Page 5 of Branded Mine

“And your daddy nearly ran it into the ground.”

The mention of my father hit like a slap, and Ryder saw it. His shoulders tightened when he saw my expression.

“You don’t get to talk about him,” I said. “No one does because the asshole is dead and where he belongs.”

His expression went flat. “I know more about Dwayne Shaw than most.”

“So does half this town. He made sure everyone knew exactly what kind of man he was.”

The edge in his voice raised the hairs on my arms. I studied him for a second before he turned back to his work. My irritation was high, and my emotions were causing me to be on the verge of crying. It wasn’t Ryder’s fault. My father was a worthless pieceof shit. I was glad he was gone, the abusive fucker. So why was I nearly breaking down talking about this?

I turned toward the house. “You need to leave.”

“No.”

I stopped and spun around. “Excuse me?”

“Got work to do.”

“I didn’t hire you.”

“So.”

“I don’t want your help.” My voice was rising, as was my anger.

“That a lie?”

I felt my face getting red. “You don’t know anything about what I want.”

Ryder set the hammer down with deliberate care, stood, and walked toward me. He didn’t hurry. Every slow step made the porch feel smaller until I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

“I know you came here planning to sell before you even looked at the land,” he said quietly. “Bedroom window doesn’t latch right. I know you checked the front door three times before you went upstairs.”

My pulse hammered. “You were watching me?” I asked incredulously.

“I watch the property.”

“Sounds like you’re paying a little too much attention.”

Ryder didn’t answer, and the silence unsettled me more than a denial would have.

“You need to stop.”

“Stop what?” he asked.

“Showing up whenever you feel like it. Coming onto my land. Leaving things inside my house.”

“It’s just coffee, Lila.”

His gaze looked on mine. When I stayed silent, the corner of his mouth shifted, but it wasn’t quite a smile.

Before I could say anything else, the sound of tires crunching over gravel cut through the morning. A white SUV rolled up the drive, a cloud of dust trailing behind it.

Ryder glanced toward it. “Expecting somebody?” he asked.

“The realtor.”

He didn’t say anything, only wiped his hands on a rag tucked into the back pocket of his jeans before stepping down off the porch.