Page 57

I narrow my eyes and try to relax the tension in my muscles.

Delilah, my family, they aren’t helping. It’s been too damn long since I’ve done this.

“It’s okay,” Delilah murmurs, and I glance her way. “I wouldn’t know what to think of me either.”

How I feel about Delilah dancing is none of my business. It bothers me more that she has to do it.

“Not worried about you…” I gruff. “Worried about what other guys could do.” The impulse to take care of her is so unfamiliar, I fight to shut it off and return to numbness, but I can’t.

Delilah releases a shaky breath. “I know about bad men, Cole. Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”

Realization rages through my blood. No more doubt.

Someone hurt her.

The pounding of my heart thrashes in my ears. Motherfucker.

I don’t want to feel this angry. Not again. Especially for this girl I barely know, but I do.

If someone hurt her, at that club where she works…

Is that why she’s here? Trying to escape? Running from the person who put hands on her?

Before I can say anything, Delilah dusts her hands off and rests them in her lap. “Thanks, that was good. Especially since that was dinner.”

I frown at the bag of rat food on the picnic table. “Thought you went to the market.”

“Oh, I did. I just ran into the gossips, who were out in full force.”

I wince. Rumors foam at the mouth in our town. No telling what she heard. “What about?”

She looks into the sun, her chest rising and falling. “Me.”

A growl rises in my chest. “What’d they say?”

She hugs her waist. “Stupid stuff.”

Not stupid. Because I can see it’s affected her. Her light’s dimmed, her eyes sad, and it’s that combination that fucks with my heartbeat.

“Tell me,” I demand.

At her hesitation, I give her a firm glare. She sighs. “Apparently I’m the whore of the town, and my sole focus in life is getting my hooks into one of the Westons.”

A growl vibrates in my chest. I dig my fingers into the edge of the picnic table and resist the urge to reach out and comfort her.

I don’t like the fact that people are talking about her. Worse, I don’t like the fact that their words have hurt her. No matter the rumors that flew in this town, my brothers and I always had each other’s backs. Someone needs to have hers.

“Who was it?” I ask, trying to school my anger, even though I’m ready to find Tempest’s gossip committee and issue a stern warning.

“Big hair, bigger mouth.”

I can automatically think of two people who fit the description. Gretchen Hale and Lisette Craddock.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.” She lifts a slender shoulder. “I bought what I needed and got the hell out of there.”

My chest constricts. She bought her goddamn rat food but forgot about herself.

She turns her head. The air in my lungs stills. She’s fucking breathtaking. The setting sun kisses her high cheekbones, the gold in her eyes. My hands burn to touch her. To run over her velvet skin and thread my fingers through her silky hair.