Chapter Thirty-Six - Diane

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

DIANE

Later in the week, Westin comes back from the store with two large bags of clothing. It takes a while to do a run into town, so I was alone most of the day. I thought about venturing to the ranch house in hopes of some female companionship, but it turns out being locked up by Thomas made me shy. I'm not sure how to make friends.

I climb down the stairs when I hear the door. Westin sets the bags on the table and takes me by the wrist to pull me in. When he kisses me, he tastes cold.

"How was going into town?" I ask.

"The roads are clear," he says. "Bring your things upstairs and make sure I got what you wanted."

I turn to go, and he spanks me across the ass. My entire body freezes, and then it remembers his touch is good. His touch is safe.

"Go on," he says.

Face warm, I bring my bags upstairs and shut the door. I hear Westin whistle for Billie in the yard. She likes Westin; he's the first man she seems to care about.

I spill the first bag out onto the bed. There are jeans, leggings, t-shirts, and more in three different sizes. I sort through and pull all the correct sizes out and bag the rest back up. The second bag is loungewear, like sweatsuits. At the bottom are bras and panties. It figures that he got those sizes exactly right.

His boots ring out on the stairs. I gather everything up and put it in the laundry basket. The door opens, and he enters, filling the room with his big presence.

"Thank you," I say.

His lids flicker. "Thank you, sir ."

"Do you really expect me to use that all the time when we're alone?" I frown.

He taps my chin once. "Really, I do."

"Why are you trying to break me?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

"What gave you that idea? Darling, I don't want you to change, but I need you to understand that I'm all in and this is the language that makes the most sense to me. All I want is for you to work on feeling safe."

I hesitate, gnawing my lip. What he describes sounds heavenly. I'm tired; I want to be taken care of for a while.

"Are you sure you just don't want kinky sex?" I whisper.

The corner of his mouth turns up. "Of course I do, but only with you."

He draws near, turning my head with his jaw so he can kiss my mouth. A strand of hair falls over his forehead. I reach out and brush it away.

"Why are you like this?" I whisper.

He sobers, quick as a flash. "Like what?" he asks, warily.

Maybe I should stop talking, but I don't.

"I don't know you, Westin," I say. "You seemed like one thing when we met, but then you felt so dark…like I should be afraid of you. Maybe I should have listened, because…I fantasized about killing Thomas, but I would have never done it. You don't seem to care that you just walked in and shot everyone."

His hazel eyes are guarded. "I didn't shoot anyone," he says .

"You know you played a big part," I say. "And...I sort of wonder how many times you've done it."

My tone goes up, like it's a question. His gaze narrows, but he's tight lipped.

"Tell me about the brand on your back," I say. The aura in the room is cold. I take his jaw in my fingers, holding him lightly. "You can't make me sign something like that and not be truthful with me," I whisper.

He wets his lips. A muscle in his cheek twitches.

"When my father gave Sovereign and me a plot of land, we divided the labor according to who was best at what," he says. "I've always been able to shoot, fight, and defend myself. So, I became that for us, for this land. Sovereign is good at running things; he's a sharp businessman."

"So what does that make you?"

"An asshole with a god complex," he says.

"I'm being serious," I say.

He rises, taking off his coat. "I'm the housekeeper."

"Westin."

He drops the jacket. I can tell he's bothered, because he starts rolling up his sleeves.

"I can shoot a tin can from the back of a moving horse with the sun in my eyes, Diane. What do you think you do with a skill like that?"

He kills people, probably anyone who stands in the way of Sovereign Mountain. Of course, I know what that word branded into his back means. I just hadn't realized it was so literal. I curl my cold hands tight.

"So…how many of those tin cans have you shot?" I ask quietly.

"Quite a few." He might be agitated, but his voice is calm. His body is restrained.

After being so afraid of Thomas and Avery, it's a relief that he doesn't let his emotions get the better of him. One thing I'm confident of is that Westin Quinn will never hurt me. I might be one of the few people immune to that .

"Am I too much for you?" he asks.

Maybe he is too much, but I shake my head.

"How does the brand come into all this?" I whisper.

"I was on a job, two men who came for Sovereign after he acquired their land," he says. "I miscalculated for the first time in my life. I took a risky shot and missed the motherfuckers. He hit me hard enough I passed out. When I came to, they had me tied to a chair, and they used a branding iron to carve that into my back."

My stomach turns. My head is light.

"How did you survive that?" I whisper.

"Getting branded won't kill you, in most cases," he says. "I broke a molar gritting my teeth, but I didn't make a sound."

I slip my fingers under his shirt. The top buttons pop open, giving me access to the brand on his back. My fingertips stroke over the hard, twisted lines of scar tissue.

His eyelids flicker, like I'm touching an open wound.

"Why that word?" I ask.

He snorts. "When Sovereign and I were working our way up, we had a lot of opposition. They'd call us the King and the Gunslinger as a way to mock us, like we'd never amount to anything. After a while, Sovereign gained a lot of respect, but I don't do much in the spotlight. They kept calling me Gunslinger. They still do, maybe as a way of saying I'm an accessory. Less important, like all I am is a gun for hire, at Sovereign's disposal."

"I'm sorry." My lips crack, and I wet them.

