“Mmm-hmm.” She held his gaze, heat rising to her cheeks at her own boldness. “I’ve been thinking about riding you since that day in your truck. Straddling your hips, taking you deep inside me.”
His jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening on the reins as Coyote sensed the shift in his rider’s mood and pranced sideways. “Christ, Naomi.”
She smiled, enjoying the effect her words had on him. “Too much?”
“Not enough,” he growled. “And we’ve still got at least twenty minutes at Her Majesty’s pace.”
Naomi sighed dramatically, patting Lazy Susan’s neck. “Hear that, girl? You’re officially a cockblock.”
The mare flicked an ear back in apparent agreement, then stopped completely to examine a particularly fascinating patch of dirt.
Owen made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “This is torture.”
She laughed and tried to nudge Lazy Susan to move faster. The horse ignored her, and it took more like thirty minutes before the ranch buildings came into view.
“Thank you,” Owen said suddenly, breaking the easy silence.
“For what?” She glanced over, caught by the unfamiliar vulnerability in his voice.
“For not...” He struggled with the words, his jaw working. “For seeing me.”
The simplicity of it squeezed her heart. She understood what it cost him to admit that need—to be seen, to be known. For a man who’d survived by being invisible, it was perhaps the bravest thing he could say.
“I always saw you,” she admitted. “When I walked into Nessie’s that day, you were the first thing I saw. You were never a ghost to me, Owen.”
“Still…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Valor Ridge came into view, the familiar buildings a welcome sight after the emotional intensity of their ride. Owen guided Coyote toward the stables, and Lazy Susan, sensing home and possibly food, finally picked up her pace to something approaching normal horse speed.
As they dismounted in the yard, Jax appeared from the barn, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyes flicked between them, a knowing look passing over his face that made heat rise to Naomi’s cheeks.
“Brandt’s looking for you,” Jax said to Owen. “Said he’s got some intel on the trafficking ring.”
Owen’s expression immediately shifted, the soft openness from the meadow replaced by the sharp focus she recognized from their first meeting. Ghost was back, the mask sliding into place with practiced ease.
“Where is he?” Owen asked, his voice flat.
“Main house with Walker.” Jax took Lazy Susan’s reins from Naomi. “I’ll take care of the horses.”
Owen nodded once, then turned to Naomi. His eyes softened just for her, a private moment in a public space.
Her mouth went dry. “Who’s Brandt?”
“U.S. Marshal.”
“You don’t like him,” she observed, studying the hard set of Owen’s mouth.
“I don’t like federal law enforcement.”
Given what he’d just told her about his past, she understood that wariness.
She touched his cheek and waited until he met her gaze. She smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m not FBI anymore, or what we just did back in that meadow would be awkward as hell.”
He exhaled a short laugh and closed his hands around hers, giving her fingers a squeeze. “Yeah, good thing.” He looked toward the house, and the tension returned to his shoulders. “You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”
She followed his gaze and spotted the dark SUV with government plates. Nerves fluttered in her belly, but she tamped them down. “No, if he can help catch the bastards, I want to talk to him.”
