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He smiled, his mouth parting in invitation. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “Spending all my money at the antique store?”
I swatted him playfully and we both laughed. His statement wasn’t far from the truth.
“How are your legs?” he asked after a moment, his fingers trailing over the curve of my hip to my thigh.
“They hurt,” I admitted, pursing my lips.
“I told you not to wear those shorts while riding. But I have to say… after watching you jump the fence—” He whistled, and I blushed deeply. “My wish came true, that’s all I’ll say.”
“Your text came true, you mean.” I smiled.
His hands drifted between my legs, gently moving beneath the shirt I was wearing and stroking the apex of my thighs until my breath came out in a soft moan.
He stole the sound with a kiss, parting my lips with his tongue as he replaced every feeling of fear and doubt with pleasure.
And, if I was willing to ever admit it, with love.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Grant
My life couldn’t come to a halt because my girl and her kid were in danger, even if I wanted it to.
The next morning started bright and early, and I was, just before five, dressed and ready for a day of mending fences and moving cattle.
Some of the cattle I’d had George purchase at the auction came from a failing ranch on the border between Montana and Wyoming, and the cows weren’t in great shape at all. Several of them were heavily pregnant in the middle of the summer, which was considered late in terms of the calving season, so we’d had our hands full keeping those cows separated from the rest of the herd to keep any newborns safe from the bigger, rougher calves who were already jumping around and headbutting anything that moved.
One of those older calves had gotten stuck in one of the wire fences separating the pasture into sections for grazing and had damn near ripped a hundred yards of fencing down trying to get free. He was fine, but it was obvious to all of us that the little bull was dumber than a bag of hammers and would be a handful in the future.
“Howdy,” I said to Henry as I stalked into the kitchen, the first light of another stifling hot day drifting through the window over the sink. Henry was sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop, a cup of coffee in his hand, as he looked up from the screen and smirked.
“Aren’t you supposed to say, Howdy,Partner?”
“I’ve never actually heard anyone say that phrase.” I chuckled, pouring coffee into my thermos. “How was last night?”
“Fine, no activity on the cameras or on the property,” Henry responded, clicking something on his keyboard. “I got a few hours of sleep and now I’m doing a littleresearch.”
Henry gave me a narrowed eyed look at screamed mischief. He’d always been like that—playful, sarcastic, and sometimes boyish. He looked more like a frat boy than a stone-cold killer who’d jetted across the world on top-secret missions doing God knew what. He was incredibly tall, taller than me, actually. I guessed he was 6’7” at least, and he was built, too. His handsome face and jet-black hair didn’t stop him from looking like something out a person’s worst nightmare though. This guy was a killer.
Moira had already complained that Henry was scaring Day just by his appearance. In Henry’s defense, he did have a scar that crossed from his forehead over his left eye, and then across the bridge of his nose. Apparently, he told Day that he got it by slipping in the shower, so now Day was refusing to bathe.
“Give the kid a break today, will you? Moira too. For my sake,” I breathed, crossing my arms over my chest as he turned his laptop toward me to show me the screen.
He shrugged, his mouth curving into a cocky grin. “I can’t help it man, I’m sorry. You know I have brothers and sisters.”
I’d met a few of them, and they were all just as crazy as Henry. He was the quiet one, though, the baby of the family, and that meant he didn’t pass up the opportunity to tease those he deemed lesser, or at least younger.
“Day will like me eventually. He did show me his hamster last night.”
“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the screen.
“Kirk Quentin’s rap sheet,” he said lazily, leaning back in his chair. “Miles long, my friend.”
“How is this man out of prison?”
Henry smacked his lips, tilting his head as he considered my question. “He worked for a cartel. He’s likely out because he made a deal with the feds. That happens all the time.”
“What?” I growled, clutching my thermos.
