“Now they’ve bought every single open space?” I ask, and he nods regretfully.
“All the way up to Hollis,” he replies, and my heart drops straight into my stomach.
If I’m right, this is going to be bad.
But will Gage even hear me out?
I thank him for his time and walk out of the town hall with one thought looping over and over—getting back to the ranch so I can talk to Gage about this before it’s too late.
I haven’t seen Gage all day, not since the night we shared, and frankly, I’m anxious and nervous. Every ounce of me is on pins and needles at the thought of seeing his face.
It’s strange, because part of me wants to avoid him entirely, while another part aches just to be near him.
I hate it because he confuses me.
***
When I get back to the ranch, I search for him until I spot him in the distance by the property line. I head down the hill toward him, nerves buzzing under my skin as I brace myself to face him.
Will he still ignore me after everything that happened? Will he treat me even worse? Too many thoughts crowdmy head, and none of them are good, because I know he won’t be completely different.
I know he won’t suddenly treat me well or be sweet to me.
When I reach him, I stop and watch as he sets a new wooden post into the fence. I bite my bottom lip, hoping he’ll break the silence first, but he doesn’t.
I know he can feel my presence behind him; he just refuses to let it interrupt his work.
I let out a shaky breath. “Do you need any help?” I ask, and for a moment he pauses—but only for an instant. He doesn’t turn around, his hat tipped low to block the sun from his already tan face as he keeps working.
“Nah.”
He goes right back to it, and I roll my eyes at how determined he is to show absolutely no emotion. The most emotion I’ve ever seen from him was when he was having his way with me.
Not for nothing, I was hoping for something—anything—outside of that, but instead he stays closed off and unreadable.
I sigh and step closer. “Where do you want me to hold?” I ask, and this time he stops, finally glancing at me.
I meet his eyes—steel gray and sharp—and now they haunt me with something deeper than irritation. It shouldn’t be this way.
I shouldn’t be drawn to a man who pretty much hates me, who’s spent most of his time trying to push me out. What kind of woman wants a man like that? He doesn’t even treat me well.
It’d be one thing if he showed kindness or took a moment to explain things, but all he’s done is dismiss me. One small act—keeping me out of the storm, wrapping my hand—and suddenly my judgment wavers.
I’ve never been that woman, so why am I letting some cowboy make me question my own morals?
“I said I got it,” he reminds me, and I roll my eyes.
“I heard you, but I’m here and I’m helping, so where do you want me to hold it?” I say. His jaw tightens before he exhales slowly through his nose.
He pauses, then kneels to level the post with the hole he dug. When he stands, he places his hands over mine, warm and solid. “Grip it tightly.” He lets go immediately, and the absence of his touch feels louder than it should.
He uses the mallet to hammer down the post, and I watch as his biceps tighten with each forceful hit. I lick my lips, biting down as I stare at the pulsing muscle. Ugh. I hate myself for even noticing.
I’ve never been the lustful type. Every guy I’ve ever been interested in has just been a guy—nothing remarkable. They were nice enough, and we had fun, but they were simple.
We’d share interests and want the same things, until one of us wanted more and the other didn’t. Dating was never my strength, but I was fine on my own. I had my job. I had a full life.
I didn’t need to complicate it by letting another person into it.
