Page 78 of Sterling Stone

“I’ll tell you about my arm in a minute.” He pauses, glancing quickly over his shoulder, then back at me and repeats his question. “Did he just say what I think he said?”

“What do you think he said?” I ask, falling back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest again to steady the rumble inside me. My blood pressure is still on the rise, especially noting that bandage on Stone’s arm.

When Stone doesn’t repeat what he heard, I clarify. “He was talking about my sister.”

His gaze doesn’t leave my face. “Does that happen often? Comments like that.”

I stare back at him, feeling the anger wavering around him like a foggy haze. His stoic, still nature looks ready to implode.

“You ever date a woman of color before?” I ask, keeping my arms crossed, my body tight. My tone is steadier than I feel.

Stone shifts in his chair, meeting my gaze head-on. “I haven’t, actually,” he admits slowly. “But I want to understand.”

Lowering my arms, I clutch the edge of my chair and focus on the bandage on his arm. “Some people . . . they don’t just make it hard, they make it impossible. You learn to keep your head down, swallow your anger, never make waves, because it never ends well for women like me. Being a woman is hard enough. Being a woman of color? It’s like carrying a storm in your chest every damn day.”

Stone’s jaw tightens. “That’s bullshit,” he mutters, his eyes sharp, his focus on me unwavering. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that. Ever. Not for a second.”

I blink, caught off guard. His words feel deliberate, full of emotion, like he’s thought about this more than I expected.

“Vale . . .” Stone’s voice dips when he mentions his sister. “She’s pretty open about the things men say or do. It’s been a real education. So, I don’t want anyone talking to you like that, or about your sister, or your aunt. No one. I don’t care what color you are. You can be a fucking blue alien, and you still don’t deserve a disrespectful tone, rude declaration, or questionable glance.”

His normally even-toned voice grows louder, more agitated.

“As a woman, you learn to navigate all kinds of bullshit. Toss in this.” I wave over myself. “And you add another layer to navigate.”

Stone shakes his head. “I hate that, Taxi.”

“I hate it, too, but I try to live my life as best I can. As only I can.” I accept me, and that means I defend me when necessary.

Still, the protective alpha vibe Stone is giving off is a turn-on. I don’t need him to stand up for me, but what if I had someone who did?

Stone continues to watch me. Maybe he has more to say on the subject, but he holds back, letting me have my moment.

Eventually, I snort. “Blue aliens?” The bitter chuckle that escapes with the question eases the tension in my body. I sit up again, leaning toward Stone.

“Taxi, I won’t tolerate bullshit like that.” He hitches his thumb over his shoulder, indicating dicks like Andy. “You’re fucking stunning, so I imagine you need more than a stick to fight assholes like him off. I don’t want you to ever think you have to take that kind of shit.”

This might be the most worked up I’ve ever seen Stone Sylver, and it endears him to me even more.

“You gonna arrest everyone that talks to me like that?” I tease.

“I’ll arrest anyone negatively breathing your air, if you want me to.”

Something tells me he’s serious, and I recall him mentioning how he’d arrest the man hitting on me in the bar the night we met. His face sobers, and he drops his gaze to my legs, covered in another pair of overalls.

I really need to get Gloria and my things to Sterling Falls.

“I try to be a fair person, an honest sheriff, but I’m not a perfect man.” There’s a hesitation in his tone that doesn’t scare me as much as raise my curiosity.

What has Stone ever done that’s bad?

I don’t have the chance to ask because he continues.

“Now.” His tone lightens, and he stretches his fingers, so they pluck the loose denim of my overalls over my knees. “I’d like to circle back to that dating comment.”

“And I’d like to circle back to what the hell happened to your arm?”

“Tallulah.” His tone is still serious, not giving in to my concern for his arm or letting go of something still troubling him about this situation that I’d like to put behind me.