Page 89 of Balancing Act

I put the truck in drive and headed east since since that was as good a choice as any. But with only a quarter tank left, I hoped I could get somewhere—anywhere.

Just when I felt the tendrils of despair about to coil around me, piercing through the desolate darkness, there they were—lights. Truck lights, distant but unmistakable, a glimmer of hope flickering against the dark canvas of pre-dawn.

I pressed down on the gas pedal, my heart pounding in my chest from the surge of adrenaline. Those lights were life, they were rescue, they were Gray. I knew it. In my bones, I knew it. The distance between me and those lights was closing, and so was the gap between despair and hope.

Abruptly, the world exploded into motion and sound as vehicles skidded to a halt before me. Dust billowed up, and through the haze, figures emerged, and I stopped the truck and fell out of the door, determined, grateful, alive.

My heart skipped a beat at the sight of them: Gray, Walker, and the sheriff, their expressions etched with both relief and steely focus.

Gray's stubble seemed more pronounced than ever under the stark light, his blue eyes mirroring the sky above us, while Walker's light-hearted demeanor was replaced by an intensity I rarely saw.

“Thank God,” I breathed out, nearly collapsing into the dirt. “My knight in dusty denim.”

“Get behind us, Eryn,” Gray barked, his voice laced with command as he scanned the area for any sign of danger. But his eyes . . . oh, those turbulent seas of blue softened just a touch when they settled on me.

“Are you hurt?” Walker asked, his usual care-free tone replaced by genuine concern. His gaze roamed over me, assessing, protective.

“Only my pride,” I replied, trying to find humor in the shadows. But truthfully, my legs trembled beneath me, threatening to give out at any moment and my head was pounding.

“Where’s Mitch?” the sheriff asked me, his authoritative presence a comforting blanket in the chaos of the night.

I pointed back the way I came, which I guess was west. I was a real frontier girl now.

“How did you find me? I don’t even know where we are,” I said, looking around at the vast plains.

“That dumbass must’ve forgotten his truck is technically Red Downs property,” Walker said, a relieved smirk on his face. “Tracked the GPS.”

As they converged around me, the harshness of the wilderness receded, replaced by the warmth of human connection.

But I couldn’t have been prepared for the force of Gray’s arms as they wrapped around me, an ironclad fortress in the midst of a wild and unforgiving landscape. I melted into his embrace, my frantic heartbeat syncing with his as if we were two parts of a broken whole snapping back together.

“Gray,” I whispered, my voice muffled against the rough fabric of his shirt that smelled like horses and leather and the unmistakable scent of him. “You came for me.”

“Always,” he said, his lips brushing against the top of my head, sending shivers down my spine despite the warmth of his hold. He pulled back just enough to cup my face in his calloused hands, his thumb tracing my cheekbone with a tenderness that belied his gruff exterior.

There was no hiding the raw emotion in those ocean-deep eyes—a tempest of worry, relief, and something else that made my insides twist deliciously.

“Are you sure you're not hurt?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over me with such intensity it felt as though he could see right through to my soul.

“Only on the inside,” I tried to joke, but my voice broke, betraying the fear that had clawed at me when I was alone in the darkness.

“Damn it, Eryn,” he muttered, pulling me back into his chest, and I could feel the tension in his muscles, the barely contained fury that he had been keeping at bay.

The moment was shattered by a groan from the man at the center of it all. The sheriff had him in handcuffs and was leading him to the back of the police truck.

“Gray . . . I did it for the ranch,” Mitch rasped, his voice a shadow of its usual confident drawl. His lip trembling as if seeking absolution from the man he had once stood shoulder to shoulder with.

“Everything I ever done was for Red Downs. For your father, for your legacy,” he continued, his desperation clear as day under the harsh light of the truck's beams. “Can't you see that?”

Gray stiffened beside me, his body coiled tight as a rattlesnake ready to strike, and I could feel the battle raging within him—the instinct to protect his home clashing with the betrayal that cut deep.

Gray's hands clenched into fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearms flexing like coiled steel springs ready to release. Every line of his body screamed violence, a dark promise written in the set of his jaw and the icy fire in his blue eyes.

“Gray,” I whispered, my voice barely carrying over the pounding of my heart. “Don't.”

He didn't seem to hear me, his focus locked on Mitch, who was pleading with him, his expression a mix of fear and dumbfounded shock. The old man's plea had fallen on deaf ears, it seemed, and retribution hovered like a storm cloud about to break.

Gray moved fast, but his brother moved faster.

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