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Maybe that was the lesson she was to take from this situation. She needed to make a change if she was going to be better.

Harley pulled the door open, half-hoping to see Mason standing there, prepared to ask her forgiveness. Yes, she was aware that she was the one who should be apologizing. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because the person standing in front of her wasn’t anyone she’d met before.

Or had she?

He was tall, about five inches taller than Mason. He had a familiar face, clean-shaven with warm brown eyes. And when he smiled, his eyes crinkled enough to make it clear he did it often. His hands were deep in his suit pockets, and he looked like he belonged in a boardroom rather than on a ranch.

“Harley?”

“Yes?”

He extended his hand. “Anthony St. James.”

She stared at his hand for a good long moment until her uncle’s labored breathing came behind her.

“Ah, Mr. St. James. Blaire said you’d be arriving, but I thought we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

Harley’s eyes widened as she stared at her uncle, feeling more betrayed than she had when her mother had sent her here in the first place.

“My business trip was cut short, so I thought I’d come early. I hope that’s not an inconvenience for you.”

“Not at all. Come on in. There’s a guest room on the second floor. It might need to be straightened up, but Harriet can see to that.” Vern grasped Harley’s elbow and pulled her out of Anthony’s way.

Just as she’d suspected. Blaire Pembrooke wasn’t going to take Harley’s refusal lying down, and Anthony’s arrival proved it.

25

Mason

Mason knew he needed to cool off after his argument with Harley. He’d also figured they’d have some bumps in the road after they’d started seeing each other regularly. He just hadn’t counted on how deep her words could cut.

Thankfully, Vern hadn’t asked too many questions after Mason came back from his talk with Harley. He’d even told Mason to take the weekend off.

Mason had assured him that wasn’t necessary, though he was willing to come in a little later if that was okay. Even still, he couldn’t bring himself to head inside. It was five minutes before nine, and he didn’t want to face Harley at all.

They’d probably get into an argument, and then he’d have to tell her that she needed to grow up or they couldn’t be together.

Ultimatums weren’t smart when it came to relationships. Everyone knew that. Harley wouldn’t do well with one, and he was already steeling himself for that conversation.

Mason sighed, the sound bouncing off every corner of the inside of his truck. He might as well get it done and over with. The sooner they could have a conversation about mutual respect, the better.

He’d apologize for being short with her and leaving without giving her the chance to defend herself, and she’d apologize for snapping at him. Then everything would be right as rain.

Mason reached for the door handle, then his whole body tightened. The front door to the house opened, but instead of Harley, a tall, handsome businessman exited the building. He paused and turned toward the door as Harley emerged dressed in a pair of jeans and a formfitting T-shirt.

It wasn’t hard to see her eyes drift in his direction, even from this distance. She’d seen him, and she either didn’t care, or she wanted him to notice. The two of them took seats on chairs that sat beneath the porch awning.

Mason reached for the steering wheel out of habit. He gripped the faux leather that wrapped around it, his hands tightening so hard the leather creaked. Harley smiled at the man, then laughed at something he said.

His stomach erupted with pain, discomfort, and nausea. Who was this guy? Was he a cousin? A family member? Whoever it was, he had to be well-known enough for Vern to invite him inside his house.

The stranger laughed right along with Harley, and then he reached for Harley’s hand.

Fire.

Hot, molten lava erupted from within Mason. He’d never considered himself a jealous guy.

Not until this moment.