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  She stares dead at me.

  My inner wickedness has hold. I’m not gonna lie.

  “Maybe you want to play nurse instead,” I whisper.

  Five seconds ago, she’d been about to tear my damn head off.

  Now?

  She’s motionless, caught off guard, staring at me with her lips wet and not a single barb rolling off that glistening pink tongue I can see just past the curve of her mouth.

  I could do something wild.

  Something hot and hungry and dirty.

  I could be exactly the kind of man she thinks I am.

  It’d be too easy to thread my fingers into her hair and hold on just enough for her to feel it, for her to quiver with the need to give up control.

  A few inches forward and I could kiss her until she’s melting, her body so soft and hot I could reach down inside her to grab at her heart, making her think she could have me if she just gives in.

  But I’m trying to be better.

  If I treated her that way, I’d be worse than pond scum.

  I’d be disrespecting the first woman I’ve met in years who actually has the nerve to call me the hell out.

  So I don’t play games, but I can’t let go of the upper hand, either.

  Smirking, I just pull away from her and stand, brushing myself off and turning to walk away like I’m not a dusty mess.

  Hey—I know it’s time to leave the field when the battle’s over.

  I’ll be back after that flare of tension between us cools down and we’re both ready to talk again.

  But I’m not ready for her voice to follow me, chasing me with something hard to describe.

  I think it’s the sound of it.

  It’s not quite anger. Not quite hate. Not even scathing mockery.

  It’s almost like...disappointment?

  Hurt.

  “I guess I know who got the good genes in your family,” she says quietly. “Blake inherited any sense of honor and didn’t leave a bit for you. His biggest crime is that goofy-ass love line conspiracy show.”

  Damn.

  I’d just started to take a step over the plates of dust-caked, corrugated metal forming a bridge over the ditch, linking the lane with the homestead.

  When she mentions my brother, her words hit so hard it’s like slamming a wrecking ball into my bones.

  My foot slips on the plating, and I don’t know what feels worse.

  The angry bomb going off inside my chest.

  Or the way the world upends itself again in a swirl of color.

  It’s not my lucky day.

  I fall on my ass for the second time in about ten minutes.

  Only this time I don’t land in dry dirt.

  I thunk down in the muddy water in the bottom of the ditch. Dirt squelches under me loudly as I sink into it, and cold water soaks me from waist to toe.

  Part of me doesn’t even want to get up.

  I’d say I don’t know why that last parting shot hurts, but I do.

  I damn well do.

  Doesn’t mean I haven’t earned it, either.

  Fuck, when I first came back to Heart’s Edge, my own brother wouldn’t believe I wasn’t up to no good.

  It took me saving his life with a fire truck to make Blake believe I wasn’t just here to screw him over.

  I don’t blame him. Not after the fouled up blood we had growing up together, always undercutting each other for Mama’s amusement.

  Chasing her attention, fighting to be the favored son, stealing girlfriends.

  Well.

  The stealing girlfriends part was mostly me.

  In my heyday, I’ve had at least a hot make out session in the back of a pickup truck with ninety percent of the eligible women in Heart’s Edge.

  Back then, I thought I was sly. A born player.

  New York City taught me I don’t know what sly even is.

  While I thought I was cutthroat, it chewed me up and spat me back out to the weird little town I started in.

  That’s not something I grieve.

  I’m ready to come home and continue un-fucking my life.

  Ready to make right.

  But that doesn’t mean people are ready to let me.

  So, I think, staring up at the sky, watching a single cloud go skipping along, moved by winds I can’t feel down here where I’m stuck in the mud in more ways than one, I can’t quit.

  I’ve got to keep trying.

  But I’ve also got to know when it’s time to call it a day, and this conversation’s done.

  Sitting up, I drag myself out of the muck and stand with as much dignity as I can muster.

  First I bite my tongue. Then, pretending I’m not dripping wet and caked in crud, I adjust my lapels, then dip a brief bow to Sierra.

