Knotted (Trails of Sin 1)

I glance around the room, knowing we can’t discuss this here. Conversations are monitored and recorded.

“Convince him to tell me.” I thrust a thumb at Jake. “Did you know he’s holding information for ransom?”

“What’s the progress on that?” Lorne asks Jake.

“She’ll know everything within the next two weeks.” Jake looks at me sidelong. “If she behaves.”

“You can both kiss my ass.” I huff out a breath, exasperated. “I’m not standing on any more stumps. I’d rather hang my saddle on the fence and throw dirt at it.”

“I don’t envy you.” Lorne grins at Jake, and that smile sucks the irritation right out of me.

The back-road curve of his mouth brightens his eyes, returning the brother I remember, the happy boy who teased me as much as he protected me.

“I miss that smile.” My hand itches to reach for him, but touching isn’t allowed. “I miss you.”

He has four years left to serve. If he keeps his nose clean in here, he might get paroled in two years.

“I miss you more than you know.” His smile vanishes beneath darkening eyes and a furrowed brow. He lowers his stare to the scar on his palm and presses a thumb against it. “I wish I could be there when you honor our pact.”

“Me, too,” I say.

Jake grips my hand under the table, and I let him.

Lorne looks up, his expression soft. “I wish I could be a part of your healing process. Someday, I hope you forgive me for keeping you away.”

My heart squeezes. “Can we talk on the phone? Can I call you?”

“I’d love that.”

We catch up on little things until our hour is over. Then we end the visitation with the quick hug-and-release contact we’re allowed.

Jake collects his hat and belt from the security desk and walks me to his truck.

Thirty minutes into the drive home, he hasn’t spoken much, but I feel him watching me in that way he does. Monitoring, assessing, trying to read my thoughts.

“You should keep your eyes on the road.” I swipe through my playlist, looking for a new song.

When he returned my phone this morning, he informed me he called Miles and arranged to have my belongings packed up. I don’t own much—just a laptop and clothes—so there should only be a few boxes. Since I don’t have a place to live at the moment, I didn’t argue when he said the boxes would be shipped to the ranch.

“I need to find an apartment.” I continue to scroll through my music selection, dismissing all the cheery songs.

“It’s only an hour drive between the ranch and school.” He glances at me. “When we were kids, that was our plan. You were going to stay with me at the ranch and drive to school every day.”

“I’m not moving in.”

“You already have.”

“You’re delusional.” I keep my gaze on the phone, protecting myself from the enchantment of his gorgeous brown eyes.

“I know I haven’t earned your trust or forgiveness, but I will.”

I pretend to ignore him.

His hand clenches on the steering wheel, and he punches the gas pedal, jerking me back against the seat. “Stop fucking with your phone and look at me.”

My search for a song ends as Not Ready To Make Nice by Dixie Chicks crosses my screen. I press play and throw him an arched eyebrow.

As he listens to the lyrics, a black cloud shifts across his face. The cords in his neck stretch. His lips pull back, and his hand snaps through the space between us. “Give me the phone.”

I angle it out of his reach.

“Now!” He roars, making me jump.

Anger flashes in his eyes, and something akin to fear carves through me. I quickly hand it over.

He powers it off and secures it in the console, with his elbow resting on the lid. Then he turns his gaze to the road.

Swallowing past a tight throat, I find my voice. “What just happened?”

“I’ve been too soft on you.”

“Too soft—?”

“You needed a couple of days to adjust to being home and around me again. I gave you that.” His eyes lure and capture mine. “My goodwill has come to an end. It’s about to get very real for you.”

A chill whispers across my skin. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“Expect more of that. More discomfort with a whole lot of tears and pain and catharsis. Cross those arms all you want. You’ll stand up to the challenge, because the Conor I know never backs down.”

I uncross my arms. “I’m not that girl.”

“That’s right. You’re stronger, fiercer, and so goddamn ornery it makes me hard. Really fucking hard.” The hoarse rasp of his voice curls through me like a slow burning flame. “I fell in love with your resilient spirit, and you’re still in possession of that. If you weren’t, I’d do this another way.”

My reflexive reaction is to punch him in the nuts, but I’ll save that fight for when he tells me what he’s planning.