Page 30 of Branded Betrayal

There might not be a threat tonight.

But I know sure as shit that it’s coming.

Sooner rather than later.

Chapter Eleven

Savannah

Six years of running from Blaze Hartman, and I’m still letting him live rent-free in my head every time I touch a damn wrench.

A sudden wind kicks up dust clouds in the distance. I swipe my arm across my forehead, mopping up the sweat with my shirtsleeve before I try to tighten one of the rusty screws. Again.

This gate latch already defeated me three times, and it’s not even nine o’clock. Every time I think I have the wooden door aligned with the hinges, the damn thing slips out of my hands, and I land ass first in the dirt.

My palms are raw from gripping the metal pieces so tight. But what else am I supposed to do? Trying to wrangle a two-hundred-pound contraption on my own isn’t ideal, but I can’t always wait around for Mikey and Randy to show up. Nash hasn’t made contact in days, so I assume he’s just boozing off his anger about the ranch. And Blaze . . .

Dammit. I am not thinking about him again.

I blow on my hands to get some relief from the cuts and scrapes. I avoided gloves because I couldn’t get a proper grip on the screws with them. I shield my eyes and stare up at the hawks circling in the bright-blue sky, a deep sigh quaking my shoulders.

This is so not my calling in life. I don’t even own proper ranching gear, and everything takes me ten times as long as it should, even with guidance from the ranch hands.

Thankfully, Caroline and human resources approved a three-month sabbatical, so I can at least use my salary to help fund my work here for half the time I need to make this place profitable. We are making some money from our dairy operations, but it’s just not enough. And even though we have nursing cows on the ranch to raise a lot of the baby calves and increase dairy production, we still don’t have enough to generate the kind of income we need to stay in the black.

I just need to make sure I keep getting a steady paycheck. And since I’ve created a rough business plan, including ideas I have for new streams, I feel a little more confident about Red Rock’s future.

I bend down for one final attempt. The cattle are pressed against the side of the gate, so if the hinges give and the fence buckles, I’ll be screwed and likely trampled.

Catching Miss Bea’s eye, I smile. “Would you let them all mow me down, girl? Or would you save me?”

“You talking to yourself, now?”

A gasp catches in my throat. I flip around, my heart about to tear through my chest at the sight of Blaze and his infuriatingly sexy, know-it-all smirk. I hate that it still makes me tingle.

Everywhere.

“I wasn’t talking to myself,” I say. “I was talking to Miss Bea.”

“You really need to get out a bit. Talk to some humans.” He slowly edges past me so that his chest rubs against mine in the process. He reaches for the wrench, his thick fingers brushing the top of my hand as his whiskey eyes sweep over me, my insides melting at his heated golden gaze.

I stick my hands on my hips as he bends down in front of the latch. Don’t stare at his ass. Do. Not. Do. It. “If memory serves, I tried to do that the other day until you showed up, without an invitation, I might add.”

He scoffs, his hands working quickly to secure screws. “You might. But you clearly need me, darlin’. This gate’s been giving you trouble, ain’t it?” My body hums with the vibration of his voice crashing against my ears like waves lapping at a shoreline.

The muscles in his forearms tense and tighten as he works the screws and bolts into the wood. My mouth waters, unwelcome memories flooding my mind. All that hard, cut, tattooed muscle covering my writhing body as his demanding lips scorched a trail over my skin.

Thirty seconds later, he rises to his feet and hands me the wrench. “Fixed.”

My jaw drops. “Well . . . great, but it’s not like I asked for your help.”

He shrugs and steps toward me. “You always were a stubborn one, Little Miss Type A.”

A whiff of his cologne, some deliciously and horrifyingly addictive scent that could accurately be called Dark, Sexy, and Impossible, makes my knees wobble.

“This is why ranches fail, Savvie. Cattle need food and water more than you need pride.”

Blaze stops when he’s right in front of me.