Chapter 1

Sawyer

I swipethe back of my hand across my forehead, the beads of sweat merging with the dust coating my skin. The sun”s relentless rays beat down on the back of my neck as I stand in the middle of my kingdom—thousands of acres of land that stretch farther than the eye can see, all mine to command. The summer heat waves shimmer off the distant hills, and I squint against the glare.

”Hotter than a billy goat in a pepper patch,” I mutter to myself, a wry grin tugging at my lips. My boots are planted firm in the dirt, worn leather scuffed from years of honest work. The cattle moo distantly, oblivious to the inferno bearing down on us.

I”m a man of the land, born and raised under this punishing Texas sun. My skin is permanently bronzed from years of laboring outdoors, the kind of tan that doesn”t fade come winter. Muscles, honed from wrangling stubborn livestock and hefting hay bales, bunch and flex beneath my sweat-soaked shirt. Some guys hit the gym for this kind of build, but me? I just put in a hard day’s work.

Pride swells in my chest like a hot air balloon. This ranch ain”t just business. It”s legacy, heritage. It’s the Blackwood name etched into every fence post, whispered by every blade of grass. And as the latest Sawyer Blackwood to watch over these lands, I”ll be damned if I don”t pour every ounce of myself into it.

”Alright, time to saddle up,” I tell myself, voice rough like gravel. ”Let”s get back to it.” There”s fences need mending, animals need feeding, and a hell of a lot more day left to conquer. With a last glance over my shoulder at the expanse I call home, I head toward the stables, ready for whatever comes next. Because that”s what we Blackwoods do—we face the heat head-on and come out stronger for it.

* * *

I stride across the yard, boots kicking up dust that settles on my jeans like a second skin. The heat”s relentless today, but I”m born and bred for this—built tough by years of sun and sweat.

”Damn,” I mutter, pausing to lean on the fence, letting out a sigh that the dry wind snatches away. ”Could sure use some company ”round here.”

But the silence is my answer, and it gnaws at me, a hunger for connection that runs as deep as the wells on this land.

That”s when I spot the dust cloud rolling down the long drive, a pickup truck barreling towards the ranch like it’s got somewhere to be five minutes ago. My curiosity piques, and I straighten up, wiping more sweat from my brow as the vehicle comes to a halt near the main house.

”New help,” I remind myself aloud, because hell, there”s nobody else to remind.

The driver”s door creaks open, and out steps Edward Davenport, his handshake as solid as his reputation. He”s the new hired hand, come to give these old bones of mine a break from the day-to-day.

”Edward!” I call out, voice carrying over the hum of the idling engine. ”Glad you could make it!”

”Wouldn”t miss it for the world, Sawyer!” he replies, a grin splitting his weathered face.

And then, an angel steps out.

Holy fuck. Who is this?

She turns then, and our eyes lock. Got to be honest. I”m not ready for it. Not ready for the way her sun-kissed skin glows against the wild backdrop of my ranch, not ready for the way her hair spills around her shoulders like golden waves crashing on a sandy shore. She”s got this lithe frame, see, one that speaks of youth but whispers promises of womanhood. It”s an image that brands itself behind my eyelids, hot and unyielding.

“Sawyer, this is my daughter, Nora. Hope it’s okay I brought her along.”

Nora.

His fucking daughter.

I don”t let my gaze linger—wouldn”t be proper—but the image of her lingers in my mind like a brand. She”s got this aura, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, promising warmth after the chill.

”Welcome to Blackwood Ranch,” I manage, schooling my features into a smile that”s all professional, nothing personal. No sense in broadcasting my sudden interest. I”ve got a rep to protect.

But damn if this place doesn”t feel a little less lonely already.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye.

Nora Davenport moves like she”s got a secret melody playing just for her, a rhythm that”s all sway and grace. She waltzes into my world, and hell if every dusty corner of this ranch doesn”t brighten up. She”s a breath of fresh air in the stifling summer heat, her youthful beauty hitting me square in the chest.

”Need a hand with that?” I call out, as I watch her pull a duffel bag from the truck bed, light as a feather despite its bulk.

”Got it, thanks!” Her voice is a melody too, and it dances over to me, settling under my skin. ”But thank you, Mr. Blackwood.” She smiles, and it”s like the sun bursting through on a cloudy day.

”Call me Sawyer.” I offer my hand, ignoring how rough and calloused it feels against the softness of hers.

”Okay...Sawyer.” She says my name like it”s something new, something exciting. And I can”t help but want to hear it again and again.

”Let me show you around,” I suggest, because standing here ain”t doing any good to the pounding of my heart or the heat pooling low in my stomach.

