Steal Her Heart (Kaid Ranch Shifters #1)(9)

Trapping a woman like Maris would be about as fruitful as trapping a man like him, so he gave her space and walked away, no look-backs. She had to be free to come or go as she pleased. That’s what injured animals needed, not pressure, and Maris had been injured on her insides. He had a sense for these things. Usually, he didn’t give a shit, but with her, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he gave far too many shits.

He made his way inside his cabin and closed the door behind him.

Three.

Two.

One.

Knock, knock, knock.

He opened the door to find her standing there, chin held high, hands clenched in front of her. “Swear not to kill me.”

“Why would I kill you?”

“I’ll get the whiskey,” Hunter called.

“Why would we need whiskey?” Bryson asked, but the bigger of the Kaid brothers had already about-faced and was making his way to the main house. Over his shoulder, he called, “Everybody knows when you make a business deal you toast with whiskey.”

“Ain’t no business deals going down on this ranch,” Wes called. He aimed his pissed-off attention at Maris. “What do you want me to do with this cow?”

Maris enlightened him, “Her name is Marmalade.”

Wes’s face was a study in hating-everything-on-the-planet when Bryson closed the door behind her. He would’ve laughed if his leg didn’t hurt so damn bad right now.

He gestured to his table for her to sit down and straightened a disarrayed stack of cattle notes. His place was a mess, but he hadn’t been expecting company when he’d left this morning. Truth be told, no one but him had been in here since he’d moved to the Kaid Brother’s Ranch three years ago.

She smelled good. Like mango shampoo and woman. Don’t get a boner right now.

“It’s fine,” she said as he scooped dishes into the sink. “I’m not here to be impressed by your house. I just want to know what’s going on is all.”

“What was your plan with the cow?”

“Marmalade?”

He sighed. “It’s bad business to name your cows unless it’s T-bone, Christmas Dinner, Prime Rib, stuff like that. Naming them means you’re too attached.”

“How about you ranch your way, and I’ll ranch mine.” Her dark eyes were so steady on him as he stood there in the kitchen, arms locked against the counter, blood dripping onto the wood floors.

He growled too soft for her to hear. “Fair enough. What was your plan with Marmalade.” Stupid fuckin’ name for a cow, but it was kinda cute that Maris looked at them as pets. It showed a tender heart.

“Well, when I was leaving my place, I was mad because you think I’m some charity case, and I had a glass of wine in town—”

“Like I suggested.” He couldn’t help his grin. She was so fun to pester. “It’s good you know how to mind.” God, he didn’t believe that at all, but her face was so fun to watch right now.

“Scratch me being worried you’ll murder me. You’re gonna end up gutted and in a ditch, you keep going like that.” She crossed her arms and looked prickly. “As I was saying…I was leaving my place, and I had rage and a glass of wine in me, and as I drove by the herd, it entered my mind that I should bring them back to you by whatever means necessary, and I don’t have a trailer, so I’ll get them to you one at a time. In my truck.”

“Oh good. I can’t wait until you show up with a full-grown pissed-off momma cow in your front seat.”

“Yeah, well, at the time, it seemed like a good idea. Marmalade mooed in my ear the whole way here and shit on my front seat.”

Despite the throbbing in his bleeding leg, she made him laugh. Him. The man who never laughed. “Well, Marmalade is very fast and tasted freedom for a minute.”

Maris pursed her lips and ducked her gaze. Her cheeks were turning a pretty shade of pink. “Look, mister. I love my herd, I love ranching, I love my home, and I love this town.” She looked up at him, and there it was again. That bone deep sadness that emptied out his chest. “But I don’t know how I fit into this place anymore. Been trying to figure it out for the last year.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Little Duck, no one knows that. We’re all trying to figure it out, same as you.”

“That’s a stupid nickname,” she muttered.

Bryson shrugged. “So is Marmalade.”

“Whatever. Your turn. Why did you buy my cows and return them to me?”

“I didn’t return them to you. They’re still mine.” He yanked the dishtowel off the rack and leaned over, pressed it against his bleeding leg. Her frown was really judgmental. “What?”

“Are you seriously using a dirty dishtowel to clean your gunshot wound? That’s how you get infections.”

“The bullet isn’t in there and it’s just a scrape. Besides, I don’t get infections.”

“Too manly for them? Made of stone? Invincible?” Maris scoffed. “Typical.”

“Typical what?”

“Typical man.”

“Look, lady, I ain’t got time to pull out the first-aid kit every time I get a papercut. It’s a ranch, not a resort.” He ran the bloody rag under the faucet and, without breaking eye contact with her, he hiked his muddy boot onto the counter and pressed the rag against it. “Better?”