Page 55 of Leather & Lies

She was never mine to control.

The herd flows toward safety like water finding its path, guided by her knowledge and my men’s positioning. Not a single head lost. Not a single animal panicked—a perfect synchronicity of instinct and intelligence.

Until the north bank collapses.

The sound cuts through the storm like thunder—a deep, wet tearing as tons of earth give way. The flood surges through the gap, brown water churning with debris. The lead cow freezes, threatening to turn the whole herd.

And Shiloh—my brilliant, reckless, fury-driven woman—steps directly into the breach.

She steps between the lead cow and the surging water. One wrong move—one panicked animal—and they’ll trample her into the mud. The rational part of my mind calculates losses, assigns dollar values, tracks the flood’s trajectory. But every other part of me focuses on her, wearing nothing but that scrap of silk, moving like she fears nothing on earth.

Not even me.

She’s too far away for me to stop her, to do anything but support her and pray to a god I haven’t believed in since I was a child that she’ll survive this.

“Hold positions!” My voice carries over the radio before my men can intervene. Because I’ve watched her handle dangerous animals through a hundred different cameras. Know exactly how she’ll react.

The lead cow bellows, head lowering. In the ATV’s harsh light, Shiloh raises her hand. Not touching, not threatening. Just that quiet confidence I’ve come to appreciate, to respect.

“Easy, mama,” her voice carries through the storm. “Easy now.”

Atlas shifts beneath me, responding to her tone just like every other animal she touches. Just like I respond, even now, with evidence of my obsession scattered across my office floor.

“Sir.” Miguel’s voice holds raw tension. “We’re losing the bank. If she doesn’t move?—”

“Hold.” The word scrapes my throat raw. Because everything in me screams to drag her to safety. To control the situation like I control everything else. To protect what’s mine.

But she was never mine. Those cameras captured her image but missed her essence. The surveillance tracked her movements but couldn’t cage her spirit. And now, watching her stand between two tons of panicked beef and a flood, I finally understand what my need to control has cost me.

The lead cow takes one step. Another. Following Shiloh’s quiet guidance like she’s done this a thousand times. Like she’s not barefoot in a storm, standing between the herd and disaster. The rest of the cattle follow, finding the path she’s created between the ATVs’ lights.

“Holy shit,” Dylan breathes through the radio. “She actually did it.”

Yes. Yes she did. Without cameras or control or careful manipulation. With nothing but that bone-deep gift that first caught my attention. That made me need to watch her, to study her, to own her.

To lose her.

“Get those floodlights on the south bank,” I order, because giving commands is easier than feeling my chest crack open. “Miguel, bring the portable fencing up. Dylan?—”

“On it, boss.”

The next ten minutes blur into stark fragments caught in the ATV lights. My men moving with practiced efficiency. The herd slowly moving toward safety. Atlas trembling beneath me as debris slams into the bank.

And Shiloh. Always Shiloh. Moving through the chaos like she’s part of it. Guiding. Gentling. Commanding without a word.

When the last cow clears the danger zone, the silence feels louder than the storm. In the harsh artificial light, I watch her press her forehead against the lead cow’s shoulder, trembling with victory and exhaustion.

Then she lifts her head. Meets my gaze across the churning water.

I see my own reflection in her eyes—not a man who controls everything in his territory, but a man who tried to cage a wild thing.

And lost her.

21

Shiloh

The rain hasn’t stopped,but I barely feel it anymore. My clothes have long since soaked through. Through the curtain of water, I watch Jackson’s men leading the rescued cattle toward greener pastures, their shadows moving like ghosts in the storm. My muscles ache from the run, from fighting the frightened animals, from choosing to stay when every instinct screamed at me to keep going.

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