Moisture brightened her eyes before she blinked it back, and the need to pull her against my chest nearly overran the rest of my control. I wanted her to learn fast that my hands on her meant safety, that she didn’t have to carry everything alone. Judging by the way she softened beneath my grip and the faint tremor that moved through her when my thumb stroked the skin below her ear, teaching her wasn’t going to be a hardship for either of us.
“Jack?” I asked, though I already knew the answer from the moment the blond bastard said Jacqueline.
Grief moved over her face quickly, but I was watching too closely to miss it.
“Jacqueline,” she sniffed softly. “Grandpa was the only person who called me Jack.”
The full name suited her better anyway, elegant and soft on the surface with strength beneath it for anyone paying attention. Jack belonged to Otis, one final private thing between grandfather and granddaughter that no one else had the right to take.
“Jacqueline.”
Her lashes lifted, and the way her eyes softened when I spoke her name sent a dark pulse of satisfaction through me. I slid my hand from her nape to her waist and drew her against my side, putting her in the protected space between my body and thebarn with Otis’s shotgun still resting against my back. Her palm landed lightly against the front of my cut, and the trust in that small movement fed every possessive instinct I had.
Judge stood several yards away with his tablet tucked beneath one arm, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself for a man standing near three criminals and a woman I’d just had my hands all over.
I looked at him long enough for Hawkeye to clear his throat like he was covering a laugh. Ghost, still keeping his prisoner face down on the concrete, didn’t bother hiding the grin in his voice when he muttered, “This should be good.”
Judge shrugged. “You never asked.”
My brow furrowed, and I muttered, “You let me call her Otis’s grandson for a fucking week.”
“I told you Jack inherited the ranch,” he replied, straight-faced enough that most men would’ve missed the amusement. “You supplied the dick.”
Jacqueline made a tiny choking sound beside me, and Hawkeye’s mouth twitched enough that he had to glance toward the ridge. I gave Judge a flat look, but the truth was, I wasn’t pissed enough to ruin the pleasure he’d taken in finally catching me off guard. He’d earned a few shots over the years, and this one was clean.
“I didn’t ask whether the heir had a pulse either,” I grunted, shifting the shotgun strap higher on my shoulder. “Some details are presumed relevant.”
“You seemed committed to the theory.”
“You even had a whole speech ready,” Hawkeye added, his voice rough with humor as he adjusted his hold on the blond man. “Fair offer, clean closing, help the poor city boy load his shit back into the car. Very moving. I almost wish we’d gotten to hear it.”
“You want to draft the sympathy card when Judge bleeds from paperwork-related injuries?” I asked.
Hawkeye’s grin spread. “I’m the fucking VP. I delegate shit.”
Ghost snorted. “Give it to Ledger. He’ll make a spreadsheet.”
Judge sighed. “I fucking hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Hawkeye quipped. “You’d be bored as fuck without us.”
The exchange cut through the tension without breaking it, familiar and rough in the way brothers could be when they trusted each other enough not to mistake humor for disrespect. Jacqueline’s fingers clenched a little tighter in my cut as her gaze moved between them, confusion easing into curiosity before the distant rise and fall of sirens carried over the ridge.
Relief loosened some of the tension in her shoulders. “I called 911 when I saw the loader. Dispatch said Sheriff Raines was coming himself.”
“Good,” I replied.
When the man with the broken wrist shifted behind me, trying to roll far enough to see what was happening, I wrapped both hands around Jacqueline’s waist and set her half behind me and tight enough against my body that anyone trying to reach her would have to get through my chest first.
A soft gasp slipped from her when her boots touched down, and both hands closed around the edges of my cut. Her eyes widened as she looked up at me, filled with the same startled awareness that had appeared each time I put my hands on her.
“Stay beside me.”
“I wasn’t planning to go near them,” she pointed out, her voice soft but steadier now.
“Good.” I spread one hand across her waist, my fingers curving around the beginning of her hip while my thumb rested against the warm strip of skin above her jeans. “But that isn’t the same as staying beside me.”
More color swept over her cheeks and down her throat. Her gaze dropped to my hand, then lifted back to mine, and the small nod she gave me sent satisfaction moving through my blood with a dangerous kind of ease.
