No White Knight

That actually makes Declan blink. “Time limit?”

I cock my head, looking at him.

Hold the hell up.

I know damn well I heard Reid Cherish tell Libby about having less than forty-five days to get her shit sorted when I caught them in the parking lot at The Nest.

Yet this guy’s acting like it’s the first he’s heard of it.

Something isn’t right here.

I hold Declan’s eyes. He’s not talking over me or thinking he can intimidate me in my own damn office.

“Sounds like your coworkers haven’t been keeping you in the loop,” I say smoothly. “Maybe you should get out and rectify that. Have a little talk with Mr. Cherish. See if he approves of you forcing a court division of assets and sale when your employer’s trying to work with Libby as an intermediary for the taxing authority.” I raise both my brows. “Or maybe I should talk with him myself? See what he has to say?”

Declan goes oddly still.

If looks could kill, I’d be dead in my chair right now.

It’s a slow, thoughtful glance, assessing, measuring me up and down like he just realized I’m a possible contender and not an annoying bystander.

With a sniff, he stands, hefting his muscular bulk and reaching down for Sierra’s arm.

Not to offer his hand. Not to take her hand. Not to ease her up.

He just grabs Sierra’s arm and pulls like a dog with a rope.

Though it doesn’t quite look like it’s hurting her, I don’t like the way he uses her arm as a leash to drag her up.

“Come, Sierra,” he says. “Negotiations have broken down.”

“Negotiations are done,” I growl back.

Sierra flashes me a look that’s half annoyance as she stands.

But the rest?

The other half of that look feels like desperation, wide-eyed and scared.

This dark, worried sensation churns in my gut as I watch them leave.

The more I see of this shit, the less I like it.

Not at all.

* * *

It’s past time to butt out of this.

Too bad I can’t when I know Libby could be facing more trouble—and at the very least I can make sure she goes into it with fair warning.

It’s a funny thing, sprouting a conscience.

I started realizing it around the time I figured out I had to do the right thing with Blake and his half of the inheritance from our ma. I had to work that man to the bone even after we fixed our shit to get him to take a little money for Andrea’s college fund.

Now that I’m looking at this woman who believes I’ve got enough decency to honor a promise made to her in the heat of the moment, well, hell.

It’s taken full root and sprouting leaves.

Something about having a pretty lady believe in you is one hell of a drug.

That’s how I end up prying Libby’s cell phone number out of a very skeptical Felicity, even if it takes buying four black coffees in a row and getting myself so wired on caffeine I think I could race one of Ms. Wilma Ford’s hummingbirds.

I think Felicity’s just amused, and not just over my clumsy ass playing superspy.

I wonder if everyone can tell how much that little cowgirl gets under my skin.

Back outside, I stab her number into my phone and hit the call button.

“Hello?” When she picks up, she sounds out of breath—and I can just picture her out there, hauling bales of hay or putting the horses through their paces, sweat glistening on her skin.

“Don’t hang up,” I say quickly. “It’s me.”

Her voice instantly goes hot with irritation when she realizes who she’s talking to.

“Holt? Holt Silverton? How’d you get my number?”

“Blame your friend at the coffee shop. For some reason, she felt like I needed to have it.” Out in the parking lot of The Nest, I lean against the hood of my Benz, crossing my ankles and letting my gaze drift over the town. “I’m not calling to be a pain in the ass, promise. Just letting you know how things went with Sierra.”

There’s a heavy whump on the other side, then a wary, “And…?”

“Not well,” I admit. “That Declan asshole’s advising her to force it in court. And we know that won’t be fun.”

“No, it really won’t be. But if he’s spoiling for a fight…” She talks tough but sighs heavily, and it rubs me raw how dispirited she sounds. “Why are you even telling me this? Still trying to help me after I flipped you the bird?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

She doesn’t say anything.

It dawns on me then. She’s just as much at a loss as I am.

Doesn’t know what to do with me when I’m not trying to charm her.

Just like I’m not quite sure what to do with her when she’s not trying to take my head off.

Maybe it’s easier when we’re only voices on the phone and not sworn enemies in the flesh crossing swords of anger and lust.