As we walk, I steal glances at her when I think she won”t notice. But who am I kidding? I”m about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. There”s this pull, this goddamn magnetic force that”s got my insides twisting up every time I look at her. I”m drawn to her, like I”ve been wandering in the dark and she”s the first damn light I”ve seen in ages.

”Beautiful place you have here,” Nora comments, her gaze sweeping over the acres of land.

”Thanks. It”s my life”s work.” I puff up a bit, pride swelling in my chest as I watch her take it all in.

”Seems like a lot for one person,” she observes, and there it is—she sees it, the loneliness I’ve got penned up inside.

”Sometimes it is,” I admit, maybe too honestly.

”Well, maybe my dad and I can make it a little less so,” she says, and the hope in her words is like a match to kindling.

”Maybe,” I agree, voice rough with a desire I”m not supposed to feel.

Not this fast, not this fierce.

Not for a girl who looks like she’s still in high school.

How old is she anyway?

Edward answers my unspoken question when he brags on his daughter, “Yeah, Nora’s a senior in high school, and I thought getting some real-world experience would do her a world of good. She might only be eighteen, but she’s a hard worker, my girl,” he states proudly.

Eight-fucking-teen.

Goddamn it.

I feel like a pervert.

But then my eyes stray back over those long legs, that shapely ass, like a ripe little peach.

Fuuuck.

My breathing becomes ragged, and I feel my cock growing in my jeans.

Focus. The last thing I need is to be getting a hard-on for her right in front of her father.

I lead her and Edward through the stables, showing them where everything is and what I expect. Edward is very talkative, and I’m thankful to let him carry the conversation. The cat’s got my tongue ‘cause I can focus on is his daughter.

Every move she makes, every flutter of those long lashes, sends a jolt straight through me. It”s like I”m a teen again, all hormones and heartbeats.

We finish the tour, and I”m already making plans to see her again, sooner rather than later. I”m consumed by her, by the idea of her—this young, beautiful creature who”s stepped into my solitary world and turned it upside down. I want her, more than I”ve wanted anything in a long damn time.

* * *

I”m out in the fields, wrench in hand, when I see her again.

Nora.

She”s hauling a bucket to the horses, and hell, that sight does things to me I can”t even name. A voice in my head tells me to step back, cool down, but my feet have other plans. They”re taking me straight to her.

”Need a hand with that?” I ask, voice rough like gravel, as I reach her side.

She looks up, all big green eyes and innocence. ”I”ve got it, but thanks.”

I take the bucket anyway, our fingers brushing, and damn if that touch doesn”t shoot straight through me. I tell myself to play it cool.

”Strong hands,” she comments, and I swear there”s a hint of a tease in her tone.

”Comes with the job,” I reply, trying for nonchalance. But inside, I”m a storm of wanting. It”s like she”s a magnet, and every cell in my body is iron filings, helpless to resist the pull.

We walk to the stable together, and I”m hyper-aware of her every move—the sway of her hips, the way her hair catches the sunlight. It should be illegal for someone to affect me this much.

”Bet you didn”t think you”d be playing farmhand your senior year,” I say, trying to steer my thoughts somewhere safer.

Her laugh is light and free, and it stirs something deep in my chest. ”It”s actually kind of exciting,” she says. ”Different from anything I”ve known.”

”Good different, I hope.” I set the bucket down and lean against the stall door, watching her.

”Definitely good,” she replies, and there”s that look again, like she”s seeing right through me.

”Come on. Let me show you how to mix the feed properly,” I find myself saying, another excuse to spend time with her. ”It”s all about getting the balance right.”

She follows me, close enough that I can smell her—something sweet and floral that”s probably from some shampoo, but it”s intoxicating all the same. I talk her through the process, making sure our hands brush more than necessary.

”Like this?” she asks, holding up a scoop of feed for inspection.

”Exactly like that,” I say, my voice dropping an octave. There”s an energy between us now, a current that”s impossible to ignore.

”Thanks, Sawyer. You”re a good teacher,” she says, and there”s a warmth in her cheeks that matches the heat flooding my own body.

Fuck, if she only knew what I wanted to teach her.

”Anytime, Nora,” I manage to choke out, already thinking about the next lesson I can give her. The next reason to be near her.

”See you later, then,” she says, and heads off to finish her chores.

”Later,” I echo, watching her go. And as she disappears from view, I press my hands hard against the wooden beams of the stable. I”ve got to keep a grip on this thing, on this wild desire that wants to consume me whole.

But even as I stand there, trying to steady myself, I know I”m kidding myself.

Because Nora Davenport isn”t just under my skin.

She”s in my blood, and I don”t know how to want her any less.

* * *

The sun dips behind the horizon, and I”m alone in my room. The image of Nora, that lithe, vibrant thing, burns behind my eyelids. I lean back against the headboard, the sheets cool against my skin, but there”s a fire raging inside me that”s anything but.

