Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Abbie froze, her fists tightening so hard, her nails dug into her palms. Did he really just say that? "Run along and let the men take care of things?" And the cherry on top—if she were a "good girl," he’d buy her something pretty?

Her breath came fast, her chest rising and falling with the force of her anger. If her pulse were any louder, it’d drown out the crackling remains of the barn behind them. She could practically see red, but beneath that searing rage was something equally infuriating—a sharp awareness of the man who had delivered the insult with a cocky grin that made her blood boil in more ways than one.

Beau Elliott leaned against the sheriff’s truck like he hadn’t just earned himself a lifetime spot on her shit list. That smirk, that casual stance—he was the picture of confidence, the kind of man who thought he could get away with anything because he knew how to wield that rugged charm like a weapon.

And to top it off, she was mad at herself, or at least the part of her that noticed the way his shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat, or the way his forearms flexed when he crossed them. No. Absolutely not. She wasn’t going there.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that made even courtroom opponents think twice about pushing her. She stalked toward him, each step deliberate and controlled, though her insides were threatening to explode.

Beau’s smirk widened like he was genuinely enjoying her reaction. “You’re still here?” he drawled, tilting his head. “I thought you’d be halfway to the kitchen by now, whipping up that pie.”

Oh, that did it. “You are arrogant, condescending—” she started, her words cutting off as she jabbed a finger into his chest. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move an inch, and that only made her want to hurt him. “You think you can just stand here and talk down to me like I’m some damsel in distress?”

“I’m certainly sorry you took it that way,” Beau interrupted, his tone maddeningly calm.

Her jaw clenched. The audacity. She was two seconds away from aiming a well-deserved knee to his most vulnerable spot. “You’re unbelievable,” she hissed. “You walk in here like you know everything about this ranch, about my grandfather and his life, then you have the nerve to dismiss me like I don’t have a clue about what’s going on.”

“I didn’t dismiss you,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m just trying to save you from unnecessary stress. Figured you’d appreciate me lightening your load.”

“Lightening my load?” she repeated, incredulous. “What century are you from, Detective? Because it sure as hell isn’t this one.”

Beau chuckled, and the sound—low and rich—sent an annoying shiver down her spine. “You know, you’re cute when you’re angry.”

Her brain short-circuited. Cute? Cute! She stared at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before snapping shut again. No. She wouldn’t let him win this round. “Listen to me very carefully,” she said, her voice dropping into a deadly calm. “If you ever, and I mean ever, call me cute again, I will personally make sure you regret it.”

His smirk faltered for just a second before it returned, more infuriating than ever. “Noted, but can you answer me something?”

“What?” she demanded.

“Is this like a woman’s lib thing? Refusing to be called cute?”

Abbie threw her hands up, pacing away a few steps to keep herself from doing something she might regret—like punching him square in the jaw or, worse, grabbing him by that infuriatingly handsome face and kissing the smirk off his lips. She needed to get a grip. This man was impossible, insufferable, and undeniably—no, absolutely not. She refused to finish that thought.

“You’re not as charming as you think you are,” she said, spinning back around to face him.

Beau shrugged. “Never claimed to be charming.”

“No,” she shot back. “You’re just a know-it-all with a superiority complex the size of Texas.”

“You think it’s the size of Texas, huh?” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make her stomach flip, and that grin. That infuriating grin of his. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Was he making an assumption she’d meant—that she was talking about his— “I wasn’t referring to?—”

“To what?” His tone was innocent enough, but that gleam in his eyes spoke volumes.

“That wasn’t meant to—” she snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, more to steady herself than anything else. She inhaled a long, slow breath before she continued. “It wasn’t meant as a compliment, Detective, and for the record, I don’t need you—or anyone else—to tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. I’m perfectly capable of handling this situation without your... your caveman antics.”

“Caveman antics?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly original.”

“Just add it to the list,” she said, her tone icy.

For a moment, they stared at each other, her heart pounding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the way Beau was looking at her now—his eyes dark and intense, his smirk gone. It was like he’d finally dropped whatever wall he’d been hiding behind, and she didn’t know whether to feel victorious or completely unnerved.

“Look,” Beau said finally, his voice softer, almost gentle, and it threw her off balance. “I get it. You’re protective of your grandfather, of this ranch. I respect that.”

Abbie blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “You... what?”

“I said I respect it,” he repeated, stepping closer, and she hated how her breath hitched at his proximity. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to change the way I do things, but I get it.”

She frowned, her brain struggling to reconcile the Beau who had just insulted her intelligence with the one now standing in front of her, looking almost sincere. “Well, good,” she said, her voice still tinged with defiance. “Because you’re going to have to deal with my involvement in this case until you can prove to me this wasn’t intentional.”

Beau’s lips curved into a small smile—not the cocky smirk she saw before, but something softer, something that made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t like. “Nothing would please me more than to have you involved with me.”

“In this case,” she added.

“Yes, of course. In this case.” His voice was low and questioning with a hint of something she couldn’t explain.

The way he said it, like he meant it, like he actually admired her for standing her ground, made her stomach twist. She didn’t know what to do with that, so she did what she always did—she pushed back.

“Good,” she said again, stepping around him to head toward the firefighters still packing up their equipment.

As she walked away, she could feel Beau’s eyes on her, and she hated the way it made her skin tingle, the way her heart raced despite her best efforts to ignore him. She didn’t look back, didn’t give him the satisfaction, but she knew—deep down in a place she wasn’t ready to admit existed—that this wasn’t the end of their sparring. Not by a long shot.

And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want it to be.