“That is an insultingly low bar.”
I winked. “You cleared it.”
She laughed, and there was no point pretending I didn’t like the sound, especially when she lit up every time she pulled even a hint of humor from me. The ranch had been the only place in my youth where the rules remained steady, and dinner appeared without being turned into a debt, but hearing Jacqueline’s laughter in the same kitchen shifted those memories toward something I hadn’t known I wanted. The old refuge no longer felt like a place I’d lost with Otis. It felt like the beginning of my future sat across the table from me.
While we ate, she told me about the land, and I was amazed how well she knew it. Things like which pasture flooded first, where the horses tested the fences, and how Otis hid cash in an empty bag of peas inside the shed freezer because burglars didn’t eat vegetables.
I nodded toward her half-finished dinner. “Tell me more about what you want to build here.”
Excitement pushed the grief from her face as she explained. When she mentioned a shed near the lower paddock that needed a new roof and reliable power, I told her the bones were strong.
Her spoon paused halfway to her mouth. “You’ve checked it?”
“I helped Otis reroof half of it when I was seventeen.”
“You worked here that long?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew Grandpa hired a local boy, and he mentioned a Rourke occasionally, but he never connected you to the Black Crowns or Black Castle.” Her brow puckered as she studied me. “He never called you Stryker.”
“Stubborn old man refused after I patched. Said my mother went through the trouble of naming me, and he wasn’t encouraging foolishness.”
Jacqueline giggled. “That also sounds like him.”
My eyes met hers across the table. “You call me Brogan.”
Her hand stilled on the spoon, and the moment stretched, quiet but not empty. “Brogan?”
“Yes.”
“Only here?” Her lashes lowered, then lifted again with shy courage.
“Anywhere.”
Her lips parted. “But everyone else calls you Stryker.”
“Everyone else isn’t you.” I held her gaze so she understood exactly what that meant.
She absorbed the distinction quietly, but her blush spread across her cheeks and down her throat. Heat built low in my belly as I imagined that same mouth saying my name while she was beneath me, breathless and broken while her nails dug intomy shoulders as my cock filled her slowly enough to make every thick inch count.
“How did you and Grandpa become so close?” she asked after a few bites.
“He hired me when I was fifteen and angry at most of the world.”
“That’s hard to imagine.”
I gave her a look, and she hid her smile behind her mug. The sass was soft, affectionate, and entirely aimed at me, which made me want to drag her across the table and kiss it off her mouth.
I kept the story brief because she didn’t need a dramatic life history. But I gave her the funny parts too—the blue roan stealing hats, the post-hole digger that criminal coyotes had apparently kidnaped, and the fence he insisted I rebuild three times when I kept trying to use a shortcut.
“Grandpa told me it was four,” Jacqueline quipped with a laugh.
I realized that each giggle she gave me eased another hard place I hadn’t realized the day had left behind.
Her smile faded around the edges. “I wish he’d told me more about you.”
“He probably figured we’d meet eventually.”
