death so that his wife wouldn’t be harmed.

  That is if Tate’s hunch about his death is right.

  Either way, he failed. He hurt her in so many ways that the pain lives on. It’s in each day that she works herself to the bones to get this place profitable. It’s in the fear that flits through her eyes every time she’s asked to trust again, and it’s in the screams she lets loose underwater.

  Hell, yes, the fucker failed.

  Laughter rings out across the ranch just above the soft twang of Thomas Rhett singing on the radio as I pace my way to the stables. As my feet eat up the ground, I debate whether to tell Tate about the ledgers or about the confrontation I got into with one of the Destin twins and the threats I made. And if I tell her that, then I’d have to share my realization that it wasn’t a drunk driver who ran her off the road that night, but a warning from her husband’s bookie to settle his debts.

  My feet falter when I hear her voice carrying over to me. Her laugh is carefree and playful.

  It tugs on the part of me I keep trying to pretend doesn’t want more with her.

  When I see her in the simple sundress with a glass of wine in her hand, it calls on me to figure out how to change it all.

  But I can’t.

  I can’t fix lies by covering them up.

  Fletcher of all people taught me that.

  “Jack!” Her eyes widen, and a grin lights up her face when she sees me walking across the pathway.

  Don’t shatter her happy.

  Don’t dampen her wild tonight.

  Let her celebrate.

  Let her enjoy the moment of hope that she’s going to make it. That the ranch is going to make it.

  Tell her it was nothing tonight.

  Let her enjoy the beginning of her next time.

  Hell, it won’t be the first lie I’ve told her.

  And it sure as hell won’t be the last one.

  48

  TATE

  “Tate!” Jack’s tone makes my heart drop. “Tate?” It’s loaded with an emotion I can’t quite place, but I drop the bucket of supplements I’m mixing and rush to find him.

  “Jack?” I clear the doorway. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  We’ve been waiting to hear about whether Steely is planning to sign a long-term contract with us, on our terms, and it’s all I can focus on.

  It’s too much to hope there’s news.

  It’s too much to fear that the answer is no.

  I’m about to call his name again when footsteps become faster.

  “I’m nervous,” I tell him before I see him, and when I do, when I see the grin that lights up his face and the pride that is embodied in his eyes, I know. “No way. You’re serious?”

  “They signed, Tate! They fucking signed!”

  And before I can let the news hit home, Jack has me in his arms and is whirling me around in a circle.

  “Oh my god.” The words repeat on my lips over and over.

  I can’t let go of him. My arms are wrapped around his neck, my face is buried into his shoulder, my feet are off the ground, and all I keep thinking is if I let go, this is all going to go away.

  That this isn’t going to be real.

  “Every single thing they agreed to, Tate,” Jack murmurs, his lips pressing a kiss to my cheek. “The progress payments to tide you over, a signing bonus to help pay a huge chunk down on what’s late to the lender, another signing bonus for being their exclusive breeder . . . and on top of that, they have some interest in paying for a sire to breed with Ruby. Of course, they’d take their cut of the profits, but it’s a way to keep Ruby and make some money off her.”

  “I’m afraid this is a dream,” I finally say as the tears begin. Each one shedding a little piece of the worry and stress that has owned me for so long.

  “Not a dream. It’s a sure thing.” He squeezes me tighter and bends his knees so my feet hit the floor. He physically removes my arms from his neck, frames my face in his hands, and leans down so we’re eye to eye. “The ranch—your ranch—won’t be in foreclosure anymore.”

  The sobs come harder now, and he keeps staring at me with a soft smile and an even softer heart before pressing the most tender of kisses to my lips. It’s the kind of kiss that lacks violent passion but that makes up for it with heartfelt emotion.

  It’s the kind of kiss you never want to end.

  But when it does, he keeps his hands on the sides of my neck and just leans his forehead against mine.

  Relief has been an emotion I forgot how to feel, but today, I feel it in spades. Today, I feel love. And while I know the hard work is just beginning with Steely, I also know it’s so much easier to do when you know your effort isn’t going to be in vain.

  “You did it, Jack. You really did it.”

  “No. We did it. You and me. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for letting me help.”

  There are so many things to say to him, but words can’t adequately express my gratitude or appreciation for him, so instead, I push up onto my tiptoes and kiss him back.

  “To little victories,” I murmur.

  “This was a big victory, Tate.”

  “You told me we needed to celebrate victories,” I say, as my hands run down his chest, my eyes darting down to his crotch.

