No White Knight Page 5

  “You really hankering to find out how violent?”

  I’m so not ready when he steps closer.

  When he fills up the space around me, I realize I had no clue what summer heat really was until I felt him. His body too close to me, and now I can smell him, too—the scent of concrete and masculinity and hard work.

  Something hot and sharp underneath that should smell bad, but it just gets me dizzy with...

  With him.

  Ugh. I hate the weird, tingly feeling cutting through me.

  It’s like a million sparks going off, and I want to just scream with the rawness and wildness of it burning up inside me.

  It’s got to be a trick.

  There’s no earthly way I actually want Holt Silverton.

  Hell to the no.

  Especially when I start feeling awfully dirty myself. His eyes dip over me, and he leans down, purring in his rough, velvet voice.

  “Go ahead, little lady,” he breathes. “Hurt me.”

  I do the only thing I can.

  What feels like a reflex with him.

  I slam my hands against his chest and push until my arms burn.

  It feels like a desperate act of self-preservation.

  Because something about him does something to me when he’s this close.

  It’s like pheromones getting up in my head, drugging me, turning my brain into mush while my whole body just ignites.

  It’s like I can feel the anger he inspires in me all over my nerve endings, but that heat...

  That heat ain’t rage.

  I gulp a deep breath. He moves a step back. Barely.

  This time, on steady ground, there’s no knocking him off-kilter.

  Guess them big old steel-toed workman’s boots are a heck of a lot sturdier than dress shoes. Or maybe I just grossly overestimated my own strength against a titan.

  But he’s watching me with his eyes narrowed.

  It’s like we’re playing poker, and I just gave away my hand.

  Screw him, I’m not out yet.

  I fold my arms over my chest like I can contain my racing heart if I just cage it, slitting my eyes right back at him.

  Two can play at this.

  I can do those skin-stripping stares, too.

  And we’re like two territorial cats as I ask, “Why’d you chase him off, anyway? Don’t you get everything you want if he takes my land?”

  “Nah,” Holt says. “That delays my timeline and the town’s. The thing with government seizures is, I have to buy it at auction later. A lot more competition then. It could be years before they even put the land up. The city council wants to close on this mall deal this month.”

  I can’t help rolling my eyes. “Nice to know you’ve got such altruistic motives.”

  “Hear me out.” He spreads his hands. “There’s a way for us both to get what we want.”

  I eye him skeptically.

  I’ll probably regret these words, but...

  “I’m listening. Talk,” I say.

  “No denying you’re in trouble. You’re not even making enough money to keep the ranch going. Don’t—” He holds a hand up as I bristle. “Don’t tear my head off yet. That’s not your fault, and I’m not criticizing. I know what it’s like to fight like hell to keep your livelihood afloat. That’s why this could work so well for you.”

  God. I don’t want to even think he could know what my life’s like.

  I don’t want sympathy from him.

  But I’m still listening, because now that I know what my time limit is, forty-five days...

  I’ll never admit it to Holt, but that number?

  It scares the bejeezus out of me.

  “I don’t need your whole property,” he says. “I’ve been picking through old town records, survey maps, the works. With the lay of the land and how we’d have to route a road for easy grading to get out to the mall, it’d run along the edge of your property, not cutting through it. We could build the road up on a steep embankment with a guardrail to keep your horses from getting up there, if they get out. And plant trees alongside the road so you’ve got less noise pollution and don’t have to see all the happy shoppers going past.”

  I give him the side-eye. This sounds too good to be true.

  And with men like Holt, that usually means it is.

  “Okay. You’re trying to sell me on what’s in it for me,” I say. “So what’s in it for you? You know you’re gonna be responsible for the lien on that acreage, right? In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  “I know. I’m fine with that. Considering the size of the land, it’d be a small percentage of what’s owed overall,” he says. There’s something in his eyes, something lit up and almost enthusiastic. “But what we’d pay you for it would be plenty for you to get those property taxes done—or close enough that you can negotiate some kind of payment plan for the rest.”

  I stare him down, wondering how many seconds it’d take to light his ass on fire.

  Oh, but his lips are still moving.

  “It’s win-win, Libby. You keep your ranch away from the bank, get out of seizure, and I get my contract.”

  Right. I don’t trust it. It’s too easy.

  And he’s being too freaking nice. Talking about making provisions for my horses and my privacy.

  Provisions Mr. New York City doesn’t have to follow through on once I agree to it.

  I can’t trust this crap.

  And I can’t forget the biggest reason why I can’t have hordes of people milling around.

  People get nosy. They poke around.

  Sometimes they find things they damn well shouldn’t.

  Holt looks at me, his eyes shining and eager.

  “No deal, cowboy.” I set my jaw, shaking my head.

  Holt’s face falls.

  On anyone else, it might almost be cute.

  He looks like a little boy who’s just been told he’s going to bed without dessert, as if that ain’t the damnedest thing when he’s as gorgeous as Lucifer. Right down to those shadowy eyebrows that make his eyes smolder.

  “Why not?” he asks.

