With a muttered curse, he threw back the sheet and swung his feet onto the floor. The glowing red numbers on the alarm clock announced it was a little after twelve-thirty.
Giving up on sleep, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a faded T-shirt, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed softly as he grabbed a can of cola from the top shelf. A sharp hiss filled the quiet when he cracked it open.
After slipping his feet into a pair of moccasins, he stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him.
The porch swing creaked beneath his weight as he lowered himself onto it, one foot planted on the weathered boards to set it in motion. Thick clouds had swallowed most of the moon, leaving the ranch draped in little more than shadows. Beyond the porch, the familiar outlines of the main house, barns, and corrals faded into the darkness, while crickets and tree frogs carried on as though nothing in the world had changed.
Everything had.
He'd spent the afternoon avoiding Shylo and trying to convince himself that he hated her for lying to him.
It hadn't worked.
He understood now—or at least he understood enough. She hadn't come to Hazard Falls looking for love. She'd come looking for answers... and maybe a measure of justice for a lifetime spent wondering why her father had wanted nothing to do with her beyond a child support check every month.
He could even understand why she'd kept the truth from him after they'd met.
That didn't stop it from hurting.
Her smiles. Their kisses. Every conversation they'd shared since she'd arrived now warred with what she hadn't told him. He hated she hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth.
What he hated even more was that he couldn't seem to stop loving her.
A faint, indistinct sound broke the quiet.
Seth's head came up, and he held perfectly still, listening. But only the familiar sounds of the ranch reached his ears. His gaze swept the darkness. Nothing moved.
It had probably been some critter nosing around for food.
He lifted the cola can to his lips, but something made him pause.
A shadow slipped between the trees bordering the yard.
Maybe it was whoever had watch duty tonight. Tucker had everyone rotating two-hour shifts.
Except that the figure moved from one patch of darkness to the next, slow and deliberate, as though trying not to be seen.
Every muscle in Seth's body tightened. If it was one of the ranch hands, they had no reason to hide.
He set the cola can on the porch floor and eased off the swing, careful not to make it squeak. His gun sat inside on the kitchen counter where he'd left it after cleaning it earlier that evening. Going back to get it would mean opening doors and making noise. If someone were sneaking around the ranch, they'd disappear long before he got back outside.
Instead, he slipped off the porch, keeping to the darkness as he moved from one patch of shadow to the next.
The figure crept toward the house.
Seth shortened the distance between himself and the figure, one careful step at a time, as his pulse thudded in his ears. Then came the unmistakable snick of a lighter, followed by a tiny burst of orange.
The flame illuminated a familiar, unshaven face for the briefest instant.
Troy.
In his other hand, a glass bottle with a rag stuffed into its neck flared to life—a Molotov cocktail.
Oh, shit.
Seth lunged, his shoulder slamming into the man as he drew his arm back to throw. The impact sent the bottle flying off course. Glass shattered, and flames erupted across the side yard instead of engulfing the house, but they were still dangerously close.
Troy hit the ground with a grunt, but recovered fast, twisting beneath Seth and driving an elbow into his ribs.
