I don’t have anything else of value. I’ve already given all my savings to my parents for groceries. Plus, they needed funds to fix the hole in our roof last year. If my virginity is as important as the ranch hands seem to believe it is, maybe I can use it as a bargaining chip with Knox Morgan? To buy my parents some more time to pay the mortgage?
Or maybe even…settle the debt completely?
As far as I know, Knox Morgan is in his thirties, but I’ve only caught brief glimpses of his broad figure walking through town. His head is always down, hidden beneath the brim of a cowboy hat. I have no idea what he looks like up close.
He could be a total gargoyle.
But I could get through just about anything if it means my parents can sleep soundly. Not to mention, this ranch is where I foresee myself living out my life. Training horses. Eventually having some babies with a decent, kind fellow. To be determined.
I’ll have to figure out how to make our operation lucrative again.
For now, I just need to buy time—and I love a challenge.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll meet the infamous Knox Morgan.
two
Knox
It’s her.
The girl.
She’s riding upmyfucking mountain.
I lower my binoculars to the window ledge, my hand wrapped around the black cylindrical barrel. Squeezing until I hear the metal begin to bend. I release the binoculars, leaving them sitting in the window—and I snatch up my shotgun, instead.
Of course.
Of course, this wild child is the first resident in the area to approach my house without advance warning. She has zero self-preservation skills, does she? Nope. Not a single one. The girl lives in the closest ranch to the foot of the mountain. I happened to spy her through my binoculars one afternoon approximately six months ago, and I’m pretty goddamn sure I witnessed her fly off the back of a horse and break an arm.
And then, she attempted toget back on the horse.
With a broken arm.
Gun in hand, I stand in front of the entrance to my house, waiting for the sound of hooves in my gravel. I’m not sure why my pulse is moving in such an erratic pattern, but I don’t care for it at all. Am I excited to finally come face to face with this little hellraiser? Or am I…nervous? The latter would be ridiculous—and surprising, since my nerves are long dead. They’ve been that way since prison.
I throw open the front door of my house and cock the shotgun, pointing it square at her pretty, freckled face and she has the good sense of go pale.
OnlyIknow the gun isn’t loaded.
She doesn’t know that.
“Thefuckare you doing on my property?” I boom.
Not a flinch.
She doesn’t even flinch.
Her chin only notches higher.
Goddammit, that gets my blood pumper faster. And that ain’t good. I couldn’t determine her age from a distance, but she appears to be young as fuck. Not yet in her twenties, even. But I pray she’s over eighteen, because I can’t stop myself from noticing her. All of her. Her tight jeans and thin, white T-shirt give me no choice.
She’s not wearing a bra.
The sunlight beats down on her and kisses the puckered pink peaks poking against the front of her shirt, sending the majority of my blood rolling south. I have half a mind to drag her off the horse and into the house, stripping her naked right here in the foyer and…
No.