  “I said I’d listen, and I did. Don’t owe you an explanation,” I force through my teeth—and instantly feel like an ass for it.

  I don’t know why.

  We’ve been trading barbs ever since we laid eyes on each other, and he’s still that snake who’s after my land—and I know his wicked reputation.

  So I don’t even know why I feel guilty seeing that crestfallen look on his face.

  I sigh.

  “Whatever, I’ll give you three reasons,” I mutter grudgingly, then unfold a finger from my clenched fist. “One—an embankment isn’t a total guarantee. I don’t want to lose my horses to a semi and a tired driver. Two—” I flick out another finger. “That crappy mall is gonna destroy half the businesses in town, and if you think I’m up for helping with that, you’ve got another thing coming. And three?” I snap out a third finger. “You’re twisting my problems to your advantage, mister. Making it sound like you’re doing me a big favor. So actually, here’s number four—screw you.”

  He just blinks at me.

  I arch my brows, folding my hand against my arm.

  Waiting for the insults, the condescension.

  Waiting for him to tell me I’m being unreasonable—yeah, I kinda am—but I never claimed to be smart when I’m pissed.

  Waiting for him to start arguing.

  But he doesn’t say anything, and honestly, that’s weirder than this entire mess.

  “Well?” I growl. “That finally good enough?”

  “For me, maybe,” he says somberly. “What about Sierra?”

  “What about Sierra?”

  “She won’t quit, Libby,” he points out—like I don’t know it. “And the way she’s going, she’s probably going to try to take the whole ranch—not just half. The more you stonewall, the better her hand gets in court.”

  I wrinkle my brows. “What do you mean? Half the ranch
is rightfully mine.”

  “I’m not an estate lawyer, but I know this much. As long as you won’t settle on her half to keep her from selling it, she can take you to court for damages and get an award that lands her the whole enchilada,” he says.

  Crap.

  I hate the logic.

  I hate that he’s right.

  I hate that according to the law, I’m the asshat in the wrong here trying to protect what’s mine.

  But by my heart, by my morals...I know I’m doing what’s right.

  I turn away from him. I can’t look at him right now.

  Not with all this panic running through my head.

  Not even now, when he’s talking to me like a person.

  “Sierra’s my sister and my problem,” I say. “Not yours.”

  “Guess so. I know what it’s like,” he says ruefully. “Sierra’s not the only one coming home after a long time. It’s messy as hell.”

  “That’s the thing.” I shrug. “People who leave Heart’s Edge only come back with ulterior motives. I know hers, but what are yours?”

  “Having a life of my own.” His eyes narrow, turning a shade darker.

  There’s a rawness in his voice I’m not expecting—a quiet sincerity.

  It transforms that deep voice from husky sin to soft beguilement, heartfelt and wrenching, and my heart skips a beat.

  “That’s all I ever wanted,” he says. “A life I built for myself from the ground up. A place of my own. Friends, family, a place to crash.”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  Especially when I know too well how it feels, fighting to keep my home intact with every last bit of my soul.

  The silence between us goes strange, charged.

  I keep my back to him because I don’t know what I’ll do if I turn around.

  If I see that earnest look on his face, if I see some weird truth in those gleaming honey-brown eyes.

  Or worse, if I see that smirk again.

  Then I’ll just have to kick myself for feeling anything for his lies.

  I shrug. “You do whatever you want, Silverton. Just leave me out of it.”

  “Sierra’s going to make that mighty hard.” There’s a scuff of his boot, the sound coming closer, and I tense. “You’re worried about my motives, but hell. Are you sure you know hers?”

  I toss a suspicious glance over my shoulder.

  He’s looking down at me, his eyes shadowed with the sun at his back, impossible to read.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “There’s got to be a reason why she wants to sell so fast, and she’s suddenly putting so much pressure on us both.” He shakes his head. “I think it’s because that Declan guy’s coming down on her. Don’t you think it’s a little weird that she’s dating the bank guy who wants to buy you out?”

  “I mean, if I had to pick between Declan Eckhard and Cherish Reid...”

  I shudder.

  I can’t even finish that sentence.

  It’d be like picking between an unfeeling android and a stinkin’ badger.

  “Didn’t like the vibe I got when I met them,” Holt continues. “Declan seems exactly like the type of dude who’d shack up with a vulnerable, affection-starved young woman with a taste for bad guys and bad decisions. Maybe just to get at her sister and her land.”

  I can’t help barking out a laugh.

  It’s awful, but damn this boy brings the heat.

  It’s also the best and worst description of Sierra Potter I’ve ever heard. There’s no way to save her if she doesn’t want to save herself.

  I turn back to Holt, planting my hands on my hips and eyeballing him hard.

  Maybe he’s genuine.

  Maybe.

  Trouble is, I don’t know what that changes.

  “So what do you want me to do about Declan?” I ask.

  “That’s up to you.” Holt tucks his hands into the pockets of his coveralls again.

  Again, I’m struck by the impression of the charming, disarming small-town man instead of the slick city beast when he smiles.

  “Is it?” I whisper.

