Lily stands by the entrance. Our eyes lock and I feel it like a sniper round—direct hit, no escape.
For a second, her mask slips. I catch a glimpse of the raw emotions underneath: lust, grief, rage, purpose. Then she rebuilds the walls.
Fuck if I don’t want to tear them down with my bare hands. I can’t decide if she’s running from something or toward it.
I take a slow sip of bourbon and let the burn ground me. Normally I’d say it’s none of my business and turn away. But I can’t—not with her. I’m going to make it my business.
When Jake said he wanted to retire and come back to Iron Ridge to claim Emma, the girl he’d had to leave behind, I’d come with him because he, Luke, and I are a team. We’ve had each other’s backs for so long it’s as unconscious as breathing now. I didn’t understand his need for her, but he wanted her, so here we are.
In the past two months, Luke and I have teased Jake nonstop about how unhinged he is about Emma.
Now I get it. Because a sane man doesn’t sit in the night, watching his woman through a scope, to make sure she’s alright and alone, the way I have every night for the past two months.
6
LILY
Damn it—all the seats at the bar are taken. I pause, looking to see if anyone’s about to move on, trying to figure out what to do.
As if he heard my thought, Mason Rivera stands up and gestures to his seat.
As if it wasn’t bad that my panties are damp, my nipples go hard too.
I zip up my jacket to cover them. Do I take the seat? I look around the bar again. It’s Friday night and it’s packed. That’s the reason I come Fridays—all the hands from the ranches around the county come in to unwind from the week. Whiskey and restless men? The perfect combination for loose lips. It’s a better chance to get the information I’m looking for.
At the moment, it’s not working in my favor. All the tables are taken. I keep to myself, so it’d be weird if I suddenly ask to join one of the groups. Besides, I don’t want to open that door. I’ve deliberately walled myself off as the unapproachable, professional town vet.
Mason’s chair it is.
I take a deep breath and head toward him. Better this way, I guess—less awkward. Since her house burned down six weeksago, Emma’s been living on Blackthorn Ranch. I don’t want it to be weird if I run into him. I haven’t so far, but it’s bound to happen, right?
This is just a kindness, I tell myself as I slide onto the stool he's vacated, hyper-aware of the warmth he's left behind. But I glance at him and know there’s not a gentlemanly bone in his big, rangy body.
He settles back in beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, far enough that it's not threatening. It's a calculated distance—the distance of someone who understands personal space the way I do.
His warm scent wraps around me—clean, like some sort of woodsy soap. I like it. A lot.
“Thanks,” I say belatedly, as neutral as I can be feeling as flustered and turned on as I am. I’ve never had the urge to lean into someone like this.
Before I do anything stupid, Hank appears in front of us. He shoots Mason a wary look before he smiles at me, his elbows on the bar. “Hey, Doc. You're later than usual.”
Hank could be typecast as the perfect bar owner: no nonsense, burly, and grizzled by life. I can count the number of men I feel completely comfortable with on one hand. Hank’s one of them. “I stopped to check on Lester Whitehorse's mare,” I tell him, relaxing a little. “She's going to foal any day.”
Hank rolls his eyes. “The way Lester talks about it, you'd think it's his wife giving birth.”
I shrug. “It's his first foal. He's a nervous papa.”
He taps the bar once. “Beer?”
“Yes, please.”
The humor draining from his face, Hank points at Mason behind me. “You?”
He lifts his glass. “I’m good.”
7
MASON