Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Wade came out alive on a stretcher, his ruined hand strapped against his chest and one leg immobilized. Deputies secured the prisoners while medics moved through the warehouse and Raines stopped beside the stolen machinery, the ledger and arson materials finally giving him enough to dismantle the operation. He glanced once toward the ridge where he couldn’t see us, then returned to the evidence that would put Wade Kessler behind bars.
It was late morning when we rode through the compound gates, dust covering my boots and dried blood darkening one sleeve. My body carried the deep ache of the fight and the long night in the quarry, but the only thing I wanted stood inside the clubhouse beside Wraith, both hands wrapped around a coffee mug she had forgotten to drink. Jacqueline saw me the second I entered, set the cup down, and crossed the room with her braid swinging behind her.
I caught her around the waist and lifted her against my chest, needing the weight and warmth of her body before words could do anything useful. Her arms locked around my neck while her breasts pressed softly against me, heating my blood despite exhaustion and the violence still clinging to my skin. I wanted her naked beneath me at home, wanted my hands and mouth over every place Wade had made afraid until the only thing she remembered about the night was that I came back.
“Blood,” she whispered, pulling away enough to inspect the bruise across my shoulder and the blood on my cuff.
“Not mine.” I kept one hand beneath her ass and the other spread across her back while she searched my face. “Wade’s alive. Raines has him, the stolen equipment, the ledger, and enough evidence to bury his operation.”
Relief loosened her expression, but she heard what I hadn’t said. “And the rest?”
“He’ll face prosecution.” I brushed my thumb across her cheek, keeping the truth restrained without turning it into a lie. “He’ll also never terrorize another witness, drag a woman toward a truck, or use his own hands to frighten somebody into silence.”
Her gaze dropped to my knuckles before returning to my eyes. She didn’t demand details or pretend she misunderstood what happened inside the quarry, because she had already chosen both the man beneath the cut and the one who fixed her doors and carried her to bed. Her palm settled against my neck, warm and steady, while the last hard edge inside me finally eased.
“Is it over?”
“For you, yeah.” I lowered her until her boots touched the floor but kept my arm locked around her waist. “Raines will spend months cleaning up the rest, but Wade won’t come near you again.”
Jacqueline released a slow breath and rested her cheek over my heart while the brothers moved around us, checking injuries, securing weapons, and handling the practical aftermath without speeches. I pressed my mouth to her hair and held her until the need to see the ranch, our bed, and every piece of the life Wade had tried to destroy became impossible to ignore.
“Let’s go home.”
Her face lifted, and the tired, relieved smile she gave me made the entire night worth surviving. I took her hand and led her toward the door, carrying the certainty of her beside me all the way back to the ranch.
22
JACQUELINE
I’d barely had time to wrap my head around the threat being eliminated, but the Black Crowns arrived just after sunrise the following morning, trucks and trailers loaded with lumber, tools, and equipment. Engines rumbled up the driveway as brothers climbed out and got to work without waiting for orders. Some started clearing the charred remains of the old barn. Others set to work on the scorched siding of the farmhouse.
I stood on the porch with a mug of coffee, watching it all unfold. Eventually, Brogan came up behind me and set a roll of papers on the railing. “Take a look.”
I unrolled them carefully and found rough architectural sketches with notes in his handwriting. One was for a new horse rehabilitation stable with wider stalls and better ventilation, including safer fencing and turnout pens. There was also an improved access road that would keep heavy trailers off the softer pasture ground.
But what evoked a gasp from me were the plans for a larger house farther up the rise and notes about restoring Grandpa’s farmhouse into a ranch office and guesthouse. I stared at them for a moment, my throat tight.
Tilting his head toward the papers in my hand, he murmured, “Tell me what you want changed, and I’ll make it happen.”
I appreciated that more than I could say. Brogan was making it clear he intended to be part of the future I wanted to build here, but he still respected that the ranch was mine.
I traced a finger over the outline of the new house, then glanced up at him with a teasing smile. “You planned an entire house without even asking where I want the bedroom.”