But now here Gage stands, and I’m questioning who I am as a person, as a woman. When do I accept that this isn’t the man I should even be thinking about?
One lapse of judgment, and suddenly I can’t stop eyeing him like he’s a five-course meal. I never thought he was attractive—except that he very much is.
On the outside, Gage is the kind of man women would fawn over. A cowboy with dark hair and steel-gray eyes that hint at a thousand emotions his mouth refuses to share.
He’s every woman’s dream on paper, but inside, he’s one walking red flag. And I know—deep down—that he’s wrong for me in every way that matters, even as my head screams for more.
None of it matters, though, because even if I wanted anything else from him, Gage can’t stand me. He madethat clear, even during the deed, in the way he pushed me to meet him where the anger already lived.
I gave in to his demands only because it felt too good not to.
“Will you ever see me?” I ask out of nowhere. Embarrassment hits hard because I was only thinking it. I never meant to say it aloud, never meant to give him access to my thoughts—especially when he doesn’t seem to care at all.
But he steps away from the newly placed post and looks at me.
His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate, his breath heavy, his face slick with sweat. He doesn’t say a word—just stands there and shakes his head.
What is he thinking? What goes through this man’s head? This is one of those moments where I wish I could read minds, even though I’m not sure I’d survive knowing what he actually thinks.
The longer he holds my gaze, the more uncomfortable I feel. My confidence drains away, leaving me exposed. I look down, realizing I may never get an answer, and I think that’s what hurts the most.
I blink back tears, because there is no way I’m going to let this man see me cry.
Then he finally speaks.
“I see you,” he says—not gentle, not reassuring. Just honest.
I lift my gaze to meet his.
ten
Gage
That day by the fence throws me for a loop, and it sticks with me longer than I want it to.
I spend most of the day avoiding Sloane because I don’t want to hash out feelings or try to make sense of what happened. What happened between us is a lapse of judgment—two consenting adults crossing a line I should’ve guarded better.
With all the pent-up frustration, it boils over like a pot of water on a piping-hot stove, and this is where it lands.
I know Sloane would make it into something bigger. I know the moment she comes by the fence, it’ll be the conversation I’m dreading, but when it doesn’t come,
I’m caught off guard. Worse, I’m curious about the moment when it finally does. I know she wants to talk, butshe’s been around me long enough now to understand how little I engage with anyone—especially her.
I spend a good part of my life keeping to myself. It feels better that way, less chance of being disappointed.
The only person I ever let close to me was my uncle, and look how that turned out. I date here and there, but that always turns out to be a mistake.
Women make you feel good one moment, then want something more the next, and suddenly you’re not enough—but that’s a whole other story.
With Sloane, I keep my distance for a reason. From the moment she steps out of her sedan, I know she isn’t like any other woman I’ve met. She’s difficult, stubborn, and far too much like me, and that’s a problem.
Most women I’ve known are less confrontational, but every woman I’ve dated turns vindictive.
Somewhere along the way, I accept that I’m better off alone, and I stop trusting easily. That’s why Sloane stays at arm’s length. She might mean well—but how can I truly know?
She’s only been here a few weeks, and in that short time, she’s already poked around in places her nose doesn’t belong.
What is it with all the questions about the water main? Why is she digging through the woods looking for an oldsystem? Why does she care so damn much about the functionality of a ranch she doesn’t even plan to keep?
