Page 35 of Westin

“Well, I was a lot younger when I named them,” I say. “The names are from a book. But they fit them, I think.”

“They sure do.”

Sunshine throws her head hard, neighing. She’s jealous. I step over and rub her gently with my fingernails. She has a white blaze down the center of her nose, and she loves when I scratch it.

“Do you have a horse?” I ask.

“Yeah, I have a gelding named Rocky,” he says.

“Like that’s any better.”

He smirks. “I call him that because his gaits are all shit. Really jumpy and too slow, even when he gallops.”

I turn around and tuck my hands behind my back, leaning against the wall by Sunshine’s door. Westin moves until he’s right before me, not caging me in but still reminding me what he’s capable of.

That he likes to call me a whore, tie me to his steering wheel, and fuck me hard.

My toes curl. I look up through my lashes, but without warning, his face changes. It’s stern now, like he’s thinking about something that doesn’t please him. He narrows his gaze, fixing it through the door to the driveway.

“You okay, sir?” I ask.

He nods, reaching in his pocket. He takes out a cigarette and puts it unlit in his mouth. “Let’s go inside,” he says. “We’ve got a bit more time, and it’s hot.”

His voice is stern too. Nonplussed, I follow him from the barn to the porch. He stands in the doorway and lights his cigarette and smokes. One foot on the porch, one in the doorway. I take my boots off and pad barefoot down the hall and into the kitchen to get some water.

After a minute, I head back to him. He’s got a little bit left to smoke so I join him on the porch, handing him a glass.

“I didn’t take you for a smoker,” I say.

“I’m not really,” he says.

“Can I try?”

He shakes his head. “You’re too pretty for shit like cigarettes. It’s bad for you.”

I scowl. “You’re doing it.”

He glances at me. “Diane, I said no,” he says, not unkindly.

I roll my eyes. He arches a brow.

“You better watch yourself,” he says, his voice dropping.

He doesn’t scare me the way men’s threats usually do. This is a different kind of fear. It makes my heart pound, but it’s laced with something sweet.

“Or what?” I whisper. “You won’t touch me.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “But I’ll tie you up with my belt and fuck the sass out of you.”

Once again, I’m speechless. He flicks the cigarette butt into a potted plant.

“What’s this about Thomas Garrison?” he asks. “I heard Jensen Childress say something about you getting set up with him.”

There’s an edge to his voice, but it’s not directed at me. I shrug, rolling my eyes.

“They have a lot of money,” I say. “David likes the idea of getting in good with them, like being family. He’s always kind of pushed me to talk to Thomas, but I don’t.”

A trickle of sweat moves down his neck.

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