He shrugs one shoulder. "Honestly, it could have been something a lot worse. I got off easy."

"They branded your back. That's horrifying."

His jaw works. My brows rise.

"What did you do to them?" I ask hoarsely.

"Someone came in at the last minute, got me untied," he says. "They fled, and I took a horse and went after them. Ran them halfway to South Platte before shooting them off the backs of their horses."

There's a long silence .

"What…what happened to the horses?"

He laughs once, taking my hand and leading me to the bed. He sits, pulling me into his lap as his rough fingertips brush back my hair.

"You know, for all your fight, you're so fucking sweet, Diane," he says. "The horses were fine. I took them both back, and one of them is my gelding, Rocky. The other is retired."

My fingers tighten on his shoulders. He uses his insistent head to push mine to the side again and kisses the dip beneath my ear.

"I don't feel sweet," I whisper.

"You are," he murmurs. "You're like sugar, darling. Especially between your legs."

He needs to stop kissing me so I can think straight.

"So…what happened to Clint on Sovereign Mountain?" I gasp. My mind races, trying to remember the details. "Did you and Sovereign kill him too?"

"Now, why would I care about Clint?"

"I don't know. Why would you?" I say. "Tell me."

He's got my shirt pulled down from my naked shoulder. His mouth drags over it, kissing down to the swell of my cleavage. Against my thigh, his desire is hot and barely restrained.

I wriggle. He keeps me still with hard hands.

"I'm asking a serious question," I press.

"Goddamn it, Diane," he says under his breath.

My nails come out, piercing his skin. "Do you think I want to be fucked by a man who kills anyone who crosses him and lies about it?"

He goes still. Then, he pulls back, and his eyes are narrowed. "I told you that I shoot tin cans for a living, and you know what that means."

"I wish you'd say the words out loud."

"Why? So God and Diane Carter can judge me?"

I pull my hands back, but he grabs them and holds them steady.

"Because you're asking me to give up control," I burst out, my voice shaking. "You want my body and my heart and everything, but you didn't tell me the truth. "

He sets me on the bed and rises. "I kill people," he says. "I killed Clint, I helped kill Thomas and Avery, and I'll kill anyone who gets in the way of me again. That's how it's been and always will be. How do you think this ranch got where it is?"

Everything clicks into place, and it's making me sick. He laughed a little too long when I said I wished that Avery would go up to Sovereign Mountain and die. I was joking—apparently, he wasn't.

Now, his reaction makes sense. I should have realized they killed Clint the minute I saw them break in and shoot Avery.

"You and Sovereign killed Clint," I say slowly. "Because of the feud?"

"Yes," he says. "And because Sovereign met Keira and wanted her."

My head spins. What the fuck is wrong with the men on Sovereign Mountain? It seems they're both in the habit of walking into other people's lives with the decorum of a bull in a china shop, just bursting in and taking what they want. I know Westin, despite pretending like he had a conscience, never intended to give me up.

"Did you ever stop to think about any of it?" I breathe.

"What does that mean?"

I stand, pacing to the other side of the room. He hurt me; not the way Thomas or David or Avery did, but he hurt me all the same.

"I'm so young," I burst out. "And you just took everything in one day. You knew who you were then, and I didn't…I didn't know who I was sleeping with. I'd never even been kissed before that day."

He's quiet.

For the first time in my life, I see a man admit to his failure. A little part of me heals in his silence. He's not defending himself or blaming me. He could easily say I was more than willing, but he shoulders the blame even though we both know it's not fair.

"Now, you're different than I thought back then," I manage.

His eyelids flicker, hurt behind them.

"This is all I've ever been," he says hoarsely. "Take it, because there won't be any leaving, darling."

There never was—I want to scream, but I can't even figure out what I feel. He's so bullheaded. The odds were always against him, but he showed up anyway. Bullheadedness is his best and worst trait—it saved me. I can't hate him for it.

"You're it for me, Diane," he says. "I watched you from the hill almost every night. I went to the cemetery every week hoping to see you there. I might have fucked you too soon, but I never left you."

My heart aches in my chest. All those nights when I sat alone in my room and stared out the window, he was watching me.

His eyes glitter. "I swore to myself you'd be mine," he says.

A tear slips down my cheek, leaving a hot trail behind.

His throat bobs. "I'm all in for the long haul, darling. Get used to it."

He takes me by the nape of the neck and pulls me in. His mouth finds mine, and then it finds the top of my head as his arms wrap around my body.

I've learned quickly that Westin needs touch to connect. I think I might be the same. It feels like borrowing his courage and the slow beat of his heart to lay against his body.

"I don't mind fighting," he says, voice low. "You can break my shit, throw my plates, but you can't leave."

I sniff, wiping my face on the front of his shirt. "I think I give up," I whisper.

"That's alright too, darling."

We might both be more broken than I thought. Maybe he's right that we need structure to build our relationship. Maybe I should have actually read the contract. It was overwhelming at the time, and I'd wanted an out to think things over.

Guiltily, I pull back and wipe my face. He tilts my chin up.

"You alright?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah, let's talk more later."

He kisses my forehead. Then, he leaves me, and I stand in the window that overlooks the back side of the barn. After a while, Sovereign and Westin appear on their horses, moving through the snow until they disappear.