Sloane wraps her arms around my neck as we lean back against the side of the barn, hidden away from any nosy eyes—the exception being Crumpet, who watches us curiously from a tasty patch of grass.

“I’ve barely seen you in the last week,” she murmurs with a frown, her head tucking into the base of my neck.

I place a kiss against her hair, hoping the gesture relays how sorry I am about my absence.

As we embrace, we sway back and forth, my eyes reflexively returning to the fields sprawling out in front of us. I want so badly to give Sloane my undivided attention, but I’m being torn in two right now.

Over the last week, since that night in the hayloft, we’ve barely managed to get any time together. I spend all day out working on the fences and doing my chores and almost all night patrolling the perimeter of the ranch in search of anything out of the ordinary. I heard pebbles crunching the other night in the woods, and my guard is up doubly now.

I can’t sleep; I can barely eat; I don’t want to do anything but be on the lookout for the attack I know is coming. I can tell Daniel is concerned over how much time I spend patrolling. He suggested I’m “obsessed,” but it has to be done.

If anything were to happen to our cattle, I don’t know what I would do. I can’t afford to replace all the heads, and the thought of even one of them going missing fills me with boiling rage. The idea that someone thinks they could just stroll in and take what my grandfather worked so hard for drives me nearly insane.

I wish that Sloane would sleep in my cabin. If I knew I had her to crawl into bed with at the end of the night, these long days would be a hell of a lot more manageable. I mentioned it once, though, and she said something about not wanting to get caught “sneaking” in and out of my place—since we aren’t “official.”

Those were her exact words, and, man, did they hit right where it hurts.

How can I give Sloane the kind of relationship she wants when I barely have time to take a dang shower? Not to mention, she’ll be leaving soon anyway . . .

“Sloane, dear!” Miranda calls from somewhere near the house, her cheery voice drifting over on the wind. “Can you come help me set the table?”

Sloane groans into my shoulder, hugging me a little tighter, as though she thinks it’ll make her chores vanish.

“At least she didn’t ask you for help in the kitchen.” I grin, planting my lips against the soft warmth of her forehead.

She laughs and nods, leaning up on her tiptoes to press her lips against my own. I spin her around, pinning her against the wall of the barn and deepening the kiss. She sighs against my lips, holding my face in her gentle hands and arching her body against my own.

Damn, we’re perfect together.

Our lips, our hands, the curves and lines of our bodies . . . I’ve been with a few girls in my time, but it was never like this. Sloane and I just fit. It’s like we were made for each other. There’s no other way to explain it.

I shiver, not wanting to release her, and she’s all too willing to put off setting the table a little longer.

We break apart only to gasp for breath, and she brushes a finger across her swollen lips, her eyes glinting with sly joy.

“I’ll see you later.” She winks, sliding free of my arms as she saunters back around the corner of the barn and toward the main house.

I stare at the empty air, still seeing those swinging hips in my mind’s eye.

With a sigh, I pace back toward my cabin, thinking I can squeeze in a shower before dinner. The day’s last golden rays creep over the horizon as I walk. It’s a beautiful sunset, just as breathtaking and unique as all the rest of them.

I step inside my cabin, closing the door after myself and casting a slow look around the roomy space.

It’s small, sure, but with enough room for two, perhaps . . .

I flinch at the abrupt thought, easing down onto my bed and stripping my shirt off my sore shoulders. Gently, I massage the aching muscles in my upper back, then stretch my arms up over my head.

I can’t ask Sloane to move in with me.

Despite the time we’ve spent together, which has been minimal in the last week, we still aren’t anything official. I’m not even sure that I would be able to give her the attention she deserves if we did become something.

I’m constantly busy at the ranch, mysterious cattle thieves or not.

I don’t have time to date, do I?

I mean, I still haven’t even found time to take Sloane out for one damn dinner.

That’s something that I want badly, that I even dream about, as silly as it sounds. I want to hold her hand as we stroll through town, her face smiling and her beautiful blond locks curling around her shoulders. I want to put on my best long-sleeve shirt and the only pair of jeans I have that aren’t patched and threadbare, and I want to take that beautiful, feisty woman on my arm and show her off to the world.

The limited time we’ve found with one another has been mostly spent naked, which, while I don’t have a single complaint about that, isn’t the only way I want her. I don’t want Sloane to think that I’m only looking for a summer fling.

I want more of Sloane. I want all of Sloane, from her heart to her lips to her soul.

Shaking my head, I stand up, strip, and hop in the shower. Once I’m nice and clean, I dress in a light tee and fresh jeans, grab a beer from the fridge, and head out to the front porch. I can be a few minutes late to dinner. Miranda always makes more than enough food, and if I roll in on the later end, it’ll be less crowded.

Maybe if I’m lucky, once we’ve eaten, Sloane will walk back down here with me and stay for a while.

I settle down on the porch steps, letting my arms rest on my knees as I gaze up at the first stars of the night. It’s the last few minutes before total darkness, and the moon is stealing the show. It’s a sliver tonight, hanging suspended among the glittering stars that remind me of Sloane’s shimmery eyes.

Is it selfish of me to want her to stay? I’ve asked her about her plans for the future a couple times, and she’s always shrugged the question off, saying she doesn’t know what she wants to do.

She’s dang smart. She could be or go anywhere she wants.

Lord help me, I want the thing she craves most of all to be me.

I’ve almost asked Miranda for advice, but I thought twice about that. I’ve always kept my relationships private, and I’m not sure how to open up about Sloane—not when everything seems so fragile.

My eyes drift toward the glittering lights of the main house. I know which one is Sloane’s. Is she planning on going in there after dinner and reading the book Miss Lucy put out for her?

When I close my eyes, I can see Sloane sprawled over her bed, her long, naked legs strewn out before her. With every slow breath she takes, her breasts rise and fall. I can almost smell her vanilla perfume.

That’s it.

When this mystery is done, and our cattle are safe, and I can finally take a breath and focus . . . I’m going to tell Sloane how I feel. I’m going to take my heart and all the bravery I’ve got up inside of me, and I’m going to ask her to stay with me, to be with me.

Suddenly, I feel lighter than I have in months. Years even.

For a brief moment, I grasp hold of a certainty that I never have before—and that’s a desire for a future with the beautiful, blond city girl.

But then a branch cracks loudly in the trees behind the stable, and my burdens return with a crashing weight.

I leap to my feet, sucking in a breath as the adrenaline starts coursing through my veins at a rate that almost makes me dizzy.

My brain is screaming at me to run into the house and rally the men, but then the dull light of a low flashlight sweeps through the trees, and I know that there’s no time to get anyone else.

It’s up to me.