Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
“That was…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Believable?” he offers.
“Yeah,” I say. “That.”
He looks like he wants to say something else. Instead, he picks up our empties. “You want another beer?”
“No. If I drink more, I’m going to tell someone the truth and ruin your op.”
“That’s fair.”
We make our way toward the exit, collecting commentary as we go.
Brooke gives us a thumbs-up. One of the ranch wives fans herself dramatically. Old Mr. Harris mutters something about “finally, the universe gets one right.”
Outside, the night is a blessedly cool slap.
I exhale.
Nash shoves his hands into his pockets like he doesn’t trust them.
We’re halfway to the truck when a voice oozes out of the shadows near the side of the building.
“Well, I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Valor Springs royalty.”
I don’t have to turn to know who it is. My spine does it automatically. “Kyle,” I say, keeping my voice flat.
Kyle Stroud steps into the light with a smirk that used to make girls sigh and now just makes my skin crawl. He’s dressed like a catalog cowboy—perfectly distressed jeans, brand-new boots, button-down shirt that probably cost more than my monthly grocery bill.
He was a jerk in high school. Time has not improved him.
“Delaney Coleman,” he drawls. “Back in town and already slumming it.”
Nash goes still beside me.
“Stroud,” he says, voice pitched low and neutral. “Didn’t know you were in.”
“Oh, you know how it is.” Kyle spreads his arms as if to embrace the entire parking lot. “Got to check on Daddy’s investments. This town is growing. Or it will be, once some people accept progress is coming whether they like it or not.”
His eyes flick toward me on “some people.”
I smile with all my teeth. “You talking about the Keenes or just the mirror again?”
He laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “You always had claws, Delaney. Kind of liked that about you.”
“Can’t imagine why.” I shift closer to Nash, more performance than instinct, but the way his shoulder brushes mine feels real enough.
Kyle’s gaze drops, clocking the contact.
“Well, look at this,” he says. “High school’s favorite almost-couple finally made it official. Congratulations. You upgraded, Coleman.”
Nash’s jaw flexes.
It hits me then—what he heard back then. How that must have sounded, layered over the mess in his head. One careless comment. One overheard sentence about wanting more. And here we are, years later, still paying interest on that moment.
“Thought you were chasing city boys, Delaney,” Kyle goes on. “Figured you’d have yourself a nice shiny fiancé with a corporate card by now.”
“I have myself exactly what I want,” I say.
Kyle hums. “Sure. But when you’re ready for a real man…” His gaze slides over Nash like he’s something on the underside of his boot. “…someone who can actually take care of you, who can actually save your little ranch instead of just flirting with you in feed aisles… you know where to find me.”
Heat flashes through me—humiliation, anger, protective pride. All of it at once.
Before I can speak, Nash steps forward.
Not far.
Just enough that I feel the shift in the air.
The relaxed slouch disappears.
What’s left is a wall.
“If you talk to her like that again,” he says, voice soft and lethal, “you’re going to learn the difference between a developer and a man who’s seen what happens when people mistake land for leverage.”
Kyle snorts. “Oh, I’m terrified.”
“You should be,” Nash says, not raising his volume even a notch. “Because I know where your daddy’s surveyors have been sniffing. I know about the complaint he filed after the Keenes lost that water case. And I know this—if we find out you or your people are behind what’s happening on that ranch…” He smiles then. It’s not friendly. “…Lone Star won’t be the first problem you deal with. I will.”
Kyle’s smirk falters. Just a little. He covers it with swagger, straightening his shirt. “You always did think you were some kind of hero, Hawthorne. Playing soldier. Playing savior. This town is changing. You can either stand in front of the bulldozer or you can move.”
“I’ve stood in front of worse,” Nash says. “And I’m still here.”
They stare each other down.
This is not in the fake dating script.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m amazed the Eager Beaver isn’t serving it as a special. I step forward, sliding my hand around Nash’s bicep. It’s half a calming gesture, half staking a claim I’m not ready to analyze.
His muscle jumps under my palm.
“Let’s go,” I say, eyes still on Kyle. “We have better things to do than listen to a trust fund recital.”
Kyle’s mouth twists. “You’ll change your tune when the bank calls, sweetheart.”
“I’ll let my real man handle it,” I fire back sweetly, and tug Nash toward the truck.
We turn.
Nash comes with me, but his shoulders are tight under my fingers, coiled with the kind of tension I recognize from the before-and-after of his deployment.