Early morning light streaming through lace curtains, Quinn pulled on clothes from the prior day. Dressed but for her boots, she sat and listened. If Barrett was awake, he was tiptoeing around.

Grabbing the pillow she’d slept on, she wrapped her arms around it and pressed her face to the material. It smelled like Barrett, his comforting scent bringing her close to tears.

A night of deep, dreamless sleep had done nothing to change her opinion. If Quinn stayed in Willow Gap, her sister Naomi would be a threat to everyone Quinn had come to care for.

She wondered how far the last of her credit cards would get her in Mexico. Growing up in L.A., she knew enough Spanish to get by. She could maybe pick up a job waitressing at one of the resorts, the income from her tips and book cover business enough to keep her head above water.

She pushed her face deeper into the pillow, tears wetting the fabric.

The people in Willow Gap were amazing, had treated her better than anyone in L.A. despite Quinn being a complete stranger. There were all those people who had swung a hammer, poured concrete, and hauled off the burnt remains of the original cabin. And there was Dotty, so generous in covering the materials, and Barrett’s family giving her flexible part-time work with the promise of all the hours she needed once the curfew out at Jester’s was over.

Leaving would disappoint everyone. More than anything, leaving Barrett and what might have been between them would crush her.

Damn Naomi!

Quinn replaced the pillow then swiped angrily at her tears. Leaving her boots behind, she padded into the living room to find Barrett on the couch.

Slow and gentle, she lifted the laptop perfectly balanced on his broad chest and placed it on the coffee table. Next she picked up a pad of paper that had slid onto the floor.

Seeing her name on it, Quinn began to read.

He’d spent all night trying to solve one her problems. But having the land meant nothing if staying in the area put everyone at risk.

She put the notepad down on the laptop then claimed the last few free inches of the coffee table by perching on it. She watched Barrett sleeping. He still seemed strong and capable, but the relaxed features added a touch of vulnerability to his face.

Quinn had heard that vulnerability yesterday, especially as he tucked her into his bed and said he would fix things if she just gave him enough time.

Giving him time meant giving Naomi time, too. Time to set another fire, time to point her next boyfriend’s car at Quinn and whomever she was with, the gas pedal buried against the floorboard.

An old pain ghosted through Quinn’s hip as she remembered the last time she’d stared through the windshield of a car to see Naomi behind the wheel.

She blinked the image away and focused on Barrett’s face. It was more than masculine beauty that drew her to him. Integrity, generosity…

She stood up and went to the side table where Barrett had left her bag. She pulled out a cheap sketchpad and artist pencils purchased that Monday when Sutton tried to keep her mind off Barrett’s absence with a trip to Billings.

She returned to her perch on the coffee table. Just looking at Barrett’s face brought all the pain of her impending loss rushing at Quinn. But sketching him let her capture everything she felt about him without the pain of actually feeling it.

Slowly, his face took shape on the paper. Strong jaw, mobile lips, long, dark lashes. Quinn added shading, changing the vaguely attractive features into a replica of the chiseled good looks before her.

Finished with her pencils, she put them down and rubbed lightly at the paper with her fingers.

“Hey,” Barrett murmured.

Caught in the act of recording him, Quinn froze, only her gaze lifting to meet his.

“Can I see?”

She rolled her lips, swallowed hard, but handed the sketchpad over telling herself he would only see a good replica of himself. That’s all most people saw. Exposed to the exact replicas that cameras produced, the average person had grown distant and numb to the emotions contained in a sketch or painting.

Gaze on the floor, Quinn waited for Barrett to return the sketchpad.

He didn’t.

The long legs slid off the couch. His knees brushed hers as he sat up, his hands gripping the sides of the pad hard enough to bend the hundred plus sheets of paper.

“You don’t draw me like this,” he rasped, “then say you’re going to leave.”

She hadn’t said she was leaving. Not yet, at least.

“Look at me, Quinn.”

She studied the grain on his wood flooring.

He put the sketchpad aside, opened his legs up, grabbed the edge of the coffee table and pulled her and everything on it right up to him. His hands secured her hips, his thumbs hooking the belt loops like she might try to scurry away.

“Look at me,” he repeated, his voice softening.

Unable to see the floorboards anymore, she examined the nearly invisible patterns of the leather couch.

Barrett sighed, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t push her and the coffee table from him.

“I love you,” he said, his voice almost flat.

“I love you,” he repeated, his tone strengthening. “Looking at that sketch, I think you love me, too.”

Her mouth stretched thin. A sharp sting pinched her nose. Her throat constricted, the airway shrinking smaller and smaller as the muscles pulled tighter and tighter.

Bringing his lips up to Quinn’s ear, Barrett whispered.

“I love you, Quinn. You love me, too, I know it.”

She shook as his lips drifted toward her mouth, searing her flesh.

Barrett pulled Quinn onto his lap. Leaning against the back of the couch, he cradled her to him and kissed lightly at her temple.

Quinn wrapped her arms around his shoulders. With her face pressed tight against his chest, she confessed in muffled whispers.

“Yes. I love you. Yes.”

He stroked at her hair, his every movement meant to soothe.

When his mouth found hers again, Barrett kissed Quinn like he never had before. Tender, yes. Passionate, yes. But the depth and intensity were so much more than all those other kisses. One hand wound through her hair, controlling the tilt of her head as his tongue slid in. His other hand stroked down her arm, his grip proprietary as he reached her waist and curled his fingers around its side. His thumb rubbed at the padded jut of her hipbone until she squirmed with need.

Only when he had Quinn gasping what felt like it would surely be her last breath did Barrett pull back, offer one last caress of her cheek then leave the couch and head into the kitchen.

