Page 9 of Leather & Lies

He leaves me there, destroyed and aching and horrifically aroused, dinner barely even begun. The phantom press of his fingers haunts me as I sink into my chair on unsteady legs.

What have I done?

4

Jackson

The soundof her laughter hits me in the chest. From our position on the far side of the training paddock, I watch Shiloh lean against the fence, her smile transforming her entire face as Miguel describes his daughter’s quinceañera preparations. She’s wearing worn jeans that hug every curve, her sun-kissed hair escaping its practical braid in wisps that catch the morning light. Beautiful. Dangerous.Mine.

She’d arrived at dawn, hauling a trailer carrying her beloved mare, Whiskey. She hadn’t brought much else—just a duffle bag of clothes, the worn boots she was wearing, and the deep shadows under her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept in days.

And now she was laughing with Miguel like she’d worked here for years.

“Quite the asset you’ve acquired.” Lucas Caldwell’s drawl carries just enough insinuation to make my hands clench. He takes a slow sip of coffee, watching Shiloh over the rim. “Though I have to wonder if you knew exactly what you were getting. She’s got quite the reputation with dangerous animals.”

I don’t dignify him with a response. We’re supposed to be discussing his new breeding program, not my personal affairs—he may be my best friend, but Shiloh is none of his fuckingbusiness. No, she’s mine and mine alone. My eyes never leave her as she works, and Lucas laughs quietly at my single-minded focus.

“You should have seen Maria trying on dresses,” Miguel says to Shiloh, his weathered face creasing with pride. “Reminded me of you at that age, always getting into trouble.”

“I wasn’t that bad.” But Shiloh’s grin betrays her, and dark jealousy lodges in my chest at this evidence of their history. Of all the years I spent merely watching her, while Miguel got to play the part of protective older brother as her father gambled away her future.

“No?” He cuffs her shoulder gently. “Who was it who dyed your daddy’s prize stallion blue for Halloween when you were thirteen?”

The easy affection in the gesture makes my hands clench.

Two of the younger hands approach with training proposals, deferring to her expertise. She moves through my domain like she belongs here—not as my possession, but with the confidence that she knows what she’s doing. She’s right. She does.

“The mare’s still favoring that leg.” She traces a line on the clipboard, and both men lean in to study her notes. “Switch her to the east paddock. The softer ground will help while she rebuilds strength.” Her expertise with the Drake horses is why Lucas is here, though neither of us acknowledges it. He’s as obsessive as I am about the woman he’s hunting, even if he won’t admit he’s hunting her.

“Yes, ma’am.” The honorific comes easily to the ranch hands, and even if it’s earned through years of watching her gentle their most difficult cases, I hate it. My fingers tighten on my coffee cup as Dylan, the newest hire, lets his gaze linger too long on her curves.

“She’s good,” Lucas notes. “No wonder the Drakes trust her with their horses.”

I straighten abruptly, about to lay into my best friend about where he can stick his commentary on Shiloh, when Miguel wanders over to our side of the fence.

“Everything alright?” Miguel’s voice carries that trail boss authority that usually makes men yield.

“You’re too fucking nice to her.” My eyes never leave the paddock where she’s working, the warning in my voice unmistakable. “She needs to understand who’s really in charge here.”

“Oh?” Twenty years of managing my ranch, since before it was even mine, lets him push back where others would fold. “Should I treat her with anything besides the same respect and dignity I treat everyone else? I’ve known Shiloh her entire life. She’s really fucking good.” He moves to stand beside me, watching Shiloh demonstrate a training pattern, before grinning at me. “And you’re the one who hired her, aren’t you, boss?”

Hired her.The lie is bitter on my tongue, a polite fiction to hide the monstrous bargain I’d struck.

“And I suspect you don’t want me marching through the house with a pan and wooden spoon to wake her up before dawn, like I do with the cowboys,” Miguel continues.

Despite myself, I smile, as Lucas snorts. The idea is ridiculous.

And then Miguel asks, “Or do you have plans for her other than hiring her to manage your horses?”

He’s unaware of the contract I have with Shiloh. If he knew, he’d help her escape in a heartbeat and then find a way to thrash me for my impudence. But he does know she’s here, that she’ll live with me in the ranch house Miguel and I built together years ago, when I was broke and scrappy and determined to bring this ranch to life.

Miguel had taught me a hell of a lot during those first few years, when I didn’t know shit about ranching except what I’d seen on TV, but that didn’t mean I wanted his opinion on Shiloh.

Far from it.

I track how her body moves with fluid grace as she guides the mare through a series of small circles, her movements precise. The mare has her dam’s fire—that signature combination of raw power and hair-trigger reactivity that’s made their breeding program legendary, just like the Drake family themselves.

As Shiloh gentles the broken, damaged horse, something shifts in my chest. She faces violence without flinching, the way I once faced my father’s beatings. But where I learned to control through force, she builds trust. Maybe she’s got the right idea—some wild things need a delicate hand.

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