Chapter 7
Pane
When Sunbeam tugs open the door, I don’t expect my heart to jump. But it doesn’t justjump—it catapults into a different dimension. I frown, pushing the fluttering organ and tidal wave of feelings away, and remind myself of a few simple facts.
Sunbeam is a distraction. Sunbeam is a fortune hunter. Sunbeam is nothing more than a business venture.
But my heart must not get the message, because one look at her nearly knocks me back. Her hair is out of its earlier braid and now cascades in waves over her shoulders like a waterfall. Her breasts are high and round as she inhales deeply.
And the way she smells—wildflowers on a cloudless day. I cannot get enough of her scent.
She thrusts a finger at me and slurs, “Listen, you, I’ve had just about enough of—”
And then she stops. Leans forward. Squints. Her gaze picks me apart, starting at my face and then darting down to my dress shoes. She takes her time coming back up for air, lingering on my thighs, my chest, my eyes.
I take the moment to memorize her face. Just so that I can describe her to my sister, obviously. Not for any other reason.
Freckles constellate her cheeks and nose. Her face is scrubbed clean, and she looks like she should be picking daisies in a field instead of being cooped up in a house.
Even though I’ve got my script down pat, now that she’s staring at me with those doe-brown eyes that resemble polished wood, shooting me a look that suggests she can either take me or leave me—mostlyleaveme—the outer layer of iron that I’ve built up around me starts to crumble.
Like hell it will. I’ve got a job to do, an empire to win, and I’m not going to let this woman get under my skin.
“Hello.” I give her my handsomest smile, the one that melts hearts. “My name is Pane Maddox, and I’m here to save your farm.”
She laughs, and the scent of tequila smacks me in the face. It doesn’t quite mesh with the whole wildflower vibe she’s got going on. “What are you talking about,save my farm?”
“Exactly that. Your front signage is old and faded. No one’s visited the place in years.” Probably. It’s a guess, but a decent one. “Your business needs help.”
Sunbeam slumps against the doorframe. “Why would you help me? You couldn’t get out of here fast enough this morning.” She jabs a finger in my chest, then drops her gaze to said finger and pokes me again. “Are you wearing armor?”
She’s definitely drunk.
Switching focus away from my chest, she snarls, “I offered clothes when yours were ruined, and they weren’t good enough. And look what you’re wearing now—jeans and a shirt. Oh, how the mighty suit man has fallen. How’d you get those? By stumbling into the one Hugo Boss store in Atlanta and snagging them?”
My blood churns in irritation. I’m here to doher a favor, and she’s insulting me? “This morning I was running late for an appointment, and I couldn’t have shown up in jeans oroveralls. Not that it’s any of your business, seeing as how you’re a complete stranger—a strangerwhose piggycorns I had to get across the road. Which you barely thanked me for.”
She steps forward and peers up into my eyes, silently challenging me. “May I remind you that you almost killed me?”
I take another step and now we’re nose to nose. “Almostisn’t the same as doing.”
The closeness of our bodies seems to charge the air. The humidity thickens, and the hairs on my arms prickle to attention. Sunbeam must feel it, too, because she shivers and retreats a step.
“And what sort of appointment were you late for?” she asks, flicking her hand in dismissal.
“I was meeting my mother.”
“In a suit?”
“In a suit.”
“What kind of mother makes her son meet her in a suit?”
“Mine. Listen”—this conversation is incredibly exasperating—“I can tell you everything if you’ll let me come inside.”
“Let a complete stranger into my home?” She scoffs. “The sun’s setting. You might have a gun. You might want to rob me. Yes, you looked wealthy this morning, but you could be a grifter. That suit could have been stolen. You might even be afterthe silver.”
“Do you have any silver?”
