“She’s right,” my brother says when he catches his breath. “About Delaney being good for you. Though I’m starting to worry you’re going to spontaneously combust if you don’t do something about it soon.”
“She works for us. That’s it.”
“Right.” Ethan watches me too carefully. “That’s why you nearly broke your coffee mug when one of the ranch hands mentioned she looked good in her jeans.”
Every muscle in my body locks. “Ethan.”
He holds up his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay. Just thought you might like to know that I spoke to Tom earlier, and he told me that Kitty’s meeting Delaney at Spur and Spoon for lunch.” He says it casually, but his eyes are trained on my face. “You knowhow that crowd gets. Bunch of gossips with nothing better to do than talk.”
Spur and Spoon. The diner in town. Where they’ll whisper about Delaney like she’s entertainment. Where some asshole might look at her like she’s available.
My jaw tightens. I’ve heard the whispers. Seen the looks when she walks into the feed store or the post office.Rejected bride. Must be something wrong with her.
“I need to go to town anyway,” I say. “Feed store’s got that supplement on sale.”
“The supplement we ordered last week?”
“Different one.”
Ethan’s grin is insufferable. “Sure. Different supplement you suddenly need, when you’ll happen to walk past Spur and Spoon and glower from the doorway, marking your territory and warning off any competition.”
“I don’t glower.”
“You growled at the mailman yesterday when he smiled at her.”
I did. Full-on rumbled in my chest when Pete lingered too long handing her the mail, eyes dropping to her breasts.
I run a hand through my hair. The morning heat is already oppressive. A storm is building somewhere beyond the mountains, matching the storm in my chest.
Ethan’s expression softens. “Delaney can handle herself, you know. Saw her shut down one of the ranch hands who made some comment about city girls. She gelded him with words alone.”
She did. I watched from the supply room, ready to intervene, but she handled it. Made me so fucking hard that I had to stay hidden for ten minutes after.
Just like this morning when she ran my ranch better than I do, bent over the desk in a way that almost had my tongue on the floor like a fucking cartoon character. When she stood close enough, I could see the pulse in her throat. I wanted to put my mouth there. Leave a mark for everyone to see.
Mine.
The word pounds through my head every time I see her. Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to fucking worship once she lets me.
I look down at my worn work shirt, stained with dirt, then check my watch. 10:47. If I finish up now, I can take another cold shower that won’t help, change into something that doesn’t smell like sweat and sexual frustration, and make it to town by noon.
Ethan pauses to look back as he heads inside. “Daniel? When you’re done pretending you’re not about to piss a circle around her at the diner, maybe consider that she doesn’t need protecting. Maybe she needs someone to show her she’s wanted.”
He’s gone before I can respond. Not that I can deny it. Because he’s right, and that’s the problem.
Delaney doesn’t need saving. She needs someone to match her strength, someone who recognizes that her competence isn’t just impressive, it’s fucking sexy. Someone like me, who sees a woman holding onto control because she doesn’t know how not to. Guess that’s something we have in common.
I was always in control until Delaney Phillips. Now my control is shot to hell. I can barely think straight.
The feed store excuse is transparent, but I don’t care. This isn’t subtle, nor is it smart. And it certainly isn’t maintaining professional boundaries.
But if anyone at that diner looks at her wrong, if anyone makes her feel like she’s anything less than?—
I’m not a man who loses control. Five years in combat zones taught me to keep my head when everything around me was chaos. I’ve held steady through firefights, through explosions, through eighteen hours trapped in darkness with the weight of a collapsed building pressing down and the screams of dying men in my ears.
I don’t lose control.
But the thought of someone hurting her—even with words, even with whispers—makes me want to burn the whole damn town to the ground.
