Page 13 of Tormented Hearts

She really looked at him.

One hand was loose on the wheel, his fingers long and tapered. The backs had a sprinkle of light hair. And the tendons in his forearm flexed every time the road demanded he correct the course of the truck.

His angled jaw had a permanent set, making her wonder if he ever relaxed. He wore a cowboy hat, but a few wisps of sun-streaked dark blond hair over his forehead made her think about brushing them away. And the shadow of stubble along his jaw made him look like he’d been up since long before dawn.

His physique didn’t come from a gym membership, that much was obvious. He’d built those broad shoulders by actually requiring strength for hauling around humans, or maybe bombs. He sat squarely behind the wheel, shoulders as wide as the seat and his bulky bicep pushed across the console into her space.

Still doing that thing with his eyes—checking mirrors, checking the road, all without breaking rhythm. It was irritating, the way he made danger seem as normal as the weather. Just a thing to keep track of.

She understood this brand of nonchalance, because—annoyingly—she was the same way.

She sat in board meetings with investors and told them not to panic at every downturn in the market, that it would recover within days. Even when nothing was guaranteed, she knew overreacting only made situations worse.

Her little problem with the shooters was the same. Nothing to fear. Just two guys in the woods who probably thought they were taking care of a trespasser.

She let out a low sigh. She couldn’t keep lying to herself.

This wasn’t the same as volatile markets at all. Nothing about the incident on Timberline Ridge was normal, which was the reason she called for help in the first place.

She darted another sidelong glance at Hawk, and a different kind of sigh escaped her.

The man was…

Did he have to be so damn handsome? It would be easier if he didn’t radiate the kind of competence that made her stomach wobble in a spot she refused to name.

As they drove through rugged backcountry to the resort where she was staying, he didn’t speak, only remained on the lookout, a silent sentry that rattled her more than she cared to acknowledge.

When he turned onto the manicured drive lined with aspens leading to the resort, Hawk slowed. The building came into view—all timber and glass, low and sprawling. She knew what a night here cost, but even if she didn’t, the architecture said it all.

He took it in, and she waited for a comment that never came until he parked in front of the grand entrance.

“Of course this is where you’ve been staying.”

She blinked at him. “What of it?”

He met her stare. Across the cab of the truck, even his intense gaze seemed larger than life. “The most expensive place in the state with a spa and five-star dining, and you’re out digging holes at daybreak.”

She issued a sound of annoyance and reached for the door handle.

He didn’t say anything more until they were in her room. While he made himself a human wall by the door, she gathered her things quickly.

But his eyes tracked over her single suitcase with the same wary attention he’d given the road on the drive here.

He darted a look at the empty closet. “No evening gowns?”

She pressed down on her suitcase to latch it. “No.”

“Red-soled shoes? No jewels in the safe?”

“The shoes don’t go with this outfit.” She set the suitcase on the floor without looking at him. “And I left my Cartier watch in Boston and my Hope Diamond in a safety deposit box.”

He didn’t respond, but something shifted in his eyes, a quiet recalibration she couldn’t name, as if he was rearranging a picture of her he’d already half-drawn and found it didn’t fit the frame anymore.

She’d spent her entire life battling misconceptions about her worth, including from her father, who got a daughter instead of a son.

She’d carried that silent disappointment her whole life. Even if he never spoke the words aloud, it shaped every meeting she ever walked into, every glance from board members who’d expected a man to be sitting in her chair.

Well, she might not be a boy, but she still had value. She was a Winthrop, dammit.