"Cash?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
In three quick steps, he’s back, framing my face and stealing my breath with a kiss that feels like a claim. "No thanks needed," he breathes, his forehead resting against mine for a heartbeat. "I’m exactly where I want to be."
When he pulls away and vanishes into the night, the sudden emptiness is deafening, my skin still humming where he touched me.
Guilt should surface. I should be thinking about Seattle and my job and the life I left behind. Instead, I pull the blanket up to my chin and close my eyes.
I sleep through the night for the first time in months.
When I wake to pale dawn light, there's a travel mug of coffee on my porch railing and a note tucked underneath.
You're mine now. Don't forget it. —C
I press the note to my chest and smile.
Chapter four
Cash
The keys to the truck sit heavy in my palm, and Cabin 5's porch light burns yellow through the pre-dawn dark. She's awake. Been awake since four, probably, lying there with her mind spinning the way I've learned to track through three mornings of watching her light patterns.
Today changes everything.
It's been three days since she arrived. Three mornings of coffee on her porch, three rides through the hills, three nights where I walk away from Cabin 5 when every cell in my body is screaming to stay. But today's different. Today I'm taking her to town.
Rosewood County’s thirty miles of winding road and dust, and everyone there knows me. Knows I don't bring women to town. Haven't in the three years since Rebecca left, and even then it was only twice. The waitress at the diner keeps a running tally of how long it's been since Cash Wilder showed up with someone who mattered.
Today I'm resetting that clock.
Dressing in clean jeans and a dark gray T-shirt takes less than five minutes. I run my hand through my hair once and grab the supply list Lucinda gave me yesterday. The truck's parked behind my house, engine ticking in the cool morning air. I throw the list onto the passenger seat and head toward the cabins.
Cabin 5's porch light is still burning. Two knocks, and the door opens fast.
She's wearing jeans that fit her curves and a white T-shirt that's too thin for the morning chill. The outline of her nipples shows through the fabric, stirring my cock.
"Morning," I say, handing her the coffee.
She takes it with both hands, wrapping her fingers around the warmth. Her shoulders are rigid under the thin cotton. "What's today?"
"Supply run. You're coming with me." Leaning against the doorframe, I block any argument with my body.
Her eyes widen. "I have more fence work scheduled—"
"I rescheduled it." Pushing off the frame, I gesture toward my truck in the distance. "Get a jacket. It's chilly this morning."
She disappears inside. Drawers open, fabric rustles. When she comes back, she's wearing a denim jacket that's too big on her, sleeves hanging past her wrists. It's mine. I left it on her porch the other night after our ride when the temperature dropped and she was shivering.
She kept it.
Something cracks behind my sternum. I turn toward the truck, listening for her footsteps behind me. She's quiet this morning. Nervous energy radiates off her in waves.
Opening the passenger door, I wait. She climbs in, and the scent of something floral that doesn't belong in Texas but works on her fills the cab. I shut her door, round the hood, and slide behind the wheel.
The engine turns over with a rumble that shakes the bench seat. Backing out slowly, gravel crunches under the tires, and I head down the ranch road toward the highway. The sun crests the hills, painting her in shades of dawn through the dusty windshield. She looks radiant in the waking light, every stray hair glowing like a filament. I don't say a word; I just drive, letting the pink and gold of the morning settle over us.
