I stand on the front lawn long after Conor rides away, arrested by the lingering echo of her beauty, her strength, and her pain. She’s always been gorgeous, but fucking hell, the woman she’s become is so stunning, so fiercely potent and bewitching there isn’t a man on the planet who could resist her.
That scares the ever-loving hell out of me.
How can I protect her when I can barely protect her from myself?
She was supposed to be safe in Chicago. I held onto that belief for two grueling goddamn years. But her dad didn’t give her refuge. He gave her bruises. Soul-deep bruises. The kind only a father can inflict.
My chest constricts, and helpless rage heats my blood.
After Conor was taken from me, I learned a great deal about Dalton Cassidy. He didn’t want to leave Oklahoma. Didn’t want to sell the ranch. Whoever’s threatening his family forced his hand. Whatever’s keeping him away from Sandbank is bigger and more powerful than the amateur hitmen in the ravine.
Conor and Lorne were supposed to die that night, and if they return to the ranch, another attempt will be made on their lives.
Most of my information comes from Lorne during my visits to the penitentiary. I can’t refute his claims. Dalton gave up his home, his job, and his happiness. He made sure his son went to prison. He moved Conor across the country. He did all this to keep them alive.
His enemies and their motivations are so intricately and deeply buried I’ve only scratched the surface. Piecing together what Lorne feeds me, along with the shady shit I’ve uncovered in the ranch’s business records, I have so many suspicions and suspects and theories. But nothing concrete. Not yet.
Lorne’s intel trickles from his dad, and it’s erratic and heavily filtered. Dalton barely talks to him. I’m certain Lorne doesn’t know about the drinking or the abuse. Of course, Conor didn’t mention it in her messages. She’d rather suffer quietly than worry us.
And now she believes she’s truly alone.
Gravel crunches beneath the angry tread of boots behind me. I square my shoulders, brace for what’s coming, and turn to face my brother.
His first strike hits hard and swift, directly across my mouth. I stumble back, welcoming the spurt of blood. Relishing the pain. I deserve it.
We read her email this morning and knew she was coming home. But we didn’t know why. The past few hours were a race against the clock, orchestrating a mix-up in cattle records that detained Dad at the stockyards in Oklahoma City until tomorrow.
Someone wants Conor dead, and I added my dad to the list of suspects the moment he started drilling in the south pasture. Natural gas? Oil? He’s tight-lipped about it. Not to mention all his shady new business partners. He’s running a side business off the books. It’s sketchy as fuck, and Conor and Lorne are tied in somehow. It’s just a gut feeling. One I’ve yet to prove.
But that’s not why Jarret’s fixing to beat me into a bloody pulp.
Planting a girl in my bed was my idea. He warned me if I went through with it, he would rearrange my face.
Conor’s always been like a sister to him, and I see that protective love blazing in his eyes as he rears back an arm.
I block the punch and deliver one of my own, slamming into his solar plexus with enough strength to remind him I would never fuck Sara Gilly.
He staggers, crashes against the ground, and springs to his feet, glaring with unwarranted accusations.
I didn’t sexually or intimately touch Sara. I didn’t kiss her. Didn’t remove my boxers. I didn’t even get wood.
I’m still a virgin, because I love Conor Cassidy.
My brother damn well knows that. But Conor doesn’t, and that’s what this is about. Jarret wanted to guard her without hurting her. He wanted her to stay far away without giving her a reason. He wanted the impossible.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that would’ve kept her from returning home. Not her father. Not the threat against her life. Not the trails of sin and corruption running beneath the ranch.
I did the only thing I could to protect her.
I broke her heart, because I love her.
Another jaw-crushing punch knocks me backward, shooting pain through my skull. He swings again and again, pummeling my face and stomach. He hits me for hurting Conor. For trusting her dad to look after her. For letting her messages go unanswered. For making her believe she’s unwanted.
I don’t raise a hand to block his blows. The night air shudders with our combined pain, and I embrace it. I let him beat the shit out of me.
I’ll bleed for her, because I love her.
Since the day Lorne pleaded guilty to murder, her brother’s been adamant about keeping her away from the ranch. His imperative became my imperative, his fear my fear.
Severing communication with her for two years eviscerated me. Driving her away from the ranch today was worse. Did I make a terrible mistake? I’m still not sure.
Graduating high school and gaining twenty pounds of muscle have given me a facade of maturity I don’t possess. I don’t have enough years under my belt to carve a clear path through this. I’m operating on raw, protective, animalistic instinct.
The right choice and the hardest choice are the same. Isn’t that what they say?
All I know is I’d rather Conor live without me than not live at all. But I didn’t come to that realization overnight.
Dad disconnected our phones the day she moved to Chicago. That bought me time to talk to Lorne, investigate Dalton’s reasons for leaving, and figure out what the fuck to do about the shit I learned.
