Page 8 of Stalked By the Rancher

"Guilty as charged." I grin. "But if we're talking about hard work, you're the one who should be getting the royal treatment."

"Watching you handle those tools today? That was my treat." His voice is playful, but there's a heat to it that makes my cheeks flush.

"Careful now, don’t make me think you enjoyed the view more than my stellar handiwork." I tease, but inside, my stomach flutters like a field full of butterflies taking flight.

"Can't it be both?" He leans forward, forearms resting on the table, bringing his face closer to mine.

"Maybe," I concede, allowing the word to linger between us, heavy with possibility.

The waitress comes over and we order, exchanging smiles and small talk until she leaves. Then, it’s back to the dance of our conversation—flirtatious, charged. With every word, I feel myself being pulled deeper into whatever this thing is with Sawyer Blackwood.

"Enjoy your chicken fried steak," the waitress says as our meals arrive, "and don't forget to save room for dessert."

"Sweetheart, I always have room for dessert," Sawyer replies, but he’s not looking at the waitress. His gaze is heavy on me and burning with something intense—something I can’t even identify.

"Good to know," I murmur, my heart pounding in sync with the jukebox's rhythm.

After dinner, he insists on paying, brushing off my protests with a wave of his hand. "This is just part one of tonight's thank-you," he says, leading me outside.

"Part two?" I ask, curious and a little breathless as we step out into the cool night.

"Yep. Follow me." He heads towards his truck, and I trail behind him, the gravel crunching beneath our boots.

We climb into his truck, the interior smelling like leather and something distinctly masculine. I shiver as he starts the engine, the rumble vibrating through the seat and into my bones.

"Where to?" I ask, as we pull away from the diner.

"Somewhere quieter," Sawyer says, casting me a sidelong glance that sends a rush of heat swirling in my belly.

"Quieter than this?"

"Trust me," he murmurs, and I realize that I do. Implicitly.

The drive is silent except for the sound of tires on the road and the occasional hum of the engine. His hand rests casually on the gearshift, inches from my thigh. I'm hyperaware of the space between us, of the warmth emanating from his body, of the charged air that seems to crackle with electricity.

"Look at that sky," he says, after what feels like an eternity or maybe just a moment. He pulls off onto a dirt road, the truck bouncing slightly as we head into the open landscape.

Stars pepper the black canvas above us, so bright and numerous they look like they've been sprinkled by a divine hand. We're moving away from the rest of the world, into a place that feels like it belongs only to us.

"Beautiful," I whisper, not sure if I'm talking about the stars or the man next to me.

"Nothing compared to you, darlin’," he replies, his voice low and rough.

I turn to look at him and find his gaze already on me. There's a promise in his eyes, a silent vow that sends another shiver down my spine.

"Stop it," I say, but it's half-hearted, and we both know it.

"Stop what?" He feigns innocence, but the corner of his mouth quirks up in a knowing smile.

"Making me feel like...like..."

"Like you're the only person in the world?" he finishes for me, pulling the truck to a stop.

"Exactly like that," I confess, my pulse racing.

The truck rolls to a stop, and the world outside is a still painting of moonlight on sagebrush and rock. Sawyer kills the engine and the silence rushes in, as vast as the desert stretching out around us.

"Come on," he says with that half-grin that's all trouble, and I'm unbuckling before my brain catches up with his intent.

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