Sierra’s fingers tighten around the edge of her purse. She goes very still, like the air has thickened.
“Y-you… you knew my father?”
“Yes.” I nod once. “He was a brave man.” My throat tightens around the next part. “It’s late, but I want to say I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her lashes flutter. She looks down like she’s trying not to fall apart in a diner booth.
“Thank you,” she whispers, and it’s small, but it lands.
“Tell me about what happens next,” she says a minute later, surprising me. “Please.”
“We go to our compound, The Ranch,” I say. “Brief Gray.”
“I don’t know why I’m nervous about it.”
“It’s natural,” I tell her. “A lot happened to you in a short amount of time.”
She studies me, chin lifted like she’s making herself be brave.
“Tell me more about you,” she says. “I deserve to know more about the man who’s protecting me with his life. Your words.”
She’s right.
She deserves to know who she’s trusting with her life.
I push my empty plate away and lean back.
“Born and raised in Lovestone Ridge,” I say. “Parents had a ranch. Mom left when we were teenagers. Brother named Luke who thought he was immortal. I joined the Army at eighteen. Served two tours. Luke didn’t make it home.”
I pause, because my jaw wants to lock.
“I came back. Dad drank himself to death.” Another beat. “I worked wherever I could. Broke horses. Built fences. Hopped from ranch to ranch. Met Gray a few years ago. He offered me a job that used my skills and kept my head on straight. I’ve been at Lone Star Security since. I keep a cabin near The Ranch.”
Sierra’s expression softens. “I… there’s so much in there. I’m sorry about your brother and your dad. That must have been…”
“Part of life,” I cut in, because pity makes my skin itch. “What about you?”
She smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I grew up with a military dad and a mother who loved romantic comedies and crafts. She died when I was fifteen. Dad was gone a lot. I basically raised myself on cereal and YouTube tutorials.”
I can see it, too easily. A kid pretending she’s fine.
“I went to the University of Texas,” she continues. “Studied marketing because I like stories and people’s choices fascinate me. I wanted to work for an ad agency and create campaigns that actually told the truth instead of manipulating people.”
Her mouth twists. “Then I graduated and realized telling the truth doesn’t pay the bills. So, I took a job doing social media for a skincare company. I hated it.”
She shrugs like it’s nothing. It isn’t.
“My ex-boyfriend said I was ungrateful. Then he made out with my roommate and blamed me for not being interesting enough.” Her smile turns sharp. “That’s my sob story.”
It’s said with humor, but I hear the hurt under it.
“He was an idiot,” I say.
She shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. Doesn’t matter now. I moved apartments. Tried to focus on me. Then Dad died.” Her voice thins. “Now here we are.”
“Here we are,” I echo.
She meets my gaze head-on. “You’re my bodyguard.”
