“I know.”
Ava O’Conor died when we were babies, but we’ve heard the stories about her public protests against big oil and its corruption on the land.
“The rigs are gone.” She scans the destroyed field and chews her lip. “You and Jarret stopped the drilling and blasting?”
“Not soon enough. We’re still trying to clean up the mess.”
“But you stopped it. And now that you own the ranch, you won’t let this happen again?”
“As long as I’m alive, I’ll fight it, Conor.”
“Good.” She breathes deeply and adjusts the Stetson—my Stetson—on her head. “How many bales do you need to buck today?”
“About nine more hour’s worth, with your help.”
“Let’s get to it, then.”
As she turns the horse and canters away, I marvel at her remarkable beauty and resilience.
She’s a vision of windblown red hair, picturesque tattoos, and rugged denim. By the end of the day, those jeans will be ripped and caked with dust. There will be dirt under her nails, more scars on her hands, and not a lick of complaining from her sweet lips.
The resentment I expected from her about the drilling didn’t come. Maybe I’ve given her too many other things to be upset about, but I get the sense that she trusts me on this one thing. She knows this land means as much to me as it does to her.
She leans into the breeze as she rides across the field. Hair whipping behind her, she twists her neck to shout back at me, “Catch up!”
I swear I see a glimmering smile before she kicks Ketchup into a gallop.
With a grin that bares my teeth, I do what I’ve done my entire life.
I chase her.
That night, I sit beside Conor and Jarret on the back-porch steps. We showered, ate dinner, and finished the daily chores. Sore muscles, stiff joints, leaden exhaustion—I earned every ache alongside my girl, and despite the sweltering humidity, I’m blissfully content.
Only two things could’ve made this day better. Bringing Lorne home and killing my father.
Conor reclines between Jarret and me, arms braced behind her and face tilted toward the stars. Beneath her serene expression, the long day weighs heavily on her eyelids.
I examine the delicate lines of her profile, marking each long, low sigh from her lips. “You’re tired.”
“Just a freckle.” She holds up a finger and thumb an inch apart and winks. “Is overworking me part of my therapy?”
She has no idea.
“Speaking of freckles…” I circle a finger in front of her flawless face. “Where did yours run off to?”
“Haven’t been in the sun much and…” She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I grew out of them?”
“All of them?” I direct my eyes to her tank top, to the vicinity of her right nipple and my favorite freckle.
“Not all of them.” She looks away, and the corner of her mouth crooks up.
My groin tightens, and my breaths deepen. What I wouldn’t give to see that freckle tonight, to hold it in my hand and sink my teeth into it.
“I was thinking…” She stares out at the dark field and absently picks the dirt from her nails. “I’d like to visit Lorne.”
“I talked to him today.” Jarret bends his legs on the stairs and drapes his arms over his knees.
“You did?” Her voice rises in pitch. “Does he know about Levi Tibbs?”
“He stays abreast of everything.” I draw her eyes back to me. “Half the time, he’s the one keeping us informed.”
“I told him you’re here.” Jarret bumps his shoulder against hers. “He wants to see you, Conor. Very much.”
“Hard to believe that.” She pinches her lip, her expression troubled. “Last time I saw him—”
“His reasons were the same as ours.” I tug her fingers from her mouth and hold onto them. “He was protecting you.”
“And now?” She slips her hand from mine. “Your dad’s out there, wherever, and I’m supposed to blindly trust that I’m safe if I don’t leave the ranch. Except the last time I was here, you chased me away to allegedly keep me safe. It doesn’t make sense, and I need it to make sense.”
I share a look with my brother. “I’ll answer one question tonight.”
“In exchange for…?”
“Let me worry about that.” I tuck her hair behind her ear, clearing my view of her stunning face. “What’s the one thing you want to know more than anything else?”
Her lashes lower. Her brows pull in, and she makes a soft Hmmm sound in her throat.
Then she flicks her eyes to me. “How did you lose your virginity?”
My heart jolts, pounding a roar in my ears. Of all the questions she should be asking—about her safety, the ranch, our dads’ involvement—she asks about me. A personal detail like that wouldn’t concern her unless she’s thinking about us.
She’s thinking about our kiss.
I study her as she studies me. The silent stare off makes my dick swell and my throat go dry. Christ, I want to fuck her, roughly and recklessly, until she screams my name and begs for mercy.