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“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly.
“Just came to make sure you were okay,” I uttered, breathless at the sight of him and the sound of his voice.
A dark chuckle came from him at my words, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. I wanted desperately to move, but I couldn’t. My body was frozen—in a trance—as I stared at the man across from me, the man who murdered two people in front of me. No doubt there were more. There had to be.
He threatened that bounty hunter on my behalf tonight.
Call her that again, and your ashes will be on my mountain.
He was killer, a ruthless, unthinking killer who would kill again, without hesitation. I knew this down to my bones. He was dangerous. He was vicious to me during our first few encounters. Nasty. Heartless.
He isn’t heartless, Val. He was protecting his home.
My heart and sense of logic seemed to always be butting head these days, more so when it came to Denver Langston.
“You came up here to make sure I was okay,” he repeated, his words coming off harsher than I expected. My eyes moved, dropping down to the bottle of whiskey in his lap. “This is the second time you’ve ventured down here at night, Valerie.”
I didn’t want to think of that. I wanted to know if he was okay. There were a lot of things said tonight about him and his brother. Ever since that conversation with Lance the other day, I’d been trying to figure out why Mason would’ve left this place. His home. What kind of man turned his back on his brother?
“Look at me,” he ordered. My eyes snapped up to his shadow covered face, and I could see thesmoke. His intoxicating smoke surrounded me and suddenly the air in the room was stifling. “Why did you run to the barn that night?”
The night of the first murder.
“I—well, I—” I stammered, unsure of how to answer. I knew the answer, my heart knew the answer, but my mind wasn’t willing to give it.
“Answer me,” he demanded, his voice quiet now. It wasn’t a gentle quiet. It was like the calm before the storm, before everything gets obliterated and washed away.
“Denver…” I pleaded. My heart had been in his hands since the second he kissed me. Wasn’t that enough proof? He was going to make me say it, expose myself to him in the most intimate way. I couldn’t, because once the words were out of my mouth, it was real. It was no longer thoughts or feelings I could shove back down. No, once those words were out in the open, I would be exposed—defenseless.
The clank of a glass bottle brought me out of my thoughts, and I saw he had set it on the floor beside him. The seal wasn’t even broken.
He hadn’t taken a sip.
My chest moved in time with my short breaths as I watched him drop his legs and lean forward, bracing his huge, tanned forearms on his knees. His hat was still shielding those smoke gray eyes from me, and I wanted, needed, to see them. I needed to see if he had the same emotions taking over my logic coursing through him as well.
“Baby, I need you to tell me why you ran down here—across gravel, barefoot—when you heard those gunshots.”
“I had to,” I croaked, my fingers grabbing for the bottom of my nightie at my thighs, needing something to hold on to. My heart was slamming inside my chest, crying out for him.
“Why?” he pressed more firmly.
Seconds passed as I decided if I could do this, if I had the strength to admit it. Swallowing, I gathered the courage. “I was afraid you were in danger or hurt.”
If you asked me what happened next was humanly possible, I couldn’t give you an answer. All I knew was that one second, I was at the stairs and he was in the chair, and then the next, my back was against the loft wall and his hand was around my throat as he towered over me. He lifted his hat up and I saw the emotion circling in his eyes.
Rage.
“Smoke,” I rasped, the heat of his body surrounding me.
His nostrils flared and he leaned down, getting in my face. “Gutted me, baby. That’s what you’ve done to me,” he growled. I stared at him while slowly putting my hands on his arm, the contact going directly to my core. He wasn’t squeezing me. My cowboy just had me in a possessive hold. His eyes dropped to my lips.
“Should’ve never kissed you,” he murmured, his voice gravelly.
Pain zinged through my chest at his words. Did he regret it? Is that why he’d been holding back? Because he regrets us—me?
“Should’ve called the sheriff the second you showed up on my property,” he continued, studying my face.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.
