I wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
Winston was supposed to be like all the others—predictable, easy to read, driven by ego or greed. But he wasn’t. He didn’t chase power for power’s sake, didn’t try to own the world or the people in it. He didn’t try to own me. He listened, really listened, like what I said mattered. LikeImattered.
With every easy conversation, every moment of quiet understanding, he stripped away the armor I had spent years perfecting. He never tried to corner me, never pushed, never demanded more than I was willing to give.
That shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did.
For the first time since I’d left my father’s farm, I wondered what it would feel like to stop fighting, to stop planning every step ahead. What if, just this once, I let things happen instead of forcing them? What if I let him take me wherever he wanted us to go? Together?
The thought sent a sharp jolt of fear through me.
Because I knew exactly what it meant. I was falling for Winston Donovan. And that was the most dangerous mistake I could ever make. I kept cursing my father’s name for it, but that didn’t change anything. Even if he was the reason why our romance could never have a happy ending.
Whatever it took, I had to follow the script and do what I’d come to Vegas to do.
I stopped by the kitchen counter, where I’d left the latest handwritten note he’d sent me. “Dress for the desert again. I’ll pick you up at noon. Today. W.” The simple unmarked envelope had been delivered along with a cream-colored Stetson cowboy hat that fit my head perfectly. Since it had been delivered early that morning, I hadn’t been able to settle down long enough to catch my breath. I couldn’t think straight.
It was almost noon when I finished getting dressed. I wore a tie-front denim shirt with jeans and a pair of black cowboy boots to match my new hat. I’d braided my hair in a loose fishtail brought over my right shoulder, fighting hard to keep memories of Texas from ruining my mood. Still restless, at about a quarter to, I opened the front door to check if Winston was there yet.
He wasn’t, but Jack stared eerily right at me from across the street. My skin tingled with rising goose bumps; I was terrified of him. But then a wave of searing anger surged through me. I’d had enough of this, of him stalking me, and of my own fear. I rushed over to him, ignoring his threatening gaze, and stopped squarely in front of him with my hands propped on my hips.
“What do you want, huh? Do you want me to call the cops?”
He scoffed. It felt like a slap across my face. “We both know you’re not going to do that, Ms.Taylor,” he said, accentuating my name derisively. But he crossed his bulging arms at his chest and took a small step back.
Damn him. How much does he know?
“Who sent you?” I asked, willing myself to stay calm. In the entire history of mankind, anger rarely solved any issues.
“It doesn’t matter. You need to leave. Pack whatever shit you got and just get out of here. Never come back.”
“And I’m supposed to just listen to you?” My eyes drilled into his as I spoke, the chill in his irises spreading shivers down my spine.
He shrugged. “If you want to live.” His indifference was chilling—more threatening even than the words he spoke.
“And who’s going to kill me if I don’t? You? Who are you, anyway?”
“Your boyfriend’s here,” he said, eyeing the street corner. Then, he grabbed my arm and whispered, “You’re playing a very dangerous game.”
Fuming, I pulled my arm from his grip. Following his gaze, I saw a white Ford Raptor approaching. How did he know that was Winston’s?Ididn’t even know that. Or had it been a lucky guess on his part?
“Leave me the hell alone,” I hissed before crossing the street, waving as Winston pulled into my driveway. I rushed to the house door andlocked it, then climbed into his truck, still breathing heavily from the anger that refused to dissipate.
“Oh, it’s that kind of a day, huh?” Winston quipped, reading my mind as always. “Who was that?”
“Just a stupid neighbor, that’s all,” I said, managing a smile and hoping it felt genuine. “Never mind him. He blocked my driveway yesterday. He had some sort of family gathering.” I adjusted my seat belt as Winston set the truck in motion. I noticed he was wearing a hat much like mine, only black. “Where are we going?” I asked, unable to hide the anticipation in my voice.
Winston just smiled, keeping his eyes on the road.
I shifted in my seat, a restless energy humming under my skin. I should have stayed home. Should have called it quits while I could still walk away. But instead, I was here, leaning toward him without meaning to, eager to see where he would take me.
“We’re going into the Mojave,” he said cryptically. I didn’t insist on learning more.
He pulled out of my driveway, and I noticed Jack had vanished. Where had he gone? His motorcycle wasn’t in sight, and hadn’t been when we’d spoken. The way he appeared and disappeared creeped me out. Something about the tone of his voice when he’d told me I wasn’t safe still echoed in my mind. For a split moment, he’d seemed to give an actual crap about me. What if it was true? What if he knew that whoever had sent him to follow me wanted me dead?
My breathing steadied after a few minutes, the silence between us stretching, easy but charged, the air between us crackling with undeniable chemistry.
Being with Winston unsettled me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. The thrill of it, the pull of him, was undeniable. But beneath it, something sharper lingered—an irritation I couldn’t quite shake. Not at him, but at myself.
