Christian crosses his arms over his chest, nodding when Arlo looks his way. “Might as well now.”
“I’m not just a ranch hand.”
“Of course, you’re not.” I felt it in the way he scanned exits. How he moved toward danger without hesitation.
I remount, tip my hat at Christian. “Sheriff.”
Then, Buttercup and I gallop away to count my herd, horses, and secure the wide-eyed calf. And to forget about the man already leaving me… because he was never mine at all.
Rage festers inside, dark and dangerous.
Hurt.
Shame.
If I ever see that red-headed ranch hand again, I don’t know what I’ll do.
But I want it to hurt him.
“Cursed lying cop.” The words come out bitter and sharp.
But I knew. I already knew.
Maybe that’s what hurts the most.
Arlo finds me later, standing in front of the smoking remnants of the barn where firefighters pick through broken planks, ash, the remnants of my family’s legacy here.
He wraps his coat around me without asking, and I bristle, anger and heat curling low.
I shrug out of the jacket, letting it fall into the snow. “You don’t get to protect me and lie to me.” My voice quivers with rage and grief.
He steps forward, eyes rising to the blackened char of the barn, then back to me.
“Let me stay, Leonora. Not as a cop.”
He swallows.
“As yours.”
Chapter
Seven
ARLO
Ilook at Leonora. Really look at her.
Raven curls flying in the wind. Cheeks flushed. Dark eyes rimmed red with tears.
My heart thuds against my ribs. Every cell in my body longs to pull her close, to claim her as mine.
I’ve never said this to any woman before. Because I never wanted to stay.
Untilher.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she screams, hands in the air. Then, she darts toward the ranch house, hugging herself. Head down. Shoulders drooping.
Shit.
