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“Granger Hale. He’s Rogan’s—the mayor’s—father.” Cole’s eyes are blazing with fury.
“The man who claimed your father stole their whiskey recipe?” My stomach sours with disgust as my mind plays connect-the-dots over all the little pieces of the stories Cole and Hassie have doled out to me since I’ve been here.
“That’s him.” Bitterness stains his voice.
“You hate that man, don’t you?”
“With every bone in my body. He’s a greedy, bitter bastard. My father and uncle never would have stolen shit from the Hales.”
“He threatened you,” I think aloud.
“They always threaten us.” He flashes me a rare grin. “It’s nothing we can’t handle, so don’t worry about it.”
But I will. I want to defend him. Fiercely.
I pull in a deep breath and release it. “And that woman?”
I picture Cole’s lost lover. An ex. Someone better than me. I despise the insecurity that needles its way through me, but it does.
Maybe I do consider him mine. Maybe I consider him something more than what I’ve been telling myself he is.
He chuckles. “That’s Granger’s daughter. Wells’s ex, Aurora.”
I blink in surprise, in relief as I process the information. “Wait. But if you hate him, and Wells dated her, that’s like—”
He arches a dark brow. “Romeo and Juliet? They pretty much were. No one knew they were together, not even us, until…”
I tip my head at him in question. “Until?”
A rough sigh escapes from his chest. “Until that happened.” He nods at the mountain in the distance. “That serial killer I told you about.” He glances in his rearview mirror, frowns. “The last victims. They were Wells and Aurora.”
“Oh my god.”
He scrubs his hand over his mouth like he’s reliving the memory. “That night we went to the hospital, and they told us they had both been attacked by the Sweetheart Falls Slasher, we put it together pretty damn fast.” Cole’s face is grim as he looks over at me. “That’s why you don’t go there, Delilah. Ever. The killer was never caught. Understand?”
“Yes,” I say, scooting closer. His worry is sweet. “I understand.”
“My brothers have been through a lot. They haven’t had it easy.”
“It sounds like none of you have.”
“My brothers matter. I don’t.”
“I wouldn’t agree with that.”
I look over at him, taking in the chiseled planes of his rugged face. The dirt on his collar. His hand, massive and tan, covered in scars and lines from hard ranch work, is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. He enraptures me. This man, who affects me like no other person ever has. I love how he always smells like whiskey. The way he looks after his brothers. His gruff kindness.
He’s a good man. Why can’t he see it?
I want to reach over and hold his hand, but that seems too intimate. We’re not there. And never will be.
But why not? It was my choice to come here, and it could be my choice to stay. Stay in Tempest. Stay with Cole. But is that even what he’d want? Maybe we’re a fling, destined to burn out when the summer ends.
Cole Weston is as smooth as the whiskey he barrels. And just like his whiskey, I want to drink him in for as long as I can.
He may be a bull rider through and through, but to me, he feels like mine.
It’s Cole who reaches across the console to take my hand. My breath catches as he pulls my hand up to his mouth and kisses it softly, thick scruff sweeping over my knuckles, his eyes still on the road.