  “Miss Potter,” I say politely, and then bow to Libby, too.

  Sierra’s staring at me with her eyes wide and stunned, but Libby...hell, she looks like the cat that got the cream, her eyes glittering with laughter.

  Damn little minx.

  “Miss Potter,” I repeat, adding, “it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope to repeat the pleasure again. A little less dirty talk next time, maybe.”

  I can’t resist.

  But it doesn’t wipe that smug look off her face in the slightest.

  If anything, it grows.

  Libby uncurls one of the hands planted on her hip and goes for something almost as deadly as that shotgun.

  She merrily flips me her middle finger.

  Awesome. There’s my cue to go.

  I nod one more time, then turn and walk away, my spine stiff.

  There’s a very undignified squelch as I pull the door of my Benz open and settle in behind the wheel, dripping muck all over the leather seats.

  Yeah, fuck, it’s definitely time to call a time out.

  I focus on ignoring how cold and clammy and uncomfortable I am as I start the engine and back the car out of the long winding unpaved driveway.

  I’m officially done with the day.

  Even if I’m not giving up.

  Not on myself.

  Not on my chance to rebuild my reputation.

  And not on the fascinating hellcat named Liberty Potter.

  * * *

  By the time I’ve cleaned myself up and changed into my work duds, my ego’s feeling a little less bruised.

  Though my ass is still complaining plenty after taking the brunt of a fall twice in a row.

  Still, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself as I do a final walk-through of The Menagerie. It took some convincing with Blake to get Doc to agree on my crew doing the job. But we did it in record time and under budget, leaving his insurance people happy.

  My boys did solid work rebuilding Doc and Ember’s veterinary clinic. I think they’re as happy as their critters to have a proper place again after that botched arson attempt earlier this year left some serious damage.

  I just wish it hadn’t taken so long to get to it, but there’s a lot of work around town, and my crew’s not that big. I’ve been trying to handle it all myself, building up our reputation before the city calls in outside contractors, but considering how shit goes down in Heart’s Edge?

  Yeah.

  Calling this place unlucky in the ruins department would be a serious understatement.

  First the town museum, after that crazy jackhole blew it up. Then the collateral damage around that blast, working on building a new site where the Paradise Hotel used to be, restoring old buildings, and now this possible supermall project.

  I’ve got my hands full.

  It’s nothing I can’t handle.

  Thankfully, there are plenty of college kids home for the summer and looking for work.

  Right now, though, my skeleton crew—just a few loyal fuckers who stuck with me and came all the way out to Heart’s Edge for a fresh start—did a damn good job with The Menagerie.

  I’m as proud of them as I am to know them.

  It’s nice to be around Doc and Ember, too.


  With both of them being old transplants to the town, they aren’t quite as familiar with my lifelong—ahem—reputation.

  They treat me straight up.

  Handshakes, gratitude, and compliments on the hard work done to put their practice back together. It leaves me beaming, satisfied I’ve done something useful with the day besides pissing off Ms. Libby Congeniality.

  I don’t do everything with my tongue.

  Sometimes I let my fingers do the talking, too.

  After handing me the check, Doc digs around in the pocket of his pressed slacks, pulls out his wallet, and hands me a crisp fifty-dollar bill. I look at him, cocking my head.

  “Buy yourself a couple rounds on me,” he says, looking over his spectacles. “My patients can’t show the same gratitude, but it’s the least I can do from all of us.”

  I thank him, give him a crisp salute, and head out to my car.

  Honestly, Doc’s orders don’t sound half bad after the day I’ve had.

  I’m still riding high on giddy accomplishment when I dust myself off and head over to Brody’s an hour later. My fool brother’s already staked down a table at the joint.

  Imagine a Hooters Lite crossed with an old timey mountain bar and built out of weathered wood. That’s our local watering hole. The place where every kid sneaks his first beer and every grizzled old man in Heart’s Edge glugs down his last.

