No White Knight

“Give me ideas,” I tell him. “And I’ll let you know if it’s already hopeless.”

“Anything, honey. Finding an old Native village, something that could be an archaeology dig. One of the old silver mines, even. With the silver industry here being big in the olden days, and the stuff tied into the gold rush, you never know. I bet there’s a lot of old equipment hanging around that has historical value. It’s just got to be important enough to preserve the site for study.”

I’m instantly tense.

Because I know a place, yeah.

And it’s somewhere Holt Silverton has no business going.

Somewhere nobody ever will.

I drum my fingers restlessly.

“Maybe,” I mutter. “I can’t really think of anything like that off the top of my head.”

“I could have another look around. See if anything jumps out at me.”

“No!” I don’t mean to be so harsh, but my heart skips. “I mean, you promised you’d stay off my property after I let you look it over already.”

“Right. That was business. This would be more like a courtesy call. Just trying to help, Libby.” He leans in closer.

Oh my God.

His voice is low, coaxing, too seductive.

Exactly the kind of husky thunder that says he knows he’s going to get his way if he just plays a little longer.

“Look. I don’t want to bring this up again, but your best bet really is the unthinkable—sell it to me. That way, you don’t have to worry about somebody else barging in and taking over. I only need a portion, Libby. Not sure how much yet, but—”

“But nothing,” I spit, lifting my head and glaring dead at him.

Forget drooling, I’m right back to wanting to tear his head off.

I can’t believe he just said that shit.

My lips tremble.

I shouldn’t be this emotional.

Blame it on thinking about my messed-up family life, on stress, on everything building up inside me until I’m ready to go off like a warhead.

But if I’m honest, it’s more.

It’s Holt.

It’s me starting to believe him, to trust him, but here he goddamned is, turning on his Casanova act to try to get what he wants now that he thinks my guard’s down.

No. Freaking. Deal.

“You can stop right there. You’re not getting a thing out of me, Holt,” I growl. “And I don’t want crap from you. Least of all more help you’re only offering to line your own pockets.”

He gawks at me like a fish out of water, staring like I hurt him somehow.

Yeah, right.

Like I’m falling for the wounded puppy act again.

It’s my own fault for buying it the first time.

As if he’d just gone soft and changed overnight. I should’ve known.

A leopard doesn’t change its spots.

A rattlesnake doesn’t change its bite.

And a liar doesn’t suddenly start talking truth.

The only truth here is that Holt Silverton isn’t out to help anyone but himself.

I shove back from the bar, tumbling off the stool. We’re gonna ignore the fact I’m so mad that I forget there’s a long drop between my legs and the ground, and almost fall on my face.

I catch my stumble real quick and turn it into another excuse to push away from him, putting more space between us while I grasp at the bar to stay upright.

“Libby,” he growls.

“Nope, we’re done,” I say as firmly and as coldly as I can.

He reaches a hand out to me. “Libby—”

“Don’t you Libby nothing!”

God. I don’t want to barf up these feelings in front of him.

I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep he got under my skin.

So I stand there for a moment, glaring, my lips trembling, while he looks at me all helpless like he still cares.

Hell no.

I can’t stand that even now he’s trying to make me believe he was ever flipping genuine.

Turning my back before he tries again, before he says another word, I move.

It takes half a second to rummage around in my back pocket and slam down cash on the bar to cover my tab and his, because screw him and his money.

Then I turn and march right out with my head held high.

Refusing to look back even once.

That man may have the eyes of the devil, but I ain’t got eyes for him.

Not anymore.

Not ever.

6

Back in the Saddle (Holt)

Do they hand out awards for epic fuckups?

If so, I ought to be a shoe-in.

After tonight, I don’t think Libby ever wants to speak to me again.

Goddammit. I should’ve checked my tongue.

Everything came out all wrong, and I never got the chance to explain it.

All I wanted was for her to sell me enough of her land to get her taxes paid, and I’d cover the remainder.

I’d fucking hold it for her.

Hold it until she can buy it back, so in the end it effectively stays hers anyway.

Of course, I didn’t get a chance to say that, and she didn’t give me a chance to finish before that skittish tiger was spooked, taking off with her claws lashing my face.