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He glances at me and glances away. Then he does a double take.
Our eyes lock and I can barely breathe.
Heat curls in my lower belly. We stare at each other for a second that feels like an eternity. My eyes take in every detail of his face hungrily. The dark, wavy hair, a bit falling over his forehead. The button up that leaves a V of bare skin at his throat exposed. The smattering of hair rising above it that sparks my curiosity.
My gaze flicks down.
He’s got a thick, muscled body that fills out his work pants and shirt perfectly. But it’s not the physical that stops me in my tracks.
He feels like when the winds change to bring in a storm. Maybe it’s because his aura is dark like the cool shadows in the pines. Or clouds rolling over the mountains, soft at first, and then bringing swift destruction.
I shudder. He hasn’t said anything to me, I have no reason to be intimidated. But I am. There’s an edge of darkness to him, like a gravitational pull. It’s overwhelming.
“Can you pour the coffee?” Clint says.
I glance up and he’s scowling the way he does before he pulls me aside to chew me out. Except he won’t do that here because we’re being watched. Obediently, I pour two cups and pass one to my husband and one to the newcomer. He reaches out to take it and my eyes fall on a ring on his smallest finger.
There’s a silver symbol on it. I tilt my head and make out three letters. SMR.
My brows shoot up to my hairline. I know who this man is. No one else would wear that insignia on a ring like that. He’s Gerard Sovereign, the owner of the wealthiest cattle and horse ranch in the state. Sovereign Mountain Ranch borders our land, but I know better than to go there.
I’m not sure why, but we’re not friendly with them. I know that much from Clint.
They say he has everyone in his grip. That all roads lead to Sovereign Mountain at some point.
Clint talks about Gerard Sovereign like he’s the devil. I half expected him to have horns. But he’s handsome, heavily muscled like one of the draft horses we use to pull hay in the winter. His eyes are on me and I get the impression he doesn’t lose control easily. His lack of expression is a testament to his restraint.
Especially because I saw his body tense when he looked me in the eyes.
“Do you want cream?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, once.
Clint doesn’t take cream in his coffee either, so I turn to leave. My husband clears his throat and I freeze, turning.
“Stay,” he says. “We’ve got someone else coming in a few minutes.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. He does this to me occasionally and I fucking hate it. It’s humiliating having to stand there like I’m on his payroll and wait for one of them to have some need that needs fulfilling. My lashes feel wet as I back up and sink down in the chair in the corner.
Gerard follows me with his eyes.
“Is that your wife?” he asks, his voice soft and deep.
Clint nods, glancing up. Something sparks between them that puts me on high alert. Their gazes lock, like two wolves squaring off. Then Clint turns his eyes back to the desk like it never happened. He passes Gerard a pen and paper without raising his head. I study Gerard’s impassive face and I think I see a flicker of amusement.
“Why do you want to know?” Clint says, his tone forced. He’s trying to be casual.
“She doesn’t need to stay,” Gerard says.
Clint glances at me and I swallow hard. “She’s fine. It’s not like she has anything better to do.”
My chest aches. Before our wedding, he never spoke to me like this. Now it’s the only way he talks to me and what scares me is that I’m used to it. I get up in the morning with an empty brain and put my hands to work because it’s what he wants. It’s not like I can leave, I have nowhere to go and no money to my name.
So I cook for the entire ranch, I clean the house spotless, and I fuck him when he wants it.
When he’s finally asleep at night, I roll onto my side and take the painted wooden mare from my bedside table. My mother was from Sweden and when she came to America, she brought one of her childhood toys. A red and white wooden mare, beautifully carved. It’s running hard, three feet off the ground.
I never met my mother. She died not long after I was born.
