All he had here was an old Billy Cook saddle, clothes, and a saxophone. He could quit in the morning. Hell, he could drive out tonight if he wanted. LJ flipped his belt buckle open, the worn edges of the silver reminding him of his uncle. He’d been running that ranch north of New Orleans for nearly twenty years, though the owner barely paid him enough to keep his fridge full. LJ always had a job there, as long as he didn’t mind muscling horses into obedience to keep up with the grueling training schedule the owner insisted on. Unfortunately, he minded. One whole hell of a lot.

LJ, honey, the world isn’t going to bend for you.

His mama was right. It would be the same anywhere he went, and all his mad was going to do was slow down the process. People needed a chance to get to know you, to let your actions argue them out of whatever they decided when they took their first look at you. Besides, he would always be too tall to slide under the radar, a little too broad in the shoulders to set people at ease.

He bent down to turn on the shower, and the gush of water against porcelain nearly drowned out the knock at his door.

The faucet squeaked as he cranked it back off. Must be an emergency with one of the horses. Andra hadn’t seemed in much of a hurry to talk to him earlier, and with everyone gone to the bar, he was pretty sure they were the only ones left on the property.

After the scene earlier, he doubted she was here because she wanted some company for dinner. His abs flexed, anger burning deep in his gut like a fire that never went out. He shoved it a little further back.

LJ was already reaching for the doorknob when he realized he had forgotten his shirt. Another knock rattled the door, even harder than the first. Shit, the horse must be in bad shape. He opened the door.

Andra moved so quickly he got only a flash of mussed black curls before her fingers slipped cold over his cheeks, her lips hot against his.

His heart jumped, thumping into an erratic rhythm. Her hands clung to his jaw, and his slid into the soft strands of her hair, stroking them between his fingers as he bent lower to her level. She smelled like leather and horses, wind and salt and a sweet wisp of one of those things women put in their hair. She all but devoured him, fierce and frantic. He held steady for her, drinking in every touch of her lips and waiting for her to ease into sync with him. Shock still echoed in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t about to let her go.