Page 68 of Branded Betrayal

“Wait, wait,” he says when I put the car in reverse. “Don’t take off so fast. Say, how’s everything going at the ranch? You need any help with anything?”

“It’s going well. Nash has been really helpful. He’s been showing me the ropes. I feel good about things. We’ve had some issues, but we’ve been able to fix them quickly.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about some of your equipment troubles. Shame your aunt wasn’t able to sustain things over there. It’s a lot of work to run a ranch, especially if you’re out of money. But I want you to know we’re always here to help. You know how close we were with your parents. Anything you need, just ask.”

“I really appreciate that. It means so much to me to know that we have so many wonderful, generous people in our corner.” My eyes flit toward the house for a microsecond, then back to Harlon.

He adjusts his hat. “Well, I’m heading into town, but I know Blaze is inside. Tell him to leave some of those cookies for Colt and Wyatt.” A hearty chuckle shakes his shoulders, bright-pink spots coloring his cheeks. He’s such a sweet man, always so good to me and Nash, and his laughter is famously contagious. It’s impossible not to at least smile in return.

“It was really nice seeing you,” I say. “And thank you again.”

He waves and walks over to his truck. I look up at the house.

I can just wait here until Harlon leaves and then—

Wait. No.

Harlon will tell Blaze I was here. And me slinking away like some caught crazy stalker will look way worse than me showing up like the strong, empowered, independent woman who wants answers.

I take a deep breath.

“You’re going to walk into that house, find Blaze, and tell him you are in love with him.”

A gasp catches in my throat. Wait, I’m . . . what? I’m not . . .

Am I?

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

I can’t be. Not again.

Butterflies swarm in my belly, begging to differ.

But I am. Because I’m here, desperate to see him again, to touch him again, to hear him say he loves me too.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I mutter. “I need to get a freaking grip right now. And then I am going to tell him that he needs to stop playing games with me. That I will not be manipulated.”

Yes. That’s better. So much better. And safer. He needs to know he can’t mess with my head anymore. And that he probably should stay away from Red Rock, too, just to be on the safe side.

But my resolve falters with every step I take toward the house.

“I’m not strong enough to stay away. And you’re not strong enough to make me.”

This is bad. I should turn myself around and march back to my car before things get out of control because being around Blaze turns my brain into cookie butter.

Still, I grasp the brass handle and push open the door.

“Who’s there?”

I stop short and raise my gaze to the top of the stairs.

And suddenly, he’s there.

With his shirt off.

Oh, holy hell. Here we go again.