COLE
The sun on-site is brutal today, white-hot, unforgiving, the kind that turns steel beams into stovetops and men into shadows. My crew is spread across the skeleton of what will eventually be a three-bedroom house, grunting through heat and deadlines. If I had my full staff, we’d be ahead of schedule by a mile. But I lost half my workers when Calista and Toby ripped into the company, and the ones who stayed are gripping with me through the wreckage.
I’m knee-deep in measurements, the tape stretched out between my boots, pencil behind my ear, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I almost ignore it; anything not related to lumber, invoices, or court papers can wait. But then I see the name: Hank Morgan.
Well, shit.
My stomach sinks. There’s only one reason a man like Hank calls directly instead of contacting me through my office.
He knows about Ella and me. How we walked into that office together, and how I fucked up in every sense of the damn word.
I wipe sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, then swipe to answer.
“Cole,” Hank says, tone clipped but not angry. That somehow makes me even more uneasy. “I need you to come down to Iron Stallion. Today.”
My spine straightens. “Is everything okay?”
He pauses a bit too long. “The family and I have something we’d like to discuss with you. In person.”
And there it is. My death sentence wrapped in politeness.
I can’t afford any more problems at the moment. I already have too much going on, but Hank Morgan is not someone you ignore. I might as well face the music and get it over and done with.
I close my eyes. “All right. I’ll be there.”
When he hangs up, I stand there for a moment, letting the heat press into the back of my neck like a warning. The men keep working around me—hammers thudding, saws whining, metal clanking.
I hear none of it. My mind is too jumbled with colliding thoughts: Hank’s firm tone, Ella pinned under me, breathless, warm, begging for more, and the cold truth that I fucked the daughter of the most respected rancher in the county, then walked away like nothing happened between us in that back office.
I grab my jacket off a sawhorse, yell to my foreman that I’ll be back later, then climb into my truck. I take note that Aria’s hair ribbon is on the dash, and one of her backpacks is in the back seat. Every inch of this truck reminds me that I can’t afford another problem. But I still drive anyway.
Iron Stallion hits me the same way it always does, like stepping into a different kind of world. The land sprawls wide and arrogant, fences so pristine they’d make a lesser contractor sweat, barns standing tall like monuments. I grew up admiring this place, sneaking glances over the fence line as a kid when my dad would drive us past it. Then I got to work on it and quickly came to the realization that the Morgans are exactly who they think they are.
Never did I imagine that one day, I’d walk onto it with a secret like the one between Ella and me.
My boots hit gravel the second I step out, and then—
She’s there, standing on the porch, hands clasped, looking both guilty and exceptionally beautiful in the afternoon sun. My chest pulls tight. Her hair is down today, soft around her shoulders, and something inside me trips over itself at the sight.
She walks toward me, each step tiny but purposeful.
“Cole,” she says softly.
God, her voice. I didn’t realize how much it had been echoing in my head until I hear it again.
“Shiloh.”
She swallows. “Before you go in… I just want to apologize.”
My heart stops. “For what?”
She winces. “I caused this.” She pauses, making me even more nervous. “You know what, you’ll… understand in a minute.”
So Hank does know. Fantastic. And Ella is apologizing for not warning me sooner, or maybe she’s apologizing because she regrets it. The office. The heat. The way she said don’t stop.
My throat tightens. “How much do they know?”
“I didn’t tell them everything, just enough,” she rushes out nervously.
