Page 91 of Micah

He listens.

Really listens.

Like what another person has to say matters.

That's rare.

Maybe rarer than good looks.

And while his looks could stop traffic...

It's his heart that's sneaking up on me.

The quiet, steady soul beneath all that muscle and military discipline.

The man who changed the filters in my van because he noticed I was wheezing.

The man who carried my trash without making me feel incapable.

The man who somehow always appears exactly when I need him.

It doesn't explain the cowboy who kissed me like I was something precious.

It sure as heck doesn't explain the man who'd thrown himself between me and four dangerous strangers without a second's hesitation.

“Sloane?”

“What?” I whisper. “Oh, no, Micah, I'm not scared of you.”

His gaze snaps to mine.

“You're not?”

I shake my head.

“Nope.”

Not even a little.

“If anything...”

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“I think I'm starting to understand why everyone at the Jersey Iron Ranch seems to trust you so much.”

He stares at me for a long moment, almost like he doesn't know what to do with those words.

Then he looks away.

His ears turn just the slightest bit red.

And somehow, that shy little crack in all that stoicism makes him even more handsome.

“So, that’s my answer,” I say softly, taking one careful step closer. “I'm not scared of you, Micah. In fact, I'm glad you're here.”

“You sure you’re okay with this? I mean, with all the violence?”

His pale blue eyes search mine.