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“Tessa,” he said quietly, “don’t.” Skin tightening over his cheekbones, he added, “If I need anything, I’ll get it. I know my way around.”
Goaded, she quipped, “You’re the boss,” and was rewarded with a severe glance.
Reaching for the doorknob, she heard the sound of an engine in the distance and recognized the rumble of her father’s pickup. She glanced out the window. Curtis Kramer’s dented yellow truck bounced into the yard.
“Company?” Denver asked.
“Just Dad.”
His eyes narrowed. “Good. He and I have to talk.” He watched the beams of headlights through the rain-speckled windows, and his mouth compressed into a thin, uncompromising line.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “What about?”
“Everything. We’ll start with what he knows about all the money he’s managed to lose for this ranch.”
“Denver,” she whispered. “Don’t—”
“Don’t what?”
Her eyes sparked. “Don’t judge before you have all your facts straight.”
“But that’s what I’m here to do,” he said, turning to her, his voice cold. “Get my facts straight. Curtis can help clear up a few cloudy issues.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s been in charge a long time and things”—he gestured around the shabby room, to the scarred desk, the dingy walls and threadbare drapes—“haven’t gotten any better. In fact, this place seems to be on the verge of falling apart.”
“And you blame Dad.”
“I don’t blame anyone. Not yet. But there’s got to be a reason, Tessa. I just want to know what it is.”
The screen door banged shut and Tessa heard her father call out. “Tessa? You ’round? Milly?”
A satisfied smile crossed Denver’s lips as he stood and started for the door. But she clamped her arm around his elbow, her fingers tight over his bare forearm. The feel of his skin shocked her. Hard muscles flexed beneath her hands, soft hair brushed against her fingertips.
Denver stopped, glaring at her fingers as if they were intruders.
“Dad didn’t start the fire, Denver,” she insisted. “No matter what Colton said. Dad wasn’t behind it.”
“Who said anything about the fire?”
“You didn’t have to,” she replied, meeting his seething gaze with her own. “It’s written all over your face.”
“Is it? How?” He shoved his face close to hers, so close that she saw the pinpoints of fire in his eyes, read his anger in the flare of his nostrils. “What is it you see when you look so closely, Tessa?” he bit out.
The scent of rain lingered in his hair.
Tessa could barely breathe. Though her senses were reeling, she wouldn’t back down, not for a second. Her fingers dug into his arms. “What I see,” she said evenly, though her heart was hammering out of control, “is a bitter man, hell-bent on extracting his own punishment for an imagined crime, a man whose irrational desire for retribution clouds his judgment.”
“Is that right?” he mocked.
“And more! I see a man who’s taking all his bitterness out on a tired old man and a woman who once thought he was the most important thing in her life!”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Then you’re a blind woman, Tessa.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you’d better take a harder look.”
