“He didn’t say anything,” Gavin grumbled.
“I asked him not to. I wanted to keep this to myself until I knew it would work.”
“Knew what would work, son? What is all this?”
Here goes.
Clay stood. “I’m proposing a new deal.” He pulled a map from the file and slid it to the center of the table where they could all see. “These sections here,” he tapped the three areas he’d marked.
“She’s willing to sell those parcels?” Gavin sounded skeptical.
Clay’s pulse skittered. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“I’ve obviously missed some things in my absence,” Pops said. “You wanna catch me up, son?”
Clay talked for twenty minutes. When he fell silent, he glanced around the table, and his stomach dropped. Dead stares and scowls all around.
This can’t be good.
Goddamn, that hurt. He hadn’t realized how important their support was to him. Too late to turn back now. Might as well finish what he started.
“I need you to understand … I’m taking this deal to Ainsley. Whether the name on the offer is Shadow Maverick or Clayton Mathis is up to the three of you.”
This decision had been one of the primary reasons for his lack of sleep lately. He had looked at it from every angle, and it always came back to the same point. Being with Ainsley felt right. It was as if he’d found a piece of himself he hadn’t realized was missing.
Pax jerked back as though Clay had sucker punched him. “You’d run your own brand?”
Something inside him split in two. “If I had to, yes.” God, it would kill him, but he wouldn’t hesitate.
“You’ve been hanging around Ainsley’s place for what? A month? Two?”
Clay met his dad’s gaze. “About halfway in-between. Doesn’t change how I feel about this.”
Pops’ bushy eyebrows shot up. “And how’s that?”
All. In.
“I love her, Pops.” In the rip-his-heart-out-of-his-chest-and-present-it-to-her-on-his-knees kind of way. “You talked to Gavin and Pax about taking care of their women. That’s what I’m trying to do. Ainsley’s mine. It may seem fast to you—”
Pops stopped him with a hand. “Nothing’s fast when you know what you want, boy. I knew the second I laid eyes on your momma I was going to spend my life with her. I reckon Gavin and Pax knew right off about their gals, too.”
When his brothers nodded, Clay fell back into his chair, exhausted. “I know this deal wasn’t what you were hoping for,” he directed his words to Gavin. “It’s not the best case scenario, but I believe Ainsley will go for it. And it’s what I need.”
Please don’t make me choose.
Gavin turned to Pax. “Can you believe this motherfucker went and fell in love?”
“Never thought I’d see the day.”
Pops slapped a palm on the table. “All right. It’s settled then. Gavin, draw up the preliminaries.”
“On it.” With a grin as big as Texas, his older brother leaned over and punched him in the shoulder. Hard.
“What the hell was that for?” Clay rubbed away the pain as another, more powerful, sensation filled his chest.
“Consider it a warning. Next time you think we won’t have your back, I’ll aim a little lower. With my boot.”
***
Ainsley caught herself humming as she cleaned the house, her mood a direct result of a certain man she couldn’t stop thinking about.
Clay had been gone for a few hours and already she craved the sound of his voice. The feel of his touch. The warmth of his smile. When she thought about not seeing him again, she had the powerful urge to double over, to fold in on herself to ease the pain she feared losing him would cause.
Which was silly, of course.
They’d overslept, which meant he’d rushed out this morning, but not before promising to be back later.
Ainsley stripped the sheets from her bed and tossed them into the laundry basket. She caught Clay’s masculine scent and brought the sheet back up, inhaling deeply. With a dreamy sigh, she let it fall again.
She’d never get tired of his scent on her sheets. Or the sound of his voice. Or the feel of his touch. Or the … holy shit.
Ainsley stopped the task of freeing the pillows from their cases.
Was she in love with him? After so short a time?
Love wasn’t exactly her area of expertise. What if she wasn’t any good at it? What if Clay didn’t feel the same way about her?
God! What if, what if, what if.
Two of the worst words in the English language. When combined, they could darn near drive a person straight to crazy town.
Who the hell cared what if? The last six weeks had been the happiest of her life. Full of hope. Of passion. Of life.
She still spent her mornings doing chores—exercising the horses, maintaining her garden. Early afternoons were still spent in the kitchen, winterizing vegetables in jars of sauces and stews in a process she’d grown to love. Nothing new there.
But later, when the sun started its final descent each day, Clay would arrive. They’d make their afternoon trek around the ranch. And then he’d treat her to a different, more pleasurable kind of ride. Sometimes they’d even make it back to the house first.
What might seem like a mundane daily routine to some, to Ainsley felt like a thick blanket on a cold night. Warm. Comforting. Safe. Throw Clay into the mix and she was a furnace in Fort Knox.
And downright giddy with excitement for the future.
Sure, a part of her waited for lightning to strike. With her penchant for bad luck and no word yet from the bank, how could she not? But it was a part she was determined to resist. Her whole damn life had been about risk—taking over the ranch the biggest of all. She could handle a little thing like love, right?
She chuckled. She had no say in who her heart chose. The darn thing had been fickle to this point, not allowing anyone to get close. But Clay hadn’t slowly worked his way in—he’d blasted his way through her defenses and staked a claim.
