Not flashy.Not trying too hard.
Some soft bridesmaid confection in a dozen shades of yellow, the fabric floating around her like she didn’t even realize how stunning she was.
Sweet.
Simple.
Deadly.
But if I’m honest?
I like her best in jeans and a flannel, hair pulled back, boots on, telling a supplier exactly where to shove their revised invoice.
Doesn’t really matter what she wears.The thing about Kelly that hooks me isn’t the dress or the jeans.
It’s her spirit.
She’s got fire.Always has.
It’s not loud.It’s not reckless.
It’s controlled heat.
And I am so close to touching it—finally—that it feels like my lungs are filling for the first time in years.
Like my soul can finally breathe.
And of course it’s right then that I hear boots on gravel behind me.
“I suppose a man your age needs to get home to rest.”
I don’t turn around.
I don’t need to.
“Fuck off, Thatch.”
He steps up beside me anyway, hands on his hips like he owns the mountain.
“What were you talking to my sister about?”
I glance at him now.
“What business of it is yours?”
“It’s my sister,” he says like that’s explanation enough.
I exhale slowly.
McCrae blood runs hot.
I respect that.
But I won’t be handled.
“McCrae,” I say evenly, “I don’t mind when your deliveries are late because you happen to bring some pretty damn good lumber, and I like doing business with you.But don’t think our business relationship entitles you to knowing anything about my personal life.”
“Fuck you, man,” he snaps.“She’s my sister.She’s been through enough.She doesn’t need some old fox coming after her.”
