The smell of rain hangs heavy in the air, and there’s an awkward tension developing thickly between McCrae and me. We’ve never been awkward, never been timid or shy, but for the first time, I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing around him.
I can’t lose him, and the fear is like a noose around my neck, the ground beneath my feet threatening to give out at any moment.
He shifts uncomfortably, looking over my shoulder at the valet, and I follow his gaze.
“They’re coming,” I reassure him.
He just shrugs, as if it doesn't matter. It’s a lie, but I can’t understand why.
“We need help,” he states, looking back at me reluctantly.
I stare at him in confusion. “Like therapy?”
His eyes narrow. “What? Fuck, no. I mean on the ranch.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, yeah. The animals deserve someone who knows at least half a fuck of what’s going on.”I agree—I’m in over my head, and I refuse to lose what’s left to Mateo, even if I hate the ranch.
I shake my head. “I don’t like the idea of anyone else being around, especially after what happened today.”
He rolls his eyes, and I instantly bristle. “It’s just temporary, until I can fully work again.” He shrugs. “Or you can learn to take care of the animals.”
I pin him with a glare. There’s a better chance of me growing wings and learning to fucking fly. “They’d be better off dead.”
It’s my turn to look over my shoulder at the valet.Where’s that fucking car?
“Don’t say that shit. You’re just being dramatic.”
Blinding rage consumes me.
Why’s it always me being dramatic? Why aren’t my feelings simply valid?
“So what? We’re just supposed to hire someone off the street? They could come into our home and shoot us in our sleep instead.” My voice tremors as I begin to shout.
McCrae stares at me, unbothered by my outburst. “We’ll find someone trustworthy.”
I can’t trust anyone, but I don’t say that.
“Let’s just get it over with. Sir,” I wave at the valet, “do you want to work on my ranch?” He looks at me like I’ve got two heads, before shaking his slowly.
I whirl around, finding the next available body—an egregiously tall man, my face level with his neck. I tap his shoulder. “How about you sir? Do you need a job?”
McCrae grabs my hand and begins to pull me away. “That’s enough. I get the point.”
“You’re injured, but you’re not dead,” I hiss, trying to remind him as much as myself.
His eyes soften, and I hate that he knows what I’m thinking without having to say it. It’s vulnerable and weak,and Reyeses don’t have weaknesses.
“V, I?—”
“I do, actually.” I barely register the man speaking, but when McCrae’s eyes flare with warning, I turn to see the man sending up the flags.
“What?” I stumble backward to look up at him.
“You asked if I need a job. I do.”
I’m about to tell the intruder to piss off, but I stop, the sight of his mossy green gaze freezing the words on the tip of my tongue. He’s beautiful—the most devastating man I’ve ever seen, with bronzed skin, flecked with a dark smattering of hair that matches the buzzed fade on his head, and neat mustache lining his upper lip. He seems even taller facing me than he did from behind, a good six foot-four at least, with muscles bulging out of every seam of pathetic fabric covering his body. I unashamedly stare, counting the dark veins popping out of his forearm and down into his balled fist as his arms cross his chest.
