The sun’s dipping low, painting everything gold and dusty, and there he is—Sawyer—standing beside that massive truck, clipboard in hand, checking something off like he’s trying not to think too hard.
I stop a few feet away, nerves tangling in my throat.
“Hey,” I manage.
He doesn’t look up right away, but I see the way his shoulders tense, like he felt me coming before I said a word.
When he finally turns, that half-smirk is already tugging at his mouth.
“You looking for someone, Lil Bit?”he asks, voice low and rough like gravel over whiskey.
“Yeah,” I say, stepping closer until we’re toe to toe.“I’m looking for you.”
His breath hitches, barely audible—but I catch it.
And then, before I can talk myself out of it, before common sense can ruin everything, I grab the front of his shirt and kiss him.
It’s not soft.It’s not sweet.
It’s all heat and nerves and the wild ache of wanting someone I have no right to want.
His mouth moves against mine like he’s been waiting for it—like I’m the answer to a question he never asked out loud.
For a moment, the whole world goes still.Just the two of us and the sound of my heart hammering in my ears.
When I finally pull back, I’m breathless.
“Come back safe, okay?”
His eyes search mine, something dark and dangerous flickering there before he nods once.“I always do.”
Chapter 6-Sawyer
Her kiss still burns on my lips when I climb into the truck.Searing into me like a brand.
For a second, I just sit there—hands on the wheel, heart beating like it’s got something to prove.
I shouldn’t have let it happen.
Shouldn’t have kissed her back.
Shouldn’t have wanted it to last.
But she came at me like a spark in dry brush—fast, unexpected, impossible to ignore—and now every nerve I’ve got is tuned to her frequency.
“Come back safe, okay?”she said.
Yeah.Like that’s ever been guaranteed.
Still, I can’t stop myself from answering.
“I always do.”
I shift into gear, the diesel engine rumbling low and steady beneath me.The ranch shrinks in the rearview mirror, but the pull in my chest doesn’t fade.
Every instinct I’ve honed—every ounce of discipline I earned in the field—is screaming to turn the hell around.
Instead, I keep driving.