  I’ve kept a lot of memories here, playing pool with girls who bent over the tables just that way to throw me off my game, or watching from afar while my older brother and his friends hung out and played darts.

  It hasn’t changed much.

  Still the same loud jukebox music, waitresses in denim skirts and short-shorts that wouldn’t pass muster, the smell of thick burgers and beer-battered onion rings, noisy college kids and even noisier high schoolers hoping they won’t get put out for being too young.

  This place is so timeless it feels like I’m the one who’s changed.

  Not Brody’s. Not the town.

  But if I’ve changed, then so has Blake, finally the happily married man he swore he’d never be.

  He’s quieter now, this big blockhead of a man with russet-brown hair and a silver-flecked beard. Truth be told, we don’t look much alike, but after his old man was history, some nameless devil in a moment of reckless passion gave our mama me.

  Maybe my wandering hands and roving ways are genetic.

  I’ll never know.

  I never had a dad growing up.

  Just an older brother who was half my only friend, half my worst enemy, and one hundred percent someone I’d never admit I looked up to.

  There’s no hint of our old squabbles now.

  Blake catches sight of me and lifts his hand, gesturing toward the seat opposite him and the foaming glass mug of beer just waiting.

  “Ordered for you,” he says, taking a swig from his own mug. “From what I’ve heard, you seem like you need it.”

  “Shit, you know?” I groan, sinking down on the wooden seat—and wincing. Goddamn, I really did land hard on my ass. “Word travels that fast?”

  “Small town. It’s like some kind of invisible telephone tree. Anything that happens, everybody knows in ten minutes around here.” He grins at me slyly. “So ya had a little fun with the Potter sisters, huh?”

  “You make it sound like a night on the town. Not what actually happened,” I mutter.

  “Look, I’m not surprised you walked face-first into trouble, man. Libby’s lived on that big ol’ ranch her whole life. She’s not gonna take kindly to strangers trying to buy it out from under her nose, no matter what money troubles she’s got.”

  I shake my head, lifting my beer and taking a swig, letting the mellow taste soothe me.

  “I don’t know how she keeps that place running if she’s so far behind on property taxes. We’ve got no water out here, and yet she’s running irrigation ditches? Where does the cash come from?”

  “Mostly, stable rentals and riding lessons, I think. Though I bet she also sells off some wool from those sheep.” Blake grimaces. “But I think the Feds will wind up grabbing her land in the end. Real sad. She’s got her daddy’s energy keeping the place up.”

  “That’s what I don’t get about her being so damn stubborn,” I say, and I’m not going to lie, it comes out a little heated. Hours later, a successful job behind me, and that girl’s still got me riled, fire blazing under my collar. “Wouldn’t it be better to sell off a little sliver of your land rather than lose the whole wad out of pride?”

  “Pride’s a powerful SOB,” Blake says pointedly, jabbing a finger at me. “Remember, dumb pride was what had us nearly ripping each other’s jugulars out just a few months ago. People get stupid over stuff they’re attached to. You know how it is.”

  I take a long pull of my beer, hating how he’s right.

  No wonder every night owl in Heart’s Edge tunes into his goofy love-line show on the radio—all the more reason now with his wife, Peace, playing her pretty music sometimes.

  “So if you really want to help Libby, you try to get how she feels,” Blake says. “Might help her see reason. Then you get your contract and she keeps her farm. Easy peasy.”

  “It’s a thought,” I admit grudgingly, though right now I think trying to reason with Libby Potter would be like a snake trying to talk with a mongoose—and I promise you I’m the snake, and she’s gonna chomp me right in half. “Part of me gets where she’s coming from. Run a major road down the edge of your property, and suddenly you’re a scenic attraction. Shoppers and tourists acting like you’re part of the mall.”

  “Yeah, but look at the other side,” he says. “More people noticing the Potter place. Maybe hiring out for lessons or rentals, so she gets a bigger steady income and doesn’t fall back in the hole.”

