“Look, you all trust her strong character to carry her through life. I trust Willow too. It’s the rest of the world I don’t trust.”
Chapter Five
At ten in the morning on a Sunday, things were blessedly quiet. She loved the rustic feel of the therapy lodge, but she especially loved this south-facing space. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, warming the reading nook where Willow spread out her work.
Looking at the vendor contracts, budget spreadsheets on her laptop screen and countless folders stuffed with invoices for ranch supplies, she issued a sigh. There never seemed to be enough time to finish it all—or enough time to stare at her favorite view. But duty called.
Sundays were her secret weapon. It was the only time when she could catch up on the administrative tasks that never seemed to decrease during the week without interruptions or someone needing her to solve their problems.
Just her, the numbers…and silence.
She should be focusing on the invoices she was cross-referencing, but her mind kept drifting back to the day before. To the moment when Decker had grabbed her hand and hauled her straight to her brothers.
The rational part of her brain—the part that had been managing her family’s chaos for years—should be irritated. After all, she was a grown woman capable of handling her own situations without being dragged around like a wayward child.
The high-handed way he’d grasped her hand, the way he wouldn’t take no for an answer…
Threatened to toss her over his shoulder…
When Decker wrapped his long, rough fingers around her hand, when his voice dropped to that low, commanding tone that brooked no argument, something ignited low in her belly.
Something that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the way his shoulders had squared with purpose and his jaw set with determination.
She’d seen his protective side before—hovering nearby when she climbed ladders, scanning the street when they went to town, always positioning himself between her and potential trouble.
But yesterday had been different. He hadn’t asked permission or waited for her consent.
He took charge.
And the traitorous reaction that memory sent spiraling through her core made her shift uncomfortably in her chair.
She pressed her palms against her cheeks, feeling the warmth there. This was ridiculous. She was sitting in a library on a Sunday morning getting flustered over a man’s caveman routine like some romance novel heroine.
She had work to do.
Responsibilities to manage.
A ranch to help run.
The last thing she needed was to develop some kind of alpha male fantasy about Decker Jansen.
Except…
The way he’d looked at Carson with that steady, unblinking stare said more than words ever could. The protective tension radiated from every line of his body, not to mention the command in his voice when he’d told her the conversation with her brothers wasn’t optional.
She traced the edge of her mug, the coffee gone cold. She’d always been attracted to confidence, which typically equaled bravado and bad boys.
But this had been something deeper. Something that made her feel simultaneously cherished and claimed in a way that should have set her feminist sensibilities on fire.
Instead, it left her lying awake half the night, replaying the feel of his calloused fingers around hers and wondering what it would be like if he used that same commanding tone in other…moreprivatesituations.
Heat pooled low in her belly at the thought, and she squeezed her thighs together under the table.
“Focus, Willow,” she muttered, forcing her attention back to the spreadsheet on her screen.
But even as she updated numbers, she couldn’t shake the memory of how safe she’d felt with Decker’s hand anchoring her to his side. How protected.
The soft sound of footsteps in the hallway made her look up, and her entire body seemed to home in on the sound of that familiar, measured pace.