Whether he realized it or not, she was his.
Ainsley gathered up the laundry and noticed Clay’s duffle bag on the floor. Without hesitation, she tossed the whole thing in the basket. He’d been at her place almost every night. He’d leave for work in the pre-dawn hours, usually carrying his bag with him. She assumed he went home for clean clothes every day, because her basket and bedroom floor were free of anything male. His laundry had to be piling up. For everything he’d done for her, the least she could do was run a load or two for him.
Her desire to take care of him didn’t make her any less independent. Why shouldn’t she provide clean clothes and home-cooked meals for him when it gave her such pleasure to do so? He hadn’t expected it of her. He was always enthusiastically grateful for her cooking.
She hummed an old country song on her way down the stairs and through to the kitchen. She dropped her bundle on the floor. She swayed her hips to the tune as she fished Clay’s clothes out of his bag. When she tossed them to the basket for sorting, a document fell from the bundle. She bent to pick up the folded papers, intending to put them back in his bag until two words caught her eye.
Nelson Ranch.
Nervous butterflies filled her stomach, then burst through her veins, leaving ice in their wake. With shaking hands, she folded back the edge.
Tears burned her eyes as she scanned the first page. Another offer for her ranch. Page two. A very generous offer. More than enough to pay what she owed.
It would leave her with nothing but a bank account.
Why did everyone believe money solved everything? Didn’t people know there were more important things?
Ainsley scanned the pages, her brain fighting to accept what was right in front of her: all the legal bullshit necessary to relieve her of her home. Hell, the damn thing had even been inked with Gavin’s name representing the Mathis family interest on the final page.
But it hadn�
��t been Gavin carrying the document in his bag.
She glanced at the date, and her head spun. Signed the day Clay fixed her porch. The day she’d made him dinner for the first time. Looked as if she’d been fucked more ways than one that night.
She didn’t know how it happened but Ainsley found herself sitting. She smoothed the offer against the table, staring at it with disbelief.
Clay had lied to her.
He’d told her whatever was between them had nothing to do with the ranch. Had said he fixed the porch because he didn’t want her to get hurt. That he’d rode with her each day because … oh god.
Her stomach churned.
Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
She gulped for air as her heart shattered into a million pieces.
He hadn’t wanted to teach her about ranching. He’d been scoping out the place. Something she wouldn’t have allowed him to do if they hadn’t…
She slammed her fist against the table hard enough to shoot pain to her elbow.
She knew it!
One swipe and the sugar bowl, salt and pepper shakers, and her water glass went flying, crashing to the floor.
All the rides. All the questions.
She’d ignored her instincts. She’d trusted—
Ainsley’s tears burst forth with lung-seizing force. She buried her face in her hands. Her sobs were muffled by her palms, but ringing through loud and clear in her heart.
The things they’d done. He’d made her beg. He’d made her scream. Jesus Christ, she’d gone to her knees for him, allowed him total access to her body. She’d given him everything she had.
And he’d used her for his own advantage. The story of her life.
Of course he’d wanted to fuck her. Fuck her out of her land, her home. He’d done his job well, the whole time hiding his real intent. He might’ve even known who she was all along, his determination to get her name that first night at the bar just another ploy to throw her off.
She couldn’t deny the document in front of her. Or where it had come from.
His nervousness the first time she’d offered to take his bag made sense now. He’d quickly moved it to his truck, so as not to show his hand too soon. He hadn’t seduced her yet. Hadn’t had time to soften her up. She had no doubt he carried the document that night.
Seconds, minutes, hours later, her tears dried up.
Hurt and anger took their place. With no idea what to do next, she sat at the kitchen table and tried to breathe in a room suddenly devoid of oxygen.
The phone rang. On autopilot, she rose to answer. Ainsley cleared the lump in her throat. “Hello?”
“Ms. Russell?”
“Yes?”
“This is Luke Meyer at Heritage National.”
“Yes, Mr. Meyer. Of course.” Ainsley tried to add some enthusiasm, but her tone fell short. “Do you have news for me?”
His sigh said it all. “I’m sorry, Ms. Russell. The bank won’t be able to approve your loan.”
Ainsley didn’t hear what came next. Fresh tears sprung as she did the math in her head. If she sold what was left of the herd, she might make enough to pay the mortgage for another month or two. A band-aid for a sinking ship. She was truly out of options.
Well, not exactly. Her gaze found the papers on the table.
Mr. Meyer was still talking when she mumbled a “thank you” and hung up.
Ainsley found a pen and slid back onto the chair. She stared at the words in front of her without reading a single one.
Unbelievable pain split her chest.
She’d gotten it all wrong. She loved living in the old ranch house, but never more than in the last weeks. It wasn’t the land that gave her roots. It wasn’t the ranch that gave her a sense of home.
It was Clay. Without him, the rest of it didn’t matter. The reality of it kicked her in the teeth.
She loved a man she couldn’t trust.
Her body cold and numb, she flipped to the last page. The empty line next to Gavin’s mocked her.