  He’s got a point.

  Too bad emotions and common sense don’t get along too well.

  I’ll try again, though.

  There’s got to be some way to work through this.

  Because Libby’s not the only one who stands to lose everything right now.

  “Hey,” Blake says, kicking me under the table, just enough to get my attention. “No moping on my watch. C’mon. You finished The Menagerie today, right? This is a celebratory beer.”

  “Sorry,” I say with a dry smile. “Head stuck in the business.”

  “It’s creeping me out, honestly.” He smirks. “Where the hell’s Mr. Playboy? You’re always thinking about supplies and invoices and construction codes...must be a lot of lonely beds in Heart’s Edge lately.”

  I snort. “Not you, too. Does everyone think I’m still the biggest man-whore in town?”

  “Honest answer or nice answer?” Blake looks at me with his dark-blue eyes twinkling.

  “Honest answer.”

  Blake’s smirk widens into a grin. “Yyyep.”

  “Goddammit!”

  “Don’t sweat it, bro.” He’s enjoying this. I can tell. But he’s also sincere when he says, “Look, I was surprised as hell when you said you wanted to stay here. But look now—you fit right in. Fixing up the town and all, helping Doc and Ember back up and running. We’re getting along like gangbusters. Andrea loves you. You ain’t doing half bad, Holt. If people wanna gossip about you and the ladies, well...keeps ’em from getting bored. And as long as you got your reputation, you can always get laid. Bet a whole pack of girls want to know what the fuss is all about.”

  Shame I’m not interested in just getting laid anymore.

  New York City took care of that.

  My mind tries to push an image of angry blue eyes in front of me, but I shove it away just as hard.

  Nope.

  Fuck no.

  Mixing business with pleasure already screwed me over once.

  I’m not messing with that ever again.

  So I’m happy to change the subject, talking about how my niece is doing in school, that punk Clark she’s still hung up on, Blake’s new marriage to
his cute little hippie girl, how things have finally quieted down.

  Blake says he might even come help out on my crew just to keep busy. In between keeping an eye out for brush fire season to kick into high gear, of course.

  Everything else is always a side gig for the town’s fire chief.

  But as we talk, my gaze roves over the bar.

  I don’t recognize a lot of the new faces here. I’ve been away for a good long while.

  Some people have grown up and look so different they’re like strangers. Others are just people who moved to Heart’s Edge for whatever reasons, or folks who stayed here as leftovers once Galentron skipped town.

  It’s not the same place I grew up in.

  But one guy in particular catches my eye.

  I don’t know him from Adam, but there’s something about him that just looks out of place.

  He’s stiff, wearing a waistcoat and tie in a bar like Brody’s, his suit coat draped on a barstool next to him and his slacks so neatly creased they could cut.

  Not one strand of black hair is out of place, his face smooth and empty with a brooding touch to it.

  The biggest red flag? He’s drinking alone.

  Everyone else is on their third to fifth beer of the night, but this guy’s got wine.

  Wine—at Brody’s.

  “Blake.” I cut off his rant about people being stupid with their propane grills every summer and jerk my chin toward the guy. “Who’s that? Never seen him around.”

  “Huh?” Blake cranes to peer over his shoulder, blinking slowly from his buzz. “Oh, him. Can’t remember the name, but he works at the new bank. Y’know, Confederated something or other? They’re buying all sorts of shit around town. Saw him talking to somebody on the council outside that old theater that burned a while back.”

  Interesting. My hand tightens on my mug.

  As far as I know, there’s only one man from Confederated Bank buying out properties in Heart’s Edge. That cold-eyed Declan fuck I’d met with Sierra.

  Maybe Confederated Bank is hiring since it’s new.

  Maybe.

  Something about it just weirds me out, though.

  I can’t really dwell on it too long, and it’s only halfway my business because I’m making it my business.

  Blake starts blabbing away, I have another beer, and time blurs by while we talk and wait for the buzz to die down so we can drive.