Page 109 of Westin

“Pick up the pen,” I say.

My touch goes faster, ghosting over where she’s most sensitive. She hovers the pen over the paper.

Her muscles flutter around me, soft like velvet.

The ink touches the paper. She has a beautiful signature, laced across the page. The pen hits the table, and her head falls back. Her soft mouth parts, and a moan slips out.

“Good girl.”

My hand leaves her pussy, and her eyes open. She turns and fixes me with a crestfallen gaze.

“I’ll give it to you when you’re ready,” I say. “Now, go eat.”

She sinks back into her seat. She’s a little drunk with arousal, but not too drunk to finish her breakfast. I’m quiet as I clean my plate.

“What happened to Thomas?” she asks, after a while.

I set my fork down and take a sip of coffee. “He got shot,” I say.

Her face stays the same. “How?”

“Keira shot him,” I say. “Sovereign’s woman. She used to be Clint’s wife.”

“I know who Keira is.” Her brows rise. “How did that happen?”

“Well, I brought you back and went out to find Sovereign,” I say. Part of me wishes I could keep ugliness away from her, but she deserves to know. “Thomas broke free after Avery was shot, ran out and took a horse from the barn. Sovereign and Jack went after him.”

“Is Jack the man with the covered face?”

“He is.”

“How do you know Jack?”

I work my jaw, unsure if I’m ready to tell her that. Truthfully, the day I had my back branded, one person showed up to help, and that was Jack Russell. He appeared as quickly as he did when we killed the Garrisons, and he was gone as soon as the action was over—the antithesis of a fair weather friend.

“I just do,” I say.

She purses her lips. I take another sip of coffee.

“Keira went after Sovereign in the morning and found him up by the river,” I say. “Thomas was there; he shot Sovereign, just grazed him, so Keira shot him.”

I can tell she’s thinking this over. Her dark eyes are hard like stone.

“I wish I was brave like that,” she says finally.

“What you did to save your farm was brave.”

She shakes her head. “But I didn’t save it.”

I take her hand. “You’ve carried this long enough. I’m carrying it the rest of the way.”

Her eyes flick to mine, big and sad. “What are you going to do?”

“Trust me,” I say.

She looks away. Truthfully, when the snow has melted from the mountains, I’m going to find David Carter and finish him. When he’s done, I’m moving on to Corbin Buchanan and putting a stop to the road. If I have to do that with a bullet, I will.

The gunslinger will do what he does best.

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