“Damn, man. Cruel much?”

I whirl around to find Dane standing behind me holding a big wooden crate full of Aunt Miranda’s cookies and breads. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but it’s been long enough for sure.

My best friend gazes at me, his lips pursed with irritation.

“She just doesn’t understand,” I mutter, trying to pretend I’m not already full of guilt. I turn to lean back against the door of my grandfather’s old truck.

The vehicle is just like Grandpa left it all those years ago. It even has that little wooden cross still dangling from the rearview mirror, though the sun long ago bleached it a bony white.

“I think she might understand if you give her a chance.” Dane shrugs, mulling over his words for a moment. “I don’t know her that well yet, but she seems . . . different. And I can tell she likes you.”

I don’t answer, kicking my heel back against the pickup’s tire just to hear the dull clunk.

“Just my two cents. See you tomorrow, man.” Dane flashes a lopsided grin and heads back to where his own pickup waits.

I glance up, watching him climb into his truck and arrange the food Miranda gifted him. My aunt is constantly lavishing our ranch hands with her from-scratch cookies, pies, and dinners—not that anyone is complaining.

It took Dane a whole year before he finally accepted one of Miranda’s gifts, though. He’s used to being the one to provide for his family. His dad walked out on them when he was nothing more than a small kid, not even in kindergarten yet. Unlike my other employees, Dane lives with his family off the ranch. With a mom and two siblings, he’s never hesitated to step up and be the man of his house.

He meets my eyes as he shifts into reverse, nodding his head before turning around to make sure no wandering cattle have taken to sleeping behind his truck.

Shaking my head, I look over toward the woods where Sloane vanished several minutes ago.

I can’t exactly let her wander around those woods alone, especially not after finding someone suspicious hiding in there last night.

Sighing, I push myself off the truck and chase after her. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find a flash of those long, milky legs in the dying afternoon light. No matter how weak the sun, her gold-spun hair will be shining.

I can see it now, the way she’ll look at me when I finally track her down. Even though she can’t be more than a few inches over five feet, she’ll tilt her head back to look me full in the face, her lips set in a straight line, her hands clasped tight at her hips, and she’ll let me have it—and I’ll let her.

Dane is right.

He has the annoying ability of being just that most times, and this is no different. I’ve been unnecessarily mean to Sloane. I’m not even sure now why I got so snappy with her.

She certainly doesn’t deserve to have me yell at her. Sloane is feisty, strong-willed, and loyal. Though I haven’t known her long, I’ve seen that much so far.

I adore her for that.

I adore her for the way her fingers feel laced with mine and the way her lips so perfectly melt against my own and the way she leans into my chest when I kiss her.

My feet abruptly stop moving, sending me lurching forward so unexpectedly I almost knock into a tree.

For the second time in a single day, the mere thought of this woman has brought my whole world to a standstill. At least this time I’m not blocking a busy sidewalk.

She really, truly is a special gal.

Not in just the general sense of the word, like she’s special among other people, which she is, but in a sense of the word that’s personal and intimate to only me.

Sloane is like the north star. She shines so bright that my mind is destined to always stray back to her.

What does it mean? Am I really falling for this city girl? The thought almost makes me laugh. She isn’t just some city girl; she’s made that more than clear. She’s Sloane Gentry, here to take the world by the balls.

Fortunately, tracking Sloane’s sharp, angry footsteps through the woods is easier than following any lost horse or wild coyote.

Her stomps are coming from near the creek, and I make my way down the hill leading to it. She’s going on, mumbling to herself in that angry little voice of hers that still sounds so melodically sweet.

“Sloane,” I call, catching sight of her between tree trunks. “Slow down.”

“Why should I?” she yells back. “Maybe I’ll just walk all the way home!”

“Well you should turn around if you’re trying to do that. You’re headed the wrong way.”

She lets out an adorable squeal of irritation, her stomping coming to a halt.

I skirt around one last tree and stop a yard away from her angry face. Damn, she’s really pissed. My lead heart drops into my stomach.

She’s not only angry as all get-out. She’s also unbelievably beautiful. She stirs something in my soul that’s painful and sweet and foreign.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, mustering up all the bravery I can. They’re hard words to say, but I’d be chicken shit if I didn’t get them out. I duck my face, knowing how rusty they probably sound.

“You should be,” Sloane retorts with a pout, though her pretty brown eyes soften like golden coins.

“I had a rough day, and I took it out on you,” I continue, gesturing at a nearby fallen tree.

She regards it uncertainly for a moment before sighing and walking over to it, perching her petite body right on the edge. The rough wood contrasts her soft legs, and my throat goes tight as my eyes wander down the length of her endless calves. I force my eyes back to her face, trying to keep my mind on my apology. She notices my wandering gaze, though, a coy grin on those pretty lips.

She leans back slightly, her tiny tank top riding up her hips and exposing the flesh of her stomach. I want to pull her sideways on the tree and kiss every inch of her, but I force myself to sit down at her side instead.

She moves instinctively closer to me, like she’s seeking the heat of my body though the day is still warm.

Quietly, hoping that the gesture says more than my fumbling, clumsy words, I reach over and place my hand gently on top her own. She turns her hand over, lacing her fingers with mine, and we gaze at each other in quiet stillness until I speak again.

“I’m a jerk,” I sigh. “That was uncalled for.”

“Did you mean it?” she asks quietly. “When you said I wasn’t part of this place?”

My heart throbs abruptly, and I hurriedly shake my head and draw her hand against my chest. I bury my face into her palm, pressing my lips to the soft flesh.

“No,” I breathe. “No, I didn’t mean that. If there was anything I could do to take that back, I would. It isn’t true, Sloane, not at all.”

I don’t say it out loud, but it’s hard to imagine what this place would even be like if Sloane left. It would feel hollow and empty without the light that her laugh and bright eyes bring.

“Good. This place feels like home. It’s so strange to think I’ll be leaving it in just a little while.” She smiles, sadness widening her eyes.

Then stay.

The words leap up the back of my throat so fast that I almost think I’m about to puke. Just in time, I bite my tongue and stop that simple, life-changing sentence from bursting into existence.

There’s no way that I could ever ask that of Sloane.

She has to go home or go back to college or whatever she’s gonna do. The world needs someone like Sloane Gentry in it, and I’m not going to be the one that veers her away from her path, even though it’s all I can do not to fall to my knees and beg and plead her to stay with me.

I want her to stay with me more than I’ve ever wanted anything, save to see my mom and grandpa again. But I’m a busy man, especially now, with the missing cattle. It would be a disservice to Sloane to ask her to stay without the promise that I can give her all the attention she deserves.

“It is strange to think that,” I manage to choke out, my eyes dropping down to where our hands are still intertwined.

Around us, the birds sing their last songs of the day. A breeze drifts through the treetops, making them rustle. Here on this fallen log, everything feels perfect.

Sloane and me. Me and Sloane. We fit together, somehow. And isn’t that what life is about?

I look away, allowing myself to believe for one moment that things will be this way forever.