  “What exactly did you have in mind?” He leans back and lifts his eyebrows, suggestion owning his smile.

  “You’re the one who claims to be the sure thing,” I tease.

  His laughter dominates the air seconds before he kisses me again.

  And then he shows me just how sure of a thing he is.

  49

  TATE

  My feet move from one end of the deck to the other as I debate for what feels like the hundredth time whether or not to push the send button.

  I look at the phone as if it’s going to give me the answer, as if it’s going to explain to me why ever since Jack told me Steely signed, I’ve wanted to call my mom.

  It’s stupid and silly and so out of the blue after all of these years, but every part of me yearns to hear her voice despite all of the unresolved feelings I know it would churn up.

  Maybe it’s just the emotions of everything I’ve been through and the possible success on the horizon that has my finger hovering over the send button.

  I chew the inside of my lip and bite the bullet. I push the send button.

  Each ring in my ear causes my pulse to skyrocket. Each foot of ground I cover, the only way I have to quell the rush of emotions rioting inside me.

  “Hello?”

  My heart skips a beat at the sound of her voice. At the sudden urgency I feel, the need I have to simply hear her talk.

  “Mom?” My voice is shaky but there are also traces of hope woven in it.

  “Tatum?”

  My name, which is spoken with such reverence, such longing as if she’s missed me and can’t believe that it’s me, breaks me.

  The first sob comes. Then another and then the waves of them are so strong that I can’t get a word out because as much as I resent her for not letting me be a part of her life, I also miss her.

  “Tate. Please. Are you okay? Are you—”

  “I’m okay,” I say through the sniffle. “I’m fine.” And really, I am. The ranch. Jack. Me. Things are looking up. “I—you—it’s just so good to hear your voice.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. You scared me there for a second.”

  Even though the words are spoken, even though the reconnection has been made, silence falls on the line.

  You were right about Fletcher.

  Do you know how much I needed you but knew I couldn’t call you?

  You were wrong. I never came crawling back.

  The resentment I have surges back up and overtakes the momentary forgiveness I granted her with. Her shame I can sense through the line seems like it swallows her words.

  “Tate—I—I don’t know what to say.”

  It’s funny because there’s so much to say, so much hurt and pain to work through, but neither of us know where to start. We only know that we have to.

  “I wanted to call and tell you that I’m okay. I’m not asking for money. I’m not calling to tell you that you and Dad were right. I just needed you to know that I’m okay.”

  Her breath hitches, and I wonder what she looks like now. Is she still as elegant as before but with more lines etched in her face? Does she still hum classic rock songs when she cooks dinner? Does she ever think of me?

  “I think of you every day.”

  The answer to my question has me fighting back another wave of tears. “That’s good to know.” My voice is barely audible and loaded with caution.

  “Tate, honey . . . I’m at a loss for words.”

  “I am too, Mom. Like I said, I just needed you to know I’m okay.”

  A pause follows as we both struggle with the discomfort brought on by years of the unresolved. “How do we fix this, Tate? How do we . . .”

  “I don’t know.” My hands tremble, my heart doesn’t know how to feel, and my lips don’t know what else to say. “This is a start.” And it is. “At least now you have my phone number.”

  “Maybe we can talk again?” she asks timidly.

  “Of course.” I swallow, my mouth dry, my tongue heavy. “I have to go now. Goodbye, Mom.”

  I end the call and stand in my backyard with trees around me and Gracie at my heels and wonder if, in time, I can learn to forgive her and my father.

  I can’t wrap my head around that just yet. I can’t open myself back up to the only other people in my life besides Fletcher who devastated me.

  But I needed to know that I could.

  I needed to hear her voice. So many things in my life are looking up, so many unresolved things are now being resolved . . . maybe I needed to know the last thing left out there—my relationship with my parents—might be able to be too.

  Maybe I needed to know this so in my mind, I could move forward on a clean slate.

  And now I know I can.

  When I catch sight of Jack walking to the edge of the verandah, his head angled to the side, his expression curious as he studies me, I know that I can, in fact, open myself back up again.

  Look at what happened when I did with him. My life changed for the better.

  “Everything okay?” he asks as he holds out a glass of wine to me.

  I nod with my phone clenched tightly in my hand, another piece of hope taken back that I feared I had lost forever, and smile.

  50

  TATE

  “Jack?”

  My heart pounds in my ears as I walk through the empty house.

  “Jack?”

  When I see the light on out in the stables, the panic hits. That sudden surge of adrenalin—of instinct—that tells me something is wrong.