Her laughter echoes in my ears—a sound I”ve caught myself chasing all damn day. And now, with the door closed and nothing but moonlight for company, I let my hand wander south. My breath hitches as I picture her, all soft curves and sun-kissed skin. In my mind, she”s sprawled out beneath me, her body arching into mine. A low groan escapes me as I imagine her eyes, dark with desire, locked onto mine, and her sweet lips parted in a silent plea for more.

”Fuck, Nora,” I rasp into the quiet, my movements growing faster, rougher. I’m fucking my hand, bucking up into furiously, pretending it’s her hot little cunt. I imagine she’s hot and wet and tight. That my cock is the first one to breach her virginity.

And when release finally hits, it”s like a goddamn thunderstorm breaking inside me. Her name is a reverent curse on my lips as I ride out the waves of pleasure, picturing her with me, around me, until there”s nothing left but the echo of a fantasy and the reality of an empty room.

The next day, the heat clings to my skin, but it”s got nothing on the burn in my chest when I catch sight of one of the ranch hands tossing Nora a flirty smile. She laughs, carefree and oblivious to the wildfire she”s sparking in me.

”Hey!” I call out, my voice sharper than I intend. I stride over, slapping a heavy hand on the guy”s shoulder. ”Let”s remember why we”re here, yeah? This isn”t a damn social hour.”

”Easy, boss,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender, and backs off. But my glare follows him like a shadow until he”s well away from Nora. I turn to her, my jaw set, trying to smooth out the lines of possessiveness etched deep into my frown.

”Stick close to me today,” I tell her, my voice low. ”I”ve got some special tasks that need your attention.”

”Special tasks?” she repeats, a flicker of confusion in her eyes before she nods, unaware of the storm she”s stirring up inside me.

”Very special,” I affirm, watching the way the sunlight plays across her face, casting her in a glow that makes my chest tighten. ”You”ll see.”

I don”t miss the curious tilt of her head, nor the hesitant step she takes toward me. But it”s clear as day—even if she doesn”t understand it yet—that Nora Davenport is becoming my obsession. And I”ll be damned if I let anyone else so much as think they”ve got a shot with her. She”s mine to protect, mine to desire.

Mine to claim, whatever it takes.

* * *

I”m leaning against the fence, watching Nora as she moves with a grace that”s got nothing to do with ranch work. Her every step is a siren call and I”m all too willing to crash on those rocks. She”s bending over to pick up a saddle from the ground, and hell if my mind doesn”t wander to less innocent bends and curves.

I’ve been coming up with bullshit tasks for her all day, things that I claim she needs me to show her how to do. All so I can come up with an excuse to be close to her.

Guard her from every other male who would look at her.

Mine.

We walk side by side to the stable, the air thick with everything unsaid. The horses seem to sense it too, their whinnies like a chorus to our silent song. I show her how to brush down old Betsy, our hands brushing more than once. Each contact sends a jolt through me, hot as the summer sun beating down on this Texas plain.

”Your dad”s doing good work around here,” I say, trying to sound casual, but really I”m fishing, wanting to know how much Edward Davenport”s seen of what”s simmering between his daughter and me.

”Thanks,” she replies, her focus on Betsy”s flank. ”He likes it here. Says it”s good to be busy.”

”Keeps the mind off things,” I add, thinking not for the first time how a busy mind is the last thing I want right now.

”Exactly,” she agrees, unaware of the double entendre.

We walk side by side, Nora”s lithe form keeping pace with my longer strides. I can feel the heat coming off her, even more intoxicating than the midday sun. Every now and then, I catch her sneaking looks at me, and it stokes the fire inside, makes me want to show her just how much of a man I am.

”See this here?” I stop and point to a loose wire on the fence, seizing the chance to press close as I feign fixing it. Our bodies touch, and it”s electric, a current running straight through me.

”Looks like you”ve got strong hands,” she says, bold and teasing, glancing up at me through those lashes.

”Strong enough to keep everything I care about safe,” I murmur, locking eyes with her, letting her hear the promise in my voice.

She bites her lip, and my imagination runs away from me. I imagine how those lips would taste, how they would look wrapped around my cock…

The air between us crackles, charged with unspoken desires.

”Let”s head back,” I say after a moment, reluctant to end our time together but knowing there”s a time for playing and a time for laying down your cards.

Nora nods, casting one last lingering glance at the horizon before we turn toward the house. The sun”s dipping low, painting the sky in hues of fire and passion—fitting for the burn simmering under my skin.

Tonight, I”ll lie awake, consumed with thoughts of her, imagining the taste of her lips, the feel of her soft curves beneath my calloused hands.

Because Nora Davenport is my obsession.