“We’ve got a long day of kicking butt, love,” he called back. “We better get some breakfast in us first.”

* * *

Slowly drawing every last molecule of flavor from her slice of bacon, Quinn watched Barrett work on his laptop. She wouldn’t say he was providing a non-stop commentary, but he kept giving her highlights of what he was doing. First, there was an email from his brother Adler that he had set up the meeting with the state’s Land Trusts division. Second was the reply email from the division’s Reed Sheppard re-iterating his availability.

For as much bad luck as had plagued Quinn since her arrival in Montana, Sheppard had a scheduled stop by the courthouse that day.

“Forwarding Sheppard’s email to Judge Harrison and Cross,” Barrett advised. “I think maybe we can resolve this today. If not, we still have the fact that you cannot return to the property because of the ongoing investigation.”

Swallowing the bite of bacon, Quinn nodded and wiped her hand clean before she picked up the notepad.

“When can he meet?” she asked.

“Between noon and two, whatever is convenient for Harrison.”

Her face crinkled as she read Barrett’s notes. Handwriting that had started out smooth had devolved as the sheer volume of writing increased.

“I can type it out with the additional information I didn’t write down last night if you want to handle the meeting.”

She put the pad down and grabbed another slice of bacon.

“Let me think on that a minute,” she answered.

Quinn had already met Cross once in person and interacted with him a couple of times before that over the phone and in email exchanges. She didn’t think highly of him, especially after meeting him at the ranch house. It wasn’t so much his words, but his expression and tones. While he had mostly ignored Quinn and Lindy’s presence, the few times he talked directly to them, it was almost like he felt it beneath him to talk to women.

Yeah, that was part of it. He had mansplained to her in that meeting and he’d done it before on the phone.

She didn’t know about the man from the state or the judge, but it felt like one or more of the Turks had to work with the department frequently and had built up enough goodwill to get the meeting so fast. That left the judge, who seemed sympathetic, but also a bit of a good old boy.

Then there was the embarrassing fact that she had basically been comatose after the fire. If she shut down in the meeting, then Naomi would have really beaten her this time.

“I think it’s best if you handle the meeting for me.”

Barrett dipped his head in agreement. “I hate to say it, but we’ll get quicker results. These are all older guys we’re dealing with and they can be a little…”

“Traditional?” she supplied.

He grinned. “You have a nicer word for that than Mama does.”

A tone sounded on his laptop. Barrett clicked the edge of his touchpad.

“Judge has agreed. He can see us at twelve-thirty.”

A second ping had him shaking his head.

“And of course Cross waits to see what the judge is going to say.”

“Does that mean he can’t come?”

“No, he just wanted to see which way the wind was blowing is my guess. He says the time is fine.”

Hearing something hit the front door, Quinn dropped the last piece of bacon onto her lap, a small squeak of surprise turning her cheeks red.

“That should be Siobhan,” Barrett soothed just as a triple knock landed against the door. “She was going to raid Maureen’s closet—with Maureen’s permission. You two are close in size.”

The knock landed again.

“Hey, if you’re in there shagging, throw some clothes on and—”

Barrett opened the door with a scowl. “It’s amazing how someone can be so helpful and annoying at the same time.”

“Consider it a small fee for my on-call assistance,” she said, pointing at a suitcase for Barrett to bring in as she waltzed past him.

Settling onto the couch next to Quinn, Siobhan hugged her.

“You doing okay? You looked a little numb leaving the station last night.”

“I’m better than I was.”

Quinn rubbed at her warm cheeks, the embarrassment over her frightened squeak yielding to a sense of shame over how she had turned into an absolute zombie.

She still didn’t understand how Barrett could be professing his love to her after last night’s behavior.

“So, I ran into Adler and he sort of suggested there’s a plan so you can keep the land…beyond the whole tolling factor during the investigation?”

Quinn grinned. “No secrets in Willow Gap it seems.”

Siobhan shrugged. “That, or I’m already an excellent interrogator.”

Returning from taking the suitcase into the bedroom, Barrett chuckled. “Please, baby girl, wait until you meet a real interrogator.”

Siobhan sniffed in mock offense then wrapped Quinn in another hug. “I have to get to work. Clay called in sick and there’s finally a bit of excitement, what with this whole thing about your sister.”

“You’re shameless,” Barrett teased. “You’re eager to go to work because something terrible has happened.”

She stuck her tongue out at her cousin. “That’s not it at all. I want to help take Little Miss Crazy down. Sheriff Gamble said we already have an ID on the guy. Doris was on duty at the Tumbleweed fuel station when a California car filled two one-gallon containers with gasoline. She took down their plate because of how they looked.”

Siobhan frowned. “She called them in before the fire was set, but she is always—seriously, always—calling things in and they never pan out. So…”

Quinn patted the young woman’s knee. “I understand. Probably ten percent of the kids in L.A. don’t dress much different from my sister, and they aren’t all arsonists. You can’t arrest someone just because they’re wearing black lipstick and a hoodie. The only people at fault for the fire are Naomi and this guy.”

“Yeah,” Siobhan agreed, her frown relaxing. “We only have two patrol cars out during the day. Not a good chance they would have crossed paths with your sister even if they were on the lookout for the car.”

Siobhan snuck in one last hug then stood up. “Anyway, Gamble was hoping you could stop by this afternoon.”

Barrett nodded and walked her to the door. “We’re meeting Judge Harrison at twelve-thirty. We’ll come by straight after. Maybe it will all be good news by then.”

Quinn mustered up a smile, but she only expected things to get worse.