  With the horses? With the ranch? With Jack?

  I can’t shake the feeling as I look for my robe. But I don’t have the patience to find it. Something is wrong. I know it. In my cami and shorts and work boots slipped on over bare feet, I run through the warm night air at top speed toward the stables as an impending sense of doom fills me.

  Things have been going too well.

  We spend our nights making love with words unspoken but with emotions shown in touches and whispers of sweet nothings.

  The other shoe has to drop.

  The contract, the signing bonus, the guarantee . . . everything with Steely, all done with the complete absence of drama from the citizens of Lone Star.

  “Jack!” My voice is a broken, breathy cry as I clear the entrance of the stables, expecting the worst, and skid to a stop.

  Because what I see is something I’ll never forget.

  Fergi, one of our mares, has just delivered her foal. The baby is covered in blood and the fetal membrane still clings around his hind legs as he tries to stand and then slips back to the floor.

  He emits the sweetest, most beautiful sound as he tries again, desperate to get to his mom, who’s standing behind him, exhausted.

  The dance goes on a couple more times before the baby finally stands and nuzzles against his mom.

  I’m afraid to look away and miss a second of his first seconds of life. This is Mother Nature in her most perfect of moments.

  Only, I glance away, and when I do, I find Jack watching me. Where my tears have spilled over my cheeks, his are still welled in his eyes.

  His smile is soft, and his expression is inexplicable as he stares at me in a way that will be etched in my mind. Full of love, heavy with hope, and tainted with just a hint of sorrow.

  Jack is cautious when he skirts the outside of the stall so as not to disturb the two. When he closes the gate, it’s almost soundlessly.

  There are no words spoken as he reaches out and frames my face before kissing each tear track in tiny motions.

  When his mouth finds mine, it is nothing more than a brush of lips, but it’s so painstakingly slow, so unabashedly tender, that I know I’ve never been kissed like this before.

  I fear I never will be again.

  His fingers link with mine as he leads me out of the stable and up to the house. We slip out of our clothes like a couple who’s done this too many times before. As a couple who knows the other’s body and doesn’t want to waste time staring because they would rather take the time giving pleasure.

  He lays me down upon the sheets, which have turned cold in my absence, and crawls over me, eyes never leaving mine. His body touching me at all times in some way or another.

  It’s almost as if he’s afraid to lose this connection if his skin leaves mine or that if he speaks, words will ruin the moment.

  Jack runs his fingertips down my left cheek, a featherlight touch that sends shockwaves through my body. His cock is already hard and pressing against my thigh, but there’s no rush or urgency to this moment. It’s this tenderness that threatens to undo me. It’s the promise of more that begs me to let him.

  My breath is a gasp with each touch, and I turn my face to press a kiss into the palm of his hand. I close my eyes and take a snapshot of the moment for my memory bank.

  His forehead rests against mine as the heat of his breath fans over my lips. And we just lay like this—with his knees spreading my thighs apart, with his cock positioned at my entrance, and with my trust and heart in his hands.

  There’s a raw emotion between us, an acknowledgment that we just shared something special that had nothing to do with us and everything to do with us at the same time.

  “Tate.” My name is an exhaled sigh as he pushes into me slowly.

  The pleasurable stretch of him burns through me but not as bright as the emotion.

  Nothing can rival that.

  “Look at me, Tate.” A command. A demand. A plea. An apology.

  My lashes flutter open, and our gazes hold as we become one. Hearts and bodies.

  “It doesn’t fix it,” he murmurs as he dips down to take a sip of my lips. “It doesn’t change things.” Another soft kiss that lingers as if he’s fighting against pulling away. “But I can’t not tell you anymore. I’m in love with you, Tate.”

  A push in. My gasp. A grind of his hips. A pull back out. My heart breaks.

  “We were doomed from the beginning you and I . . .”

  Another rush of sensation as his cock drags over the rough patch of nerves within.

  “I fought it with everything I have, but I fucking fell for you.”

  His tongue dances against mine in a slow, sweet seduction that rivals his revelation.

  “We’ll figure this out somehow.” Another push in. “We have to.” Another grind of his hips. “Because I’m not ready to let you go.” Another pull back out.

  My orgasm is a slow build of pleasure.

  “Six months isn’t long enough with you,” he murmurs against my lips.

  My body tenses as his hips grind into mine again. As our fingers entwine on either side of my head.

  “I love you, Jack Sutton.” My truth a murmur of a confession that I’ve been too afraid to voice.