One corner of my lip turns up into a half-smirk. Dakota is both right and wrong. Right in that we sleep with guns nearby. How else do we protect our home and our legacy? We’re miles from help, should we need it.
She’s wrong in that there’s nothing to be afraid of up here.
I stride up to her, reaching across her body for the door handle. I’m close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath and smell whatever goddamn smell it is that intoxicated me so long ago. My stomach tightens and my chest constricts. The woman is a snake charmer, a siren, capable of destroying a man. Specifically, me. Or, she would have before, anyway. I don’t think there’s any heart left in me to destroy.
“I don’t need you to get my door,” she spits out, then seems to remember this meeting is professional, not personal, and softens her tone. “But thank you.”
I don’t stick around to assist her in climbing up. She’s wearing boots and jeans, not a dress, and besides, my truck has running boards. She can manage the climb, but I’m not sure I can manage watching her.
I round the front of my truck, looking away from the windshield on purpose, and think about my family decree that’s kept me from being declared future owner of this place.
The successor of HCC must be married.
But what woman could love someone as fucked-up in the head as me?
* * *
“This is it.”
I press the brake gently, letting the truck roll to a stop and cutting the engine. “Pretty much everything you see right here is what’s for sale.”
I glance at Dakota, reading her profile. She hitches forward and rests her forearms on the dash. “Got it.”
“Do you want to walk it?”
She turns sharply, her dark gaze falling over me. The question seems to have taken her by surprise. “Aren’t we waiting for Jericho?”
I shake my head. “I called her when you were running late and told her to give us an hour. She’ll be along after a while.” I wish she weren’t coming at all. There’s so much tension between me and Dakota I could slice through it like softened butter. Adding Jericho to the equation is bound to make it worse.
“Well, then.” Dakota opens the door and hops out. She turns back to look at me, ass still planted in my seat. “Are you leaving me to do this alone?”
My eyes narrow. I get the feeling she’s jabbing at me about leaving her to wake up alone. If only she knew how I haven’t forgotten even the tiniest curve of her body.
I hold her challenging gaze for a moment too long, then jump from my truck and walk around it to where she stands, clad in those tight jeans and white V-neck tee. Her hair is twisted up on her head, her slender, delicate neck in juxtaposition with the fire blazing in her eyes.
“Come on,” I say, gruffer than I intend to, and start walking.
Dakota puts three feet between us, just like she did before. She’s about one pace ahead of me, and I watch her walk. She touches the top of the dried grass where it’s overgrown, pokes at a puffy bush.
“What is this called?” she asks, pointing to a light green plant. “They’re everywhere.”
“Mormon Tea.”
“And that one?” She points behind me. “With the white flowers?”
I don’t need to look to know what she’s pointing to. There’s only one plant that produces white flowers out here. “Cliffrose.”
She nods quietly and keeps walking. “Can you please tell me when I’m in the middle of what’s for sale?”
“Sure.”
We keep going, and neither of us says anything. The silence is far from companionable. It’s thick, heavy, and I swear to God it’s giving me heartburn.
I stop walking and watch her go another twenty yards. “You’re there,” I call out, and she stops.
She turns toward Sierra Grande. The town is visible from here. The property we’re selling sits right up against the town limits. Dakota shades her eyes with one hand and keeps looking out, turning her head right and left a little at a time, taking it all in.
She’s beautiful, standing with her strawberry blonde hair against the mountainous desert backdrop. She’s not from a ranching family, but between those boots and the feisty attitude, she appears to be cut from the right cloth.