Someone doesn’t want Conor and Lorne in Sandbank, and they’ll resort to murder to bring their purpose to fruition.
I could’ve gone to the authorities. Except the county sheriff and his deputies spend a fuckton of time behind closed doors with my Dad. They’re all on my suspect list.
I could’ve left home. I could’ve moved anywhere in the country and convinced Conor to join me. But without understanding the threat, I would’ve spent the rest of my life in constant fear, watching her back and putting myself between her and whoever intends to cause her harm.
I can’t run away and leave this unsolved. I can’t let her enemies go unpunished.
When I determine who wants her gone, I’ll take them out. And when her rapist goes free, I’ll honor the blood oath.
I’ll kill for her, because I love her.
Jarret paces before me, panting and flexing his bloody fists. Rage etches his face, his hunger for justice unquenched. I’m the only one he can take it out on.
I watch him warily, imploring with my eyes. What was I supposed to do?
He answers with hollow strikes. No solutions. He has nothing to offer but torment.
Two years ago, Jarret and I sat down with Lorne in prison, and the three of us made the decision together. Dry up all communication with Conor. No replies to emails. No text messages for her to wake up to. No phone calls to help her fall asleep. Shut her out of Oklahoma. Don’t give her a reason to return. No matter what.
Conor deserves to know the truth about what’s happening, and a very selfish, desperate part of me aches to chase her down right now and dump it all on her.
Dalton Cassidy swears on his life she’s not in danger as long as she stays away from me, my family, and this ranch. He turned out to be a weak piece of shit father, but I believe, deep in the barrel of my heart, he wants her to live.
She has a rigorous eight-year journey ahead of her to become a practicing veterinarian. If I divulge the truth to her, she’ll abandon her schooling, return to the ranch, and risk her life in an attempt to bring down the forces against her.
I can’t let her do that.
I’ll make sure she realizes her dream, because I love her.
I’ll hunt down her enemies. I’ll protect her from afar. I’ll let her believe I don’t love her.
Because I love her.
Jarret steps back, chest heaving and hands resting on his hips. He searches my eyes, silently asking if I understand, if I feel his turmoil, if we’re on the same page.
I nod. “Are we done talking about this?”
“Yeah, we’re done.”
I move to walk past him, and he clutches my shoulder.
After a hesitant moment of silence, he releases a ragged breath and pulls me into a one-armed hug. “We’ll see her again.”
I think his words are for him not me, but I grip his scarred palm and squeeze it against mine. “Five years.”
Five years until her rapist goes free.
Five years to eliminate her enemies and make it safe for her return.
If there’s anything left of me after that, anything redeemable or worth loving, I’ll focus on restoring her faith and mending her heart. But I’m not stupid. When she discovers my manipulations and deceit, she’ll never forgive me.
Jarret heads to the equipment shed, presumably to retrieve Ketchup from where we hid her.
That was another decision I didn’t take lightly.
If Conor knew her beloved mare was alive and healthy, she would’ve delayed her departure. She would’ve been compelled to visit her horse.
Every second she spent on the property was a risk, so I reduced that risk. I eliminated the last tie she had to this place. She won’t return for me or Jarret or Ketchup.
I want to gut myself for hurting her so thoroughly. But I had to. I had to give her the closure she needs to stay alive.
Dragging my bleeding, busted-up body into the house, I redirect my thoughts to the gift box she dropped in my room. My strides move faster, my breaths rushing as I reach my room and grab the box.
I tear at the wrapping on my way to the bathroom. The paper falls to the floor as I absently turn on the shower and open the box with shaking fingers.
A wide, masculine wrist cuff sits on a bed of tissue paper. Sewed into brown leather is a silver horseshoe, rotated on its side to resemble her initial. I take in the handcrafted detail and meticulous metalwork before I read the note.
I’m not an artisan.
Just a girl who misses her cowboy
with every stitch and solder,
every hour and mile,
every inhale and exhale.
I made this with all that I am
for the one I’ll never stop loving.
C
Stabbing pain cleaves through me as I press the note to my nose, inhaling deeply, desperate to scent her in the ink. I do the same with the cuff, holding the leather to my face, clinging to the textures, and choking on the flames in my throat.
She gave me a bracelet on her birthday. A precious, invaluable piece of heaven.
And I gave her torment, heartbreak, and hell.
I made her believe I let her go.
God, if I only could.
Nothing will stop me from watching over her, but I can’t have her.
I’ll protect her with my life, but I must forget her.
Because she no longer belongs to me. I sent her away. I made her a free agent.
She’s free to move on.
Free to date.
Free to fuck other men.
Free to love again.
I drop to my knees beside the toilet and puke my guts.