Page 20 of Dirty Sweet Cowboy

"You're making a mistake," he gasps, but there's fear in his eyes now. Real fear. "Her uncle's not someone you want as an enemy."

"Neither am I." I stand perfectly still, hands loose at my sides, ready to move if he's stupid enough to try something. "Now get the fuck off my land before I decide you need a more permanent lesson."

He hesitates, looking toward the house one more time, then at me. Whatever he sees in my face must convince him I'm not bluffing. He scrambles into his truck, engine roaring to life, and peels out down my drive in a spray of gravel.

I watch until the dust cloud disappears, until I'm certain he's really gone. Only then do I let my shoulders relax slightly. But I'm still on high alert. This isn't over. Men like that don't give up easily, especially when money's involved.

I turn toward the house and see Judy standing on the porch, face pale, hands clutching the railing. She heard. Maybe saw.

Shit.

I cross the yard in long strides, taking the porch steps two at a time. She's trembling, eyes wide with fear.

"He found me," she whispers, voice small and terrified.

I gather her into my arms, enveloping her completely, as if I could absorb her into my body and keep her safe there. "He's gone," I tell her firmly. "And he's not coming back. No one's taking you from me, angel. No one."

She clings to me, face buried in my chest. "You don't understand. My uncle…he has connections. Money. He'll keep looking."

I take her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "Let him look. Let him send every lowlife bounty hunter he knows. None of them are getting past me. None of them are touching you. You're mine to protect now. Always."

Her eyes search mine, fear slowly giving way to something like hope. Trust. "Promise?"

"Promise." The word feels like a vow, binding and absolute. "You're safe here, angel. I swear it."

And I mean it. I'll die before I let anyone hurt her again. Before I let anyone take her from me.

She's mine. And I protect what's mine.

fourteen

. . .

Judy

It's been three days since that man came looking for me. Three days since Wayne stood like an avenging angel between me and my past, his voice cold as ice as he promised violence to protect me. I should have been terrified—and I was, but not of Wayne. Never of Wayne. Instead, something shifted inside me when I saw him defend me so fiercely. The last piece of doubt, of hesitation, fell away. I've never felt safer than in the shadow of this man who claimed me as his with such absolute certainty. "She's mine," he had said. And he's right. I am his. Have been since the moment I stepped foot on his land.

Wayne's been different since that day. More vigilant. More possessive. His eyes track me constantly as I move around the house, the yard, the barn. He's added extra locks to the doors, checks the property perimeter each morning and evening. At night, he holds me tighter, as if afraid I might disappear. But beneath the protectiveness, there's something else—a restraint that's fraying at the edges.

I see it in the way his jaw clenches when I bend over to pick something up. In the darkness of his eyes when I emerge from the shower, skin flushed and damp. In the growing bulge behind his zipper that he tries to hide when I curl against him on the couch. He's holding back. Still treating me like something fragile that might break.

But I'm not fragile. Not anymore. The scared girl who showed up on his doorstep has been replaced by someone stronger. Someone who knows what she wants.

And what I want is him. All of him.

The thought sends heat pooling between my thighs, makes my nipples tighten beneath my tank top. I've made my decision. Today is the day I stop waiting for him to decide I'm ready. Today is the day I show him I already am.

I find him in the barn, where he's been spending more time lately—fixing things that don't need fixing, reinforcing doors and windows. Preparing, though he won't say for what. The muscles in his back flex beneath his t-shirt as he lifts a heavy beam into place. I pause in the doorway, momentarily mesmerized by the play of strength under sun-darkened skin.

"Need something, angel?" he asks without turning around. He always knows when I'm near, like he has some sixth sense tuned specifically to me.

My heart pounds against my ribs, nervousness warring with determination. I've practiced what I want to say, but now that the moment is here, the words stick in my throat.

Wayne turns, eyebrows raised at my silence. His gaze sweeps over me, taking in my appearance—cutoff shorts, tank top, bare feet. His expression softens.

"What is it?" he asks, setting down his tools and wiping his hands on a rag. "Something wrong?"

I shake my head, stepping further into the barn. Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming through the high windows, giving the space a dreamy, otherworldly quality.