“Circling. Like I’m livestock.”
“You’re not livestock. You’re a target.”
The truth of it sat ugly and undeniable between us.
I hated that he was right.
“Pack a bag, Maddy’s already waiting to show you around.” The sting eased just a fraction at that. Maddy. Some part of the tight knot in my chest loosened at the thought of her.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I know. You’re getting one anyway.”
I almost laughed at the phrasing. At the irony of Wyatt Hargrove volunteering himself as my guard while actively pretending we had not almost torn each other apart the night before.
I went back to the bedroom and threw clothes into a bag with more force than necessary.
When I came back out, he took it from me without comment. Our fingers brushed. The contact sparked hard and immediately. He did not pull away, but the control was still there. Tight. Unrelenting.
The drive to his place was silent.
His truck ate up the gravel road with steady confidence. The land rolled wide and green around us, barley fields stretching toward the foothills in the distance.His land. My land. The invisible battle line ran right through the windshield.
His house sat on a low rise overlooking the brewery buildings and the long sweep of fields beyond. It was solid and plain and utterly Wyatt. Stone. Wood. Big windows that let the light in, whether you wanted it or not.
Maddy was on the front step when we pulled up, boots on, backpack at her feet, earbuds hanging around her neck. She spotted the truck and her face lit up in a grin that went straight through my chest.
“Dad.”
She ran down the steps and launched herself at him. He caught her easily, arms wrapping tight, his entire posture changing in an instant. The edge drained out of him when he held her. This was the man beneath the armour.
I stood awkwardly to the side, suddenly aware of how strange my presence must look.
Maddy’s gaze flicked to me. Her eyes sharpened with recognition. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve got so much for us to do. Yeah, I know you have to work, but there’s still lots of days when you’re not at work. And we can gang up on Dad.” Maddy talked a mile a minute, and I wasn’t sure I caught everything.
Wyatt muttered something under his breath as he took my bag inside.
The ease of her presence melted something in me. The fear retreated a step. I followed them in, feeling for the first time since last night that I could breathe without flinching.
The house smelled like coffee and clean wood and something faintly citrus. Maddy immediately launched into a story about a horse at the barn where she rides in Calgary.
The day flew by, and I settled in as well as I could. Clouds built over the horizon, and the wind picked up. The airsmelled like turned earth, and it was a sure sign a storm was coming.
The first crack of thunder rumbled across the prairie when I was halfway to the barn, and I picked up my pace, my boots splashing through puddles that hadn't been there ten minutes ago.
The horses would be fine. They weathered storms worse than this. But something in me needed to check anyway, needed to make sure the barn doors were secure, and the stalls were dry, and everyone was settled.
I pulled open the barn door and stepped inside, shaking water from my hair.
"Jesus," I muttered, looking down at my soaked shirt.
"You too, huh?"
I jumped, my hand flying to my chest as I spun around.
Wyatt stood near the tack room, looking just as wet as I felt. His shirt clung to his shoulders, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and he was holding a hammer like he'd been in the middle of something when the rain hit.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
