Page 43 of Branded Betrayal

Wilkerson nods. “That’s a nice story, Hartman. But does it look like I’m a fucking ranch hand and understand all that bullshit?”

I just give him a half shrug. “You do enough to cheat people out of their land. I’d have figured you’d pick up some things along the way.”

Wilkerson’s hands grip the desk tight. “Watch your mouth, boy. You know what I can—and will—do if you don’t cooperate.”

My pulse hammers hard against my throat. I want so badly to lay this fucker out and drive a nail into each one of his damn eyes before slamming a hammer into his skull.

“Fine. But remember that you wanted me to gain her trust so I can get in close to actually cause problems for the ranch. I need to break her without making it look that way. So if I can’t go in to ‘help’ her fix shit, then she’ll find someone else to. And that person might actually fix what’s broken. Do you want another person moving in on your territory?” I lift an eyebrow as his expression twists.

Because he knows I’m right. He’d rather have me control her . . . I mean, the outcome . . . than someone else.

“Fine.” He seethes. “Do what you need to do to get this done quickly, but do not screw this up.” He nods toward the door. “Now get out.”

“With fucking pleasure,” I mutter, storming out the front door.

Heavy raindrops pelt me once I step outside, each one hitting me like a gut punch.

As I reach my truck, my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.

Saw you at Wilkerson’s office. Interesting. Ticktock, Hartman.

A second later, the phone buzzes again. I open the photo. It’s of Savannah at Red Rock, going about her business.

I get into the truck, the rain drumming against the roof.

She’s being watched.

But then again, so am I.

Chapter Fifteen

Savannah

I take a sip of my wine and gaze at Tyler across the table as he tells me one of his house call war stories.

He’s been a perfect gentleman from the second he showed up at Red Rock to pick me up for our date tonight. He brought me flowers and ingredients for my chocolate-raspberry cake, which made me chuckle.

“I didn’t get a chance to sample it the last time, so I’m hoping this will score me an invitation for a second chance tasting,” he’d told me.

My lips curl into a smile at the memory. Even though we’ve only known each other for a short time, we click. It’s so easy with him. We talk and joke and laugh. There’s no power struggle. No secrets, no lies. Just fun.

And I think I might be ready for a little more fun.

“I gave him the shot, and then the calf literally headbutted me right into the water trough,” Tyler says, grinning. “In front of the entire Henderson family.”

“Henderson cattle have always been ornery,” I say, taking a sip of wine. “I guess it’s in the genes.”

“Ornery is putting it mildly. But I got the job done. Sometimes you just have to be stubborn. Speaking of stubborn,” he continues, voice dropping slightly, “I’m really glad you agreed to have dinner with me. After the Boot Barn . . .” He trails off, shaking his head. “I was an idiot for letting you leave like that. I shouldn’t have even suggested that place. I didn’t realize it was such a breeding ground for that kind of trouble.”

The flicker in his eyes tells me the “trouble” he’s talking about might not be limited to the assholes from out of town.

“It’s fine. I understand. Things got a little out of hand.”

“It’s not fine. I should have protected you better. Gotten you out of there safely. I was afraid you wouldn’t give me another shot.” His hand reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine. “But I’m glad you did. I really think there’s something here, Savannah.”

I nod. “I do too.” And I mean it. Tyler is good. Solid. The kind of guy who shows up. Who recognizes his mistakes and tries to fix them.

Who isn’t Blaze Hartman.