Page 6 of Stalked By the Rancher

"Get your shit together, Blackwood," I scold myself, the sound of my full name a slap to pull me out of this spiral. I gather the pictures, my hands careful not to crumple them, not after what they've just been through. Each image is a confession of my obsession, and as I stack them neatly, I can't help feeling like I'm trying to put my soul back in order.

With every picture I slip back into the hidden compartment in my desk, there's a promise to myself. Be the man she thinks you are, not this...not this guy who gets off to stolen moments.

"Control," I breathe out, the word a mantra. It has to mean something again. Control over the ranch, control over my damn self.

Photos tucked away, I lock the compartment with a decisive click. It's done. The evidence of my shame secured once more, where it can't hurt anyone but me.

CHAPTER THREE

Nora

"Hand me that hammer, would you, Nora?" Sawyer's voice rolls over the field like distant thunder, casual yet somehow commanding. I'm squatting beside a pile of weathered wood planks and rusted nails, trying to appear more useful than I feel.

"Uh, sure," I say, fumbling with the heavy tool before passing it to him. My hands are already blistered, my experience limited to the theoretical knowledge from YouTube tutorials I crammed last night.

"Never taken a swing at a fence post before, huh?" He doesn't look up from where he's steadying a post, but his teasing tone is as clear as the blue Texas sky above us.

"Does it show that much?" I ask, attempting to match his playful banter.

"Only a little." Sawyer shoots me a wink, his sun-kissed arm muscles flexing as he positions the new section of the fence. "You're doing fine. Just watch and learn."

"From the master, right?" I quip back, earning a grin that could probably outshine the sun.

"Exactly. Don't worry. I'll make a ranch hand out of you yet," he chuckles, sending a warm ripple through me.

It’s funny. He hired my dad, but he’s spent more time training me than Dad.

Of course, it’s my own fault. I know that. I saw him the other day and offered to help him with some things. But what girl could blame me? The man is the definition if h-o-t, and I don’t know. I just want to be around him.

I try to focus on handing him the tools he needs, but it's hard not to get distracted by the way his shirt stretches across his back, outlining every move he makes. The fence might as well be a million miles away for all the attention I can muster.

"Here, hold this steady for me," Sawyer instructs, motioning for me to come closer.

Our bodies align as I press against the wooden rail to stabilize it. And that's when it happens—Sawyer reaches past me, his rough fingers grazing my forearm. Was it intentional?

A spark of electricity zips through my body, lighting up paths I didn't even know existed. I swallow hard, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

"Oops, sorry about that," he murmurs. His eyes lock onto mine, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

"Fine, it's...no problem," I stammer, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks.

"Good to know," he replies softly, his voice dropping an octave. There's a charged silence, filled only by our breathing and the distant call of a hawk overhead.

The tension between us thickens, the air practically vibrating with unsaid words and unexplored possibilities. Every casual touch sends a jolt through me, awakening a longing that I've never allowed myself to fully acknowledge.

"Looks like we're making progress," Sawyer finally says, breaking the moment as he steps back to admire our handiwork.

"Thanks to the teacher," I manage to say, throwing in a smile to cover up the turmoil inside.

"Anytime, Nora," he says, his gaze lingering a bit too long to be purely professional.

As we continue working side by side, his teasing remarks take on a new edge, each word laced with an undercurrent of something wild and untamed.

And I can't help but wonder what it would be like to let that current sweep me away.

* * *

The sun beats down, fierce and relentless, as Sawyer wipes his brow with the back of his hand. He catches me eyeing the shimmering creek beyond the fence line and grins.

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