Page 37 of Stolen Hearts

Carson nodded once. “Then we do it right.”

Denver’s jaw flexed. “Damn right we do. We’re Malones.”

Chapter Eight

Rhae brushed her fingers over the downy hair on Navy’s head, her heart tangled with a dozen emotions.

Her bottle was still half-full, but Navy’s rounded belly rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep that made Rhae ache with tenderness. Peace like this had become the norm after she settled in at the Black Heart.

Now she saw how precious the feeling was.

She turned away from the crib where her baby slept, moving on quiet feet to the front of her quarters.

The space was quiet except for the ticking of a wall clock somebody placed here long before she took over the space. Beyond the windows came the distant hum of the wind blasting down from the mountains. On a normal night, these sounds would comfort her.

Tonight, it scraped over her like sandpaper.

She padded to the couch and picked her book up off the side table, tucking her legs beneath her. She stared at the same page for five minutes before giving up.

With a sigh, she lowered the book to her lap and stared into space.

She’d told him everything. Well, almost everything.

Robert Ravencroft.

Her fingers tightened on the book.

Thinking his name felt like cracking open her ribs, letting Denver look into a part of her that had been bracing for impact for months.

Fear had no place in her life, in her daughter’s life or on this ranch. It was what made her feel so at home here. Now one small mistake, made by Willow in the name of honor and respect, had kicked the legs out from under her.

She stood and crossed the room, flicking off the lamp on the way to the bedroom. Navy turned her head, sighing in sleep. She felt drawn to the baby, and moved to stand by the side of the crib, looking down at her innocent daughter and grounding herself in all the reasons why she had to be strong.

Then came the knock. Muted but firm.

Rhae’s pulse kicked up, and she hurried to answer it.

For a moment, she simply stood there, hand resting on the handle. Through the wood came a deep, quiet voice.

“Rhae. It’s me.”

She opened it.

Denver stood there, framed by the dim lights illuminating the hallways at night. But his face was in shadow.

He stepped closer, his gaze locked on hers, dark and unreadable.

He didn’t say a word.

He dipped his head and kissed her.

Without warning and without apology, just rough and real, his mouth claimed hers as he eased her backward so he could close and lock the door.

Her breath hitched along with her heart, and she buried her hands in his shirt, dragging him closer. Needing to feel his body heat, the shield of his chest and the strength of his arms.

He angled his head and plundered her lips for long heartbeats, dissolving her worries that he couldn’t handle what she’d told him. He kissed her like the truths she’d told him—about Navy, about what she was running from—didn’t scare him at all.

He kissed her like he’d already chosen to bear the weight of those things.

---