She’d done all she could do and it hadn’t been enough. She was tired of fighting. She’d take the money and find a quiet place to lick her wounds. She’d find a job. Rent a decent apartment. Forget she’d had a familial tie to this place, however precarious. And no matter how long it took—days, months, years … a lifetime—she’d forget she loved Clayton Mathis.
Utterly defeated, Ainsley added her name next to Gavin’s in bold, black strokes.
Chapter Fourteen
Ainsley’s car wasn’t in the driveway when Clay pulled up. A frown tugged at his lips as he noticed the side door was wide open.
Strange. Ainsley always locked her doors. Called it her city-girl habit. If she was home, where the hell was her car? If she wasn’t home…
He threw the door open and bailed, leaving the truck running as he headed toward the house.
“Ainsley?” Clay stepped into the kitchen, every muscle in his body on high alert.
Laundry was piled on the floor. He stepped over the mess only to discover another. Shattered glass, broken sugar bowl mixed with its former contents, undamaged shaker—salt or pepper, he didn’t know.
“Ainsley?” he called out, louder now. Fear paralyzed him as he tried to come up with an explanation for the mess. Was she hurt? Had someone broken in? Crime was all but nonexistent in these parts, but that didn’t stop the dire scenarios from playing out in his head.
Then he saw it.
His duffle bag. His empty duffle bag.
His gaze landed on the table. Clay didn’t need confirmation to know the document he’d kept in said bag was the one sitting underneath the pen.
He let out a frustrated yell. He was so close. The solution to all their problems sat on the front seat of his truck—a way to expand Shadow Maverick and give Ainsley what she needed.
Where was she? When he thought about what she must be thinking, his stomach churned. She probably thought he was no better than the people who’d used and discarded her in the past.
He was better, damn it. And he wanted to spend the rest of his life proving it to her. He pressed the heels of his palms against his burning eyes.
First, he had to find her.
Clay snatched up the papers, sending the pen to join the rest of the mess. He should burn the damn thing to ash. The stupid contract had caused him enough trouble.
He flipped to the back. His heart stopped.
No. She didn’t. No.
“Ainsley!”
The fear that had immobilized him moments ago got his boots moving again. He raced up the stairs and into the bedroom, pausing only when he reached the closet door. What would he do if her things were gone? How would he find her? He wouldn’t even know where to start.
He flung open the door. Shelves and racks of clothes greeted him. Relief weakened his knees. Followed by anger so profound, he wanted to put his fist through the wall.
She’d done it. She’d signed away her ranch.
What did she think she was going to do now? Leave this place? Toss him aside?
To hell with that.
He wasn’t going anywhere. And if he had anything to say about it, neither was she.
***
Clay was sitting on the steps of her front porch looking as lost as she felt.
Ainsley cut the engine and left the keys dangling from the ignition. She’d made it twenty miles outside of town before she remembered she had nowhere to go. No one to call. No one who cared what happened to her. She never had, but she hadn’t given it much thought before. Her life was how it was, and she’d made the best of it. It was all she’d known.
Until the night Clayton Mathis had demanded her name.
She wondered now what would’ve happened if he’d accepted her terms, taken her outside, and fucked her in the back seat of his truck. Would they still be here, staring across the driveway at each other as though the earth would swallow them whole if they blinked?
The part of her she’d ignored these last week
s said yes. Fate. Destiny. Right place, right time. Whatever label she wanted to put on it wouldn’t change what it was. She’d been drawn to him from the beginning. Right or wrong, she was drawn to him now.
He owned a part of her she’d never get back. Clay had shown her what she’d been missing. How lonely her life had been.
How in the hell would she find the strength to get out of the car and face him, knowing this was the end?
Ainsley met his gaze through the windshield. There was tension in his spine. A storm brewed in his expression. The slow, steady way he ran his hands up and down his thighs made his muscles dance in sinuous contrast to the hard line of his mouth.
Ah. He’d been inside then.
Her head and her heart were at war. Her head demanded she be angry. Her heart held on to the hope it had all been a big misunderstanding. Either way, he owed her an explanation. And if she had any chance of moving on, she needed to look him in the eye, hear it directly from him.
Her pulse thrummed loudly in her ears. She grabbed the brown paper bag from the passenger seat and got out of the car.
She stopped at the bottom of the steps, out of touching range but close enough to see the anguish in the lines around his eyes.
His chest expanded. Then, as though all the air had been sucked out of him, he folded forward, resting his forearms against his thighs. He laced his fingers together, and studied the results. “Where’ve you been?”
Tears pricked her eyes. “Driving.”
He reached behind his back, brought up a fistful of crumpled papers. “We need to talk about this.”
“I’m not sure what there is to say. You broke your promise. You lied to me.” God, this was harder than she anticipated. “In the end, you got what you wanted.”
He shook the fist clamped around the papers. “You think this is what I wanted?”
“What am I supposed to think, Clay?” Ah, there was the fire she’d need to get through this. “All I have to go on is right there in black and white. You were really great, though. Very convincing in your bid to keep it from me. Reeled me right in. Had me convinced you cared about me.”
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