“It’s as good a place as any.” She shrugs, her gaze lowering to the bottle in her hand. “The clinic here needed someone. I needed a change of scenery.”
I nod, knowing she’s not telling the whole truth. “Did you always want to be a vet?”
“I wanted to be a doctor.” She looks up at me with surprise, like she didn’t expect herself to admit that. She lifts her shoulder, trying to smile to cover it up. “In the end, I decided to go into veterinary medicine instead.”
I get it. It’s why I’ve always loved horses. “Animals don’t lie.”
Her mouth drops open, like I’ve shocked her. “They don’t take anything from you either,” she says finally.
“Neither will I,” I promise, meeting her eyes.
She huffs a laugh. Shaking her head, she looks out into the bar.
“You don’t believe me.” I’m not surprised. Men make wars, and women are the victims. I’ve seen it all over the world.
“I don’t know you,” she murmurs without looking at me.
But she will.
And I’ll know her. All of her—what she looks like in the morning when she wakes up, how she takes her coffee, what she likes to eat. I want to know what she tastes like, and how she sounds when she stops fighting and lets herself fall. I want to see her scars, the visible and invisible. I want to own her vulnerability the way I own every tactical decision—completely, without hesitation, without the mercy of doubt. And I want her to choose it.
Every.
Single.
Time.
Because I can’t stop myself, I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear—a touch so brief it's almost not there. But it's enough to make her freeze, her eyes wide and bright on me.
If I ever find the fucker who hurt her, I’m going to make him regret the day he was born. I control my expression. The lastthing she needs to see is that side of me—not before she knows me enough to know I’d never do anything but cherish her.
I see the moment she decides I’m not a threat, her muscles thawing a little. Just that little bit feels like a victory, and I’ll take it. For now.
Her cheeks flush deeper. She opens her mouth to respond, and I have the urge to kiss her.
I don’t kiss women. Hell—I don’t fuck women that often either. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.
Lily wouldn’t be any trouble. It’d be all pleasure. And once she lets me put my mouth on hers, I’m not letting her walk away.
Ever.
Lily’s attention shifts, her eyes moving past me. I feel a flare of jealousy before I see the softness drain from her expression and replaced by something withdrawn but focused.
I don't turn around. Instead, I study her face, reading the change like a map. Someone just walked in. Someone she recognizes.
Someone she's scared of.
10
LILY
My heart is pounding from Mason and his barely there touch—did he almost kiss me?—so when the man steps into the Rusty Spur, I’m already struggling to catch my breath.
Seeing him knocks it clear out of me.
For a second I think that I’m imagining it. He could just look like the man who kidnapped me and Mandy. After years of one dead-end after another, maybe I just want the lead that brought me to Iron Ridge to be valid so badly that I think it’s him.
But I look—really look—and I know.