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Delilah releases a happy squeal, throws her arms around my neck. Her kisses rain on my neck, my cheek, my lips, and I have to fight the urge to toss her over my shoulder and take us both back to the house. Instead, I crouch down and lift the calf in my arms.

“I’ll help you,” she says, skipping after me. Her fingers trail over my forearm, then cling to my bicep.

I reach down and slap her ass. “Damn right you will.”

Two hours later, the July sun drifting beneath the horizon, the pen’s built.

“What do you think?” she asks, evaluating the small, fenced area beneath a grove of trees.

“I think you got me wrapped around your finger, baby, but you already know that, don’t you?” I take up her hand and kiss her fingertips.

“Thank you, Cole.” Delilah stares out at Waffle, nosing her way around the pen. Then her lashes lift as she turns to look up at me. “I’ll take care of her, do whatever I need to do until she’s big.”

“Welcome.” I scrub a hand over my mouth, smothering a smile.

Smiling, she turns from me, the ends of her frayed shorts swishing as she makes her way to the pen. Her long blond hair glimmers in the fading sunlight. Her beauty is effortless, stunning, and fucks with my heart.

I watch her laugh as Waffle noses at her outstretched palm. I chuckle too, hitching my fingers through my belt loops and taking a good long look.

Realization chokes the breath from my lungs.

Fuck. I like this too much.

Whatever this is.

I’ve never committed to a woman, never been in a relationship, much less in love. I don’t even know if it’s something I’m capable of, something I deserve.

But Delilah…this girl. She cracks open my heart, my soul.

She trusts me.

Worry scratches through my blood.

But would she, if she knew about my past? The things I’ve done to protect the family I love. The deal with S.O.T. The night I pulled Wells out of that hellhole. My plan when I find the person responsible for my parents.

This bright, beautiful girl doesn’t need my darkness bringing her down.

I’ll let her stay as long as she needs. When the dust clears, I’ll send her on her way. Get on with my life.

My chest tightens. I glance down at the scar on my palm.

Suddenly, the lie doesn’t feel like enough.

* * *

Eighteen years ago

Gravel crunches under truck tires. Warren pulls the truck onto a small patch of our land behind Bellowing Peak surrounded by overgrown trees. No neighbors. No deputy or jury. Just midnight. Just us.

Warren looks at me in the passenger seat. At my clenched fists. “Easy, Cole.”

I give him a look. He can tell me to go easy all he wants. We’re already in this deep. He and I both know what we plan to do.

I shove open the door with my boot. From the backseat spill Ezra and River. Their lean forms move easily in the dark. River cradles Wells in his arms.

My gaze latches on my little brother, the rope burns on his wrists, and my stomach roils. “How is he?” I hope with all my heart that he doesn’t remember a thing.

Eyes on Wells’s face, River rasps, “He needs to go home.”