Page 5 of Forbidden Love

Deb's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she couldn't speak. No one—no one—had ever countered her self-condemnation like that. People either agreed, laughed at her, or simply walked away. But Brock stood there, watching her with those intense eyes, as if hesawsomething in her that she or others couldn’t see in her.

She scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. "Don’t make me into something I’m not, Brock. What I’m doing with the Crumpton property… it doesn’t erase everything else I’ve done."

"It doesn't have to." His voice was low, firm. "People aren't just one thing, Deb."

She swallowed hard, her walls cracking just a little under the weight of his words. But instead of acknowledging the warmth inhis voice, the unexpected kindness, she did what she always did—she deflected.

"Great. Now you’re a philosopheranda handyman," she quipped, forcing a smirk. "Any other hidden talents I should know about?"

Brock didn’t smile. He didn’t laugh. He just kept looking at her like he could see straight through the armor she was trying to hold together.

"Maybe," he said. "Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out."

And just like that, Deb felt her carefully built defenses tremble, threatening to collapse under the weight of something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

"Annnnd on that note," Hunter cut in, glancing between her and Brock like he was watching a live match of some sort. "Don't call the insurance. We can handle the work ourselves. I still have a good stash of shingles left over from when I did the Feed Mill."

Deb blinked. Just like that? No hesitation, no expectation of anything in return? She wasn’t used to this type of kindness without a catch. It made her uneasy.

Even though this was her brother-in-law, she hadn’t expected kindness from him. Why would she? She had never given it to him. She’d been cruel, dismissive—hell, even downright nasty. And yet, here he was, offering to help like the past didn’t matter. Like she hadn’t once made it her mission to tear Emily down to make herself feel better.

Guilt twisted in her gut. She wasn’t about to turn away help, not when she needed it.

Still, she swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. "I appreciate that." The words felt awkward coming out, foreign on her tongue.

Then a thought hit her, and she straightened. "Did anyone else have damage?"

Hunter glanced down at his phone. "Nothing major. A few trees down, but nothing that can’t be handled."

"And nothing at the Crumpton place?" she asked, finally forcing herself to meet Brock’s gaze.

"No, ma’am," Brock replied, his voice a deep, steady rumble that sent an odd shiver down her spine.

"It’s Deb, not ma’am," she corrected, her voice sharper than she intended.

Why did it bother her so much? She’d heard men call her "ma’am" before—hell, plenty of times. But something about the way Brock said it sent a shiver through her as if he saw her differently than everyone else did. Like he wasn’t looking at the person she used to be but the one she was trying—failing—to become.

She crossed her arms, shifting uncomfortably under his steady gaze. “Just Deb,” she added, softer this time.

A small, almost knowing smile curved his lips as he nodded. "No, Deb," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to settle deep in her chest. "No damage at the Crumpton’s place."

Holy shit.

She should have stuck withMa’ambecause hearing her name roll off his tongue did more than make her shiver. It sent a slow,unwelcome heat through her. It was ridiculous, really. Just her name. But damn, if he didn’t make it sound like something else entirely. Something dangerously sensual, and it was only one boring syllable for crying out loud.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to break eye contact, focusing instead on the shingles scattered across the ground. "Good," she murmured, but her voice wasn’t nearly as steady as she wanted it to be.

CHAPTER 4

Brock wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, squinting at the sun as it hung low in the sky. It was near five o’clock, but the heat clung to him like a second skin. It was late spring, yet it felt like the dead of summer with the kind of heat that seeped into your bones, making the air thick and heavy. But that was Kentucky for you: one day, a cool breeze and the scent of fresh rain. The next was the kind of sweltering heat that made you question whether spring had ever existed. The Crumpton place was quiet, aside from the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze and the steady pounding of his hammer against the wooden frame of the back porch. He had been working to fix the rotted steps, reinforcing the railing, and patching up a few weak spots in the floorboards.

The physical labor was good. It kept his hands busy, his mind occupied. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts drifted back to Deb.

Brock had managed to get Hunter to talk about Deb, though nothing he’d said had been particularly flattering. According to him, Deb Snodgrass had spent years making it her personalmission to be the town’s biggest pain in the ass. She’d been sharp-tongued, condescending, and just plain mean to anyone who crossed her path. It wasn’t just a bad attitude—it was who she was, or at least, who she’d wanted people to believe she was. And then, out of nowhere, something changed.

Hunter didn’t know exactly what had caused the shift, only that it had something to do with a damn piece of chocolate pie. Apparently, that was the town rumor. Devon Stark’s mate, Jamie, had brought Deb a slice from the diner and ever since, she’d been different. Kinder. More tolerable.

Brock had to admit, he liked chocolate pie just as much as the next guy, but he doubted a single dessert had the power to alter someone’s entire personality. No, there had to be more to the story because the Deb he’d seen wasn’t the woman Hunter described.

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