CHAPTER SEVEN

TRAVIS

"There's a gnashing, feral part of me that wants to force the man away from Brooke…"

Brooke and I spend the weekend together at my place after her sexual challenge, taking full advantage of being alone and having a king-sized bed to roll around on. The sex is amazing, but what's even better is hanging out with Brooke. Exchanging stories about our pasts and hopes for the future.

"You promise you don't think it's a silly dream?" she asks after admitting her desire to be a full-time romance author.

It's Monday morning, and we're at her cabin for fresh clothing and to collect her laptop after I drove us back to Serenity Ranch. Frankly, I'd be happy if she remained in my tees and sweats for the foreseeable future, but even I know—in my crazy, obsessive brain—that's a ridiculous demand.

"Hell no. Romance is a billion-dollar industry. Why would it be silly to be a part of it? If writing about love is something you enjoy, then it sounds like a wise business decision."

Her shoulders slump in relief as a tremulous smile follows my assertion. "That's if I'm any good. I haven't published anything yet."

I sling her quilted duffel bag over my shoulder once it's zipped closed with a few outfit changes and toiletries. We didn't discuss how long she'd stay with me or when I'd need to return to New York City, but the weight of what she packed was reassuring. Means this is more to her than a weekend fling.

Not that I'd let her get away with that type of thinking.

I tried my damnedest over the weekend to prove how much she means to me through a marathon of orgasms and being more vulnerable than I've ever been with anyone else.

"Stop doubting yourself before you've even begun," I say, pulling her in for a side hug after she locks up the cabin and we head toward her car.

"What the hell are you doing here, Gibson?" A man yells across the open expanse between the main house and Brooke's cabin. Immediately, my arm moves protectively over Brooke as I guide her behind me.

I recognize Heath and Derek's tall forms leaping from the house porch, hurrying to catch up to the angry man currently bearing down on us.

Samuel Winters—the owner of Harper's Landing and neighbor to Gibson-Vee Ranch.

Looks like he's still pissed about our offer to buy his land, despite it being extremely generous and meant to help his struggling family business.

"Winters." My voice remains calm and neutral. However, there's a gnashing, feral part of me that wants to force the man away from Brooke to ensure her safety.

Not that I think Winters is dangerous, but when a man has fury fueling his steps, there's no telling what he might do in the heat of the moment.

" Winters ," he sneers, mocking my cool tone. "You've got some nerve showing up here. Think you can steal another ranch for your playboy playground?"

"What's he talking about?" The quiet question comes from behind, where Brooke is trying to outmaneuver me to see what's going on.

Not gonna happen.

"No one is stealing anyone's ranch. If you're going to accuse me of something, Winters, at least make it believable." I force a note of boredom into my tone. "Braden and I offered an extremely lucrative deal—one, according to public records, that would be a godsend—and you turned it down. End of story."

"Except it isn't. Because you and Vanderhorn keep hounding me to sign a new deal. Refusing to take no for an answer." Winters huffs and clenches his fists at his sides. My gaze drops to the potential threat before rising again.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Another offer hasn't been made."

"Tell that to the twenty-page contract in my paper shredder."

Winters may be brash, but I've never taken him for a liar. Which means Braden has some explaining to do. Why would he approach Winters again, knowing the man's adamant refusal to sell?

Some clients hemmed and hawed. Were stubborn holdouts hoping to drive up prices. They expected to be wooed with bigger and grander deals. Winters did not fit that profile.

He has an emotional connection to the land. It's his family's legacy. Money won't sway him, and Braden should know that.

"Again, I have no clue what the hell you're talking about, but you can be sure I'll be talking with Braden. If this is his doing, then I'll make sure he stops bothering you."

"See that he does," Winters growls as Heath puts a hand on his shoulder, attempting to calm his friend down.

Snagging Brooke's hand, I usher her to her car while keeping a watchful eye on Winters. "If you'll excuse us, we have somewhere to be. I'll talk to Braden and clear up any misunderstandings," I say by way of farewell.

Derek, Heath, and Winters remain silent, though their glares could burn a hole through the ozone, let alone my back.

So much for the goodwill I might have earned during dinner. Seems Winters ground it out with the heel of his weathered boots.

Good thing I'm used to being an outcast.

Because I don't give a fuck what those men think of me. The only opinion that matters is Brooke's.