Page 42 of Whispers of Sweetwater

But want didn’t listen to reason. And when it came to Brianna Steele, want had dug its claws in real deep.

Heaving a weighty sigh, he dragged both hands down his face, elbows braced on the table. Walt’s words rattled in his skull like loose bullets … they don’t let things go; even if you die, they just pass the debt on. If that was true, then Molly wasn’t just scared of shadows and paying off some debt. She was marked. And if Brianna had thrown herself into the middle of it, then she was, too.

The thought turned his stomach as he leant back, staring at Casey’s photo again, her laughing eyes forever frozen in time.

Not again, Case. Not on my watch.

By the time he finally pushed up from the chair, the kitchen was cloaked in midnight quiet. He poured out the cold coffee, grabbed his hat from the counter, and stood in the dark a long moment. His chest ached with helplessness, but beneath it something harder began to set.

Resolve.

If Molly’s mess was circling closer, if whoever Jack had crossed was sneaking around Brianna’s cottage too, then he’d find out who they were. And when he did, he’d put himself squarely between them and the women the dirty sons of bitches thought they could scare. Because he might not have been able to save Casey. But this time? This time, he could damn well do something.

Even after the verandah light clicked off and the stars resumed their silent watch, Hayden didn’t move. Cicadas droned somewhere out in the dark and curlews called eerily. Walt’s words gnawed at him, the impact of this knowledge coiling in his gut like barbed wire. A shiver rolled through him, and it wasn’t from the coolness of late-night air. No, this chill came from somewhere deeper. Older. Like the land itself was holding its breath, waiting for the storm it already knew was coming. He dragged a hand across his stubbled jaw, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon out the kitchen windows. Whatever was circling them, whatever had already sunk its talons into Molly, and was now brushing too close to Brianna, he’d meet it head on.

Because the one thing he knew for certain was this.

They weren’t safe.

Not yet.

* * *

As she hovered in dreamland, the sheet tangled around Brianna’s legs was damp with sweat. She rolled and shifted to her side, murmuring as her unconscious musings pulled her in deeper. Hayden’s voice, low and gravelled, was at her ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath skittering down her neck, steady and grounding, yet electric in a way that sent a shiver spiralling through her. His callused hand curved at her waist, his thumb brushing her hip in a touch that was both tender and possessive. She arched into him, her skin aching for more of his touch, more of him, all of him. His mouth traced a line from the hollow of her throat to her collarbone, unhurried, reverent, each kiss a brand that burned hotter than the last. He was saying something – her name, maybe, or a promise she couldn’t quite grasp – but the words melted into the hum of his nearness. Her body answered before her mind could catch up. Her fingers tangled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching him closer, desperate to anchor herself in him. Heat flared in her chest, in her stomach, then lower still, coiling, insistent, overwhelming. The taste of him, the weight of him, the pull of wanting and being wanted, it was so vivid, so consuming, it blurred the edges of dream and reality.

And just as his lips brushed lower, her breath hitched, sharp, urgent, and she cried out in ecstasy …

She gasped awake.

The ceiling spun slightly in the blue-grey morning light. Her heart pounded. She quickly sat up, dragging the sheet with her, and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. ‘Wow, that was intense.’

And oh so enjoyable.

She smirked a little naughtily as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feeling wicked for feeling so turned on, so hungry for Hayden. Every inch of her body hummed for his touch. The fan above clicked with every turn, indifferent to her mortification.

Why him? Why now?

But who was she kidding. She knew why. The way he’d looked at her when she pulled into the driveway. The way he hadn’t said what he was thinking. The way he hadn’t touched her intimately by now but could have. She shook it all off and pushed to her feet. There was work to do. Always work. Her welcome distraction. The sky was just softening with gold when she pulled on her boots and stepped outside, glad that Molly’s bedroom door was still closed and there was no sunlight peeking beneath it – hopefully that meant her friend was still soundly sleeping. The scent of dewy grass clung to the breeze and the soft calls of birds carried through the rustling trees. Sherlock followed her closely, ears twitching as he pounced down the steps and went to do his business.

He returned promptly, and Brianna ruffled his shaggy head. ‘You’re on watch again today, buddy, is that okay?’

Sherlock’s reply was a short, sharp bark, then a nose nudge to her hand to say goodbye for the day.

‘Aw, I love you, too, buddy.’ She leant and kissed his head. ‘Catch you a bit later on, and make sure you stay out of trouble, okay.’

After checking the gate was latched tight behind her – she wasn’t about to risk Sherlock wandering – she paused with her hand on the Hilux door. The morning heat was already building, the bonnet throwing back shards of sunlight, but it wasn’t the sunlight prickling her skin. Something else simmered beneath the surface, like the day hadn’t yet decided whether it meant to be kind or cruel.

Time would tell.

She drew a steadying breath, slid into the driver’s seat, and guided the ute along the familiar gravel road and out of town. Sweetwater Acres lay ten minutes north, pressed against the ridge and hemmed by wide paddocks that always tugged at her chest in ways she couldn’t quite explain. Comfort. Longing. Maybe even belonging.

When she crested the last rise, Hayden’s property unfurled before her, the neat timber fencing cutting strong, certain lines across the rolling green. Near the southern boundary, Duchess grazed lazily while Maverick darted at her side, his tail flicking high with mischief. She eased to a stop, dust curling in her wake before settling. Stepping out, the ground felt different here, solid beneath her boots – steady, safer somehow, as though the land itself offered her shelter from any of life’s storms.

For the first time that morning, she let her lungs fill all the way, the breath going down easier.

She checked her watch. It was still early. Plenty of time before her first official call of the day to a new property on the western side of town, where the owners had phoned in about their pet pig going off his feed and acting listless. She hadn’t been there before, and pigs could be unpredictable at the best of times, so she wanted to give herself the full morning to assess him properly. Which meant she had time to call in here first. Besides, it was on her way – practical, really – and checking in on Duchess and Maverick was good medicine. But as she started towards the fence line, her chest tightened with a truth she couldn’t quite ignore. It wasn’t just the horses drawing her here.

It was him, too.