Page 48 of Guarded Hearts

“Thanks, man. I want this motherfucker. When you find him, you’re going to hold him for me.”

“Hold him” could mean a lot of things, none of which were lost on Oaks.

“Understood. And another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“When do I tell Willow to start planning the wedding?”

Carson snorted to dispel the hot, tight sensation in his chest. The past divebombed him. In one of those letters, he’d actually proposed to Layne.

And she never replied.

He’d toiled on with a few more weeks’ worth of letters, but that had been the beginning of the end for him. He’d given up on a “them.”

Now he had her back in his life, and she still loved him. If a woman confessed her feelings when a man was balls-deep inside her, she meant it. At least where Carson was concerned.

“I’ll keep you posted, brother. Before you go, I’d like you to text me the name of the company that makes the paper that threatening note was printed on. I’m going to do some digging on my own about where it was purchased.”

“You got it. Talk soon.”

They ended the call. Not for the first time, he took a moment to feel grateful that he had his siblings. After all their asshole father had done to try to break their family, he and his brothers and sister managed to hold it together andthrive.

Not that they each didn’t bear their share of scars from a tough upbringing. Hell, his scars were almost as deep as the ones he carried from his time as a prisoner of war. He woke with nightmares about his father’s terrible treatment almost as often as he woke in a cold sweat from one of his torture dreams.

As he pushed away from the porch support, he looked to the window, half expecting to see the curtain swish back into place after he caught Layne peeking out.

Only she wasn’t. She was too afraid.

Fresh anger washed over him in a wave. Nobody should ever be afraid to walk freely on their land or look out the window. She came to Wyoming to experience nature and soak in those views she missed in the city.

When Carson got his hands on the man terrorizing her, he was going to make sure he never frightened Layne or any other person again.

He didn’t start this war, but he was damn well going to end it.

Once he got inside the house, he secured the door behind him and looked around the space. Layne’s jackets and shoes were neatly stowed away in the closet, giving no indication that she was even here.

The scent of lemony floor cleaner filled his nose. Faye must have gone on another of her cleaning sprees, scrubbing things that weren’t dirty just because she was extra conscientious—or maybe going stir-crazy from being stuck inside too.

Faye would be safe on the ranch with his family. They’d see to it that she got some rest, and if he knew Willow, she would be pampering the older woman like her favorite aunt too.

He moved toward the study. The past few times he went in search of Layne, he found her with his old letters.

Part of him hated that she was looking backward. He was worried about her reading that proposal that was the beginning of the end. Eventually she’d reach the final letter he’d ever written and be just as devastated as he was when he wrote it.

He stopped in the open door. She wasn’t there, but the stacks were getting shorter and the pile of letters she’d read was taller.

He couldn’t let her read the rest. As time moved on, his words grew harsher until he wasn’t even writing her out of love anymore, but out of spite. To prove that he still gave a damn even if she’d stopped.

On impulse, he grabbed the trash can. It was completely empty after Faye’s cleaning spree.

Pausing only a heartbeat, he swept the entire mass of letters off the desk into the trash.

Standing back, he breathed hard. What had he done? Spared her from more pain.

He took the can to the guest room and hid it in the closet.

When he moved back to the kitchen, he found Faye sitting at the island, sipping a glass of sweet tea and watching a cooking show on the TV mounted on the wall.

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