Page 4 of Forbidden Love

“Definitely needs a new roof,” Hunter muttered, surveying the damage with a critical eye.

Brock knelt, peeling back a few loose shingles and running his fingers along the exposed wood beneath. “The wood looks good,” he observed, pressing down to test its integrity. It held firm under his weight. He moved toward the other side, his steps deliberate, assessing. “No give. It’s still sturdy.”

Hunter let out a low whistle. “She’s lucky. A few more of these storms, though, and that luck’s gonna run out.”

Brock’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like the idea of Deb living under a roof that could cave in on her. Hell, he didn’t like a lot of things when it came to Deb Snodgrass, including the way she made something sharp and unfamiliar twist in his chest.

CHAPTER 3

Deb stood staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her fingers gripping the edge of the sink as if it could somehow steady the storm inside her. The scratch on her forehead was deeper than she’d first thought, an angry red mark that seemed to mock her. She had cleaned it, smeared antibiotic cream over the wound, and scrubbed the blood from her hair until her scalp burned. But none of that erased the way she felt.

Brock’s words had hit harder than they should have. She wasn’t sure why, maybe because he didn’t know her well enough to lie to her. Maybe because, for just a second, she wanted to believe him.

Most of the time, she told herself she didn’t care what people thought of her. She had built a reputation for a reason, after all. A shield. A warning. But that was a lie. A damn lie. It bothered her more than she would ever admit. And Brock… if he hadn’t already heard the worst of it, he soon would.

She exhaled sharply, pressing her palms against the cool porcelain. It didn’t matter. Let him hear. Let him judge. She was used to it.

Wasn’t she?

With a huff, she pushed away from the mirror, unable to stand looking at herself any longer. Brock’s words—You’re not so bad yourself—echoed in her mind, refusing to be ignored.

She wanted to brush them off and laugh at their absurdity. But she couldn’t. Because deep down, she knew exactly why they bothered her so much. She wanted them to be true.

But they weren’t.

Deb Snodgrass had spent too many years tearing people down before they could do the same to her. Regret clawed at her insides, an ache that never truly left, no matter how hard she tried to bury it.

Shaking her head, she stormed out of the bathroom as if she could outrun the thoughts chasing her. Brock didn’t know her. Not really. So why did itmatterwhat he thought?

The question gnawed at her as she entered the kitchen, stopping by the window. Outside, Brock and Hunter stood talking, their heads slightly tilted toward each other in a conversation she couldn’t hear.

Her gaze locked onto Brock. He was undoubtedly handsome, rugged, and strong. His untamed look made it easy to forget he wasn’t just any man. He was a predator. A wolf. But that wasn’t what unsettled her. It was the way he carried himself, the quiet intensity in his stance, and the way his dark eyes seemed to strip away layers, seeing more than she wanted anyone to see.

A shiver ran through her. It wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper, something she didn’t dare name. And that scared her more than anything. She refused to do this again. No man was worth the pain and humiliation that was sure to come. Deb had learned a hard, painful lesson that she would never forget.

Taking a deep breath, she headed for the door and stepped outside. “So, what’s the bad news?”

"You need a new roof," Hunter said, his frown deepening as he glanced back up at the roof.

"Figured as much." Deb sighed, biting her lip. "At this rate, if these storms keep up, my insurance company is going to drop me."

"Why don’t you just sell this place?" Hunter asked, glancing around.

Deb followed his gaze, taking in the old house and the surrounding land. This place had been her refuge, even when she didn’t deserve one. She had thought about selling many times, but the memories here were mostly good. And when everything else in her life made her feel like garbage, this place—at leastsomewhat—made her feel like she was worthsomething.

"I tried to give it to Emily," she admitted, her voice quieter. "But she doesn’t want it."

Hunter’s brows pulled together. "Give it? Are you made of money? You’ve got this place,andyou bought the Crumpton property. You rob a bank or something?"

"Yes, Hunter," Deb deadpanned. "I robbed a bank. Next, I’m going to buy the town and become Mayor."

Hunter snorted, shaking his head, but the way he studied her made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Deb felt Brock’s gaze on her. When she turned toward him, he didn’t look away. Instead, he justwatchedher too closely, like he was trying to figure her out. Good luck with that, she thought with a snort.

"I’m a bitch, Hunter," she said suddenly, throwing it out there like a challenge. Her gaze flickered back to Brock. She wanted him to hear it from her lips, not from the town gossips or anyone else. "Nota thief." And just like that, she braced herself, waiting for the judgment that always came next.

"I don’t know about all that," Brock said, breaking the silence that had stretched too long between them. His voice was calm and steady, unaffected by her words. "But someone who opened a place for women on the run? That doesn’t sound like a bitch to me."

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