  “Sure. And you know, if you let me have a look around, maybe I can figure out if there’s something else making them push so hard. Maybe something we don’t know about the property that they’ve figured out. Minerals, a hidden oil reserve that isn’t on the survey maps...could even be an old silver vein out there that isn’t tapped out. This town staked everything on mining a long time ago.”

  “If there was oil or silver on my property, I’d know. My dad was a scientist. He studied every nook and cranny,” I say dryly. “Again—what’s in it for you, helping me sniff this out?”

  “For now? Curiosity.”

  I snort.

  At least he’s honest.

  But I think I see an opening to clean up this part of the mess.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t have to deal with the rest of it or that I’m even throwing Holt a bone. But I’d rather control his so-called curiosity than let it sneak up Nowhere Lane.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” I tell him. “You come out, you have a look around, we walk the property lines together, and then when we don’t find anything...how ’bout you buzz right off and stay buzzed off? We got a deal?”

  He grins, hazel eyes glittering like fool’s gold.

  And I guess I’ll be the fool to believe him when he agrees.

  “I can definitely work with that, honey,” he growls.

  My cheeks go hellfire red. Damn, he’s lucky I’m too tired to give him another lashing when I’d rather be six feet under than be his honey any day of the week.

  I nod sharply. I don’t care if he’s lying or not.

  I’m gonna hold him to it, one way or another.

  This might be the only way to get him off my butt.

  It has to be.

  Because I can’t let him see what’s on the outskirts of my ranch and discover the secrets Dad took to his grave.

  * * *

  It’s weird to think it’s still out here.

  The place creeps me out so much I wish I could pretend it didn’t exist.

  I almost never come out to this distant end of the property unless I’m checking the barbed-wire fences that are more to keep prowlers and predators out than to keep anything in. I don’t use barbed wire on anything holding live animals.

  But I can’t say I really feel bad for anyone who gets themselves tangled up in spikes, trying to sneak onto my land.

  There’s a rusty-hinged wooden gate almost hidden in the bushes overgrowing the fence out here, though.

  This is where the land bumps up against the mountains. They rise up out of the earth pretty suddenly here—just a few tall, tumbled rocks, and then suddenly you’re looking up at stone crags dotted with scrub brush and those tiny twisted trees that cling to the face.

  And between those high walls of stone, I see it.

  A mountain pass.

  One that someone, a long time ago, turned into a road.

  It’s almost gone now, long buried under scrub brush and grass and fallen trees. It’s unpaved, just the suggestion of wheel tracks.

  It leads deep into the mountains, to places better forgotten.

  I can’t help but smile faintly.

  Dad was a born storyteller. He used to spin all sorts of wild yarns about ghosts and monsters to keep me and Sierra from going down that road.

  But while Sierra listened?

  I said I was a ghostbuster, and I ain’t afraid of no ghost.

  So when I got older, I’d try to sneak off down that road every chance I got.

  Problem is, when I was a little girl, I had the worst sense of direction.

  If pigeons have iron in their beaks that helps them navigate, I must have that kinda weird magnetic metal that makes compasses go haywire.

  For the longest time, I’d just get lost. Turned around, wandering in the bushes, prowling through the grass.

  I’d go in circles for ages, make a
game out of it, act like I was a cougar out there hunting in the grass, pouncing at squirrels and birds with a little growl.

  But when Dad would call me in to wash up for dinner, his voice would always help me find home.

  It’d usually be dark by then, too, the stars coming out.

  Familiar friends.

  Show me a constellation, and I’ll show you the way home.

  It wasn’t until last year that I finally got serious about finding out what was down there. I’d forgotten about it for a while, to be honest.

  Dad got sick slow at first, then fast, and he stayed real sick for a long time—and ever since I turned eighteen, more and more of the ranch’s management was on me anyway.

  When you come of age running a ranch full-time and trying to graduate high school, you don’t really remember old stories about overgrown, haunted roads. By my twenties, I’d halfway forgotten them all.

  You learn real quick not to rely on anyone but yourself, too.

  Not on smooth-talking bankers.

  And not on dirty-talking bastards with gorgeous hazel eyes.

  Dad was kind of a legend before everything went crazy and this little town found new heroes. He was the brilliant NASA scientist who came home to settle down and retire on the land that’d been in our family for generations.

  Heart’s Edge knew him as a kind man, a gentle man, a wise man with a good heart.

  And I want people to keep thinking of him that way.

  I want to remember him that way, too.

  It’s been a struggle ever since I found out about the avalanche of back taxes, went to survey everything myself, and finally found that long lost road again.

  I wandered down it and found something I’ll never forget.

  It wasn’t long before the end. In the final days of his life, I hardly got more than two coherent words out of Dad about it.

  But the last thing he said to me...

  No.

  I can’t even think about what he confessed, or it’s gonna break me, on top of the other stress.

  I can’t bear to think my father wasn’t the man I thought he was.

  It won’t help anyone.

  He always called this road Nowhere Lane, though I doubt that’s the official name on any survey maps. He’d laugh and say it’s just the path to nowhere, and no one goes down it unless they want to get lost and never come back.