“Sweetheart, I don’t need to be careful,” I said. “It’s those fuckers that are messing with you that need to be careful.”
Her face fluttered with different emotions before she finally shook her head and looked away.
“What?” I asked, seriously.
She looked back at me, her hair brushing in front of her eyes. “Nothing.”
My gaze met hers and a look passed between us that was almost palpable. She swallowed and let her expression go blank again.
“I need to get back to work,” she said, the moment seemingly over. “Thanks for the help.”
She walked me back over to my bike and I climbed on, the engine roaring to life. “I’ll be seeing you, Rowan.”
As I pulled away, I caught one last glimpse of her in the mirror, standing alone in the middle of her land, chin high, shoulders squared, looking like she was ready to take on the whole damn world.
She kicked at a loose rock in front of her, dust swirling up around her brown cowboy boots, and I knew one thing with absolute certainty: whoever was messing with her had no idea what kind of fire they were playing with.
