Page 24 of Savage Rancher
Luke gives him a fist bump as he walks past. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Bring the sheriff in there.”
Jake holds me closer, his eyes searching mine. "You sure about this?"
I think about Eli's hands on me. The way he looked at my father's land like it was already his. The way he looked atme.
I think about Jake's face in the darkness last night, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
There’s no doubt. "I'm positive.”
24
JAKE
Ikiss her because I need to—hard, controlled, but close enough to losing it that I feel it in my bones. She gives under me, soft and breathless, and when I pull back, her mouth is swollen, her eyes wrecked.
Mine.
“Stay with me,” I tell her.
The knock hits the door thirty seconds later.
I nod to Mason, who’s already moving into a tactical position. Because whatever’s waiting on the other side of that door? It’s about to become a problem.
25
EMMA
Mason answers the door, only cracking it enough to poke his head out. “Can I help you?” he says through the opening.
“It’s the sheriff.” Sheriff Garrett’s words are loud and clear. “I’m looking for Jake Callahan. He here?”
“I’m here,” Jake calls as he walks toward the door, me tucked against his side, his arm around my waist.
As if choreographed, Mason opens the door wider as we join him.
“Morning, Callahan.” Sheriff Garrett stands on the porch, his expression carefully neutral, but his eyes sharpen when I step into the frame. His gaze flicks to me, taking in Jake's shirt, my bare legs, my messed-up hair. His lips pressed together, but he manages a civil nod. "Emma."
"Sheriff," I say, keeping my voice steady.
"Mind if I come in?"
Jake steps back, pulling me with him. "Not at all. Get you a cup of coffee?"
Garrett nods. “Appreciate it.”
Jake takes my hand and leads us into the kitchen.
Luke’s at the counter, his expression giving away nothing as he pours five cups of coffee like he anticipated it. The sheriffnods his thanks as he accepts his, declining sugar or cream as his gaze takes in the space.
I can’t blame him. It doesn’t look anything like I’d have imagined. The kitchen is sleek, obviously remodeled recently, with high-end appliances—a gourmet cook’s dream. I remember Dad telling me a long time ago that some “city slickers” bought Blackthorn Ranch and used it as a vacation home. Now it’s home to three badasses.
I wonder if they cook.
“Here you go, darlin’,” Luke says, handing me a cup and jogging me out of my thoughts. “I already added your sugar and cream.”
“Thank you.” How the hell did he know how I took my coffee?
He winks at me before leaning against the counter, his ankles crossed, sipping his own brew.
