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Okay, she knew exactly how much older than her he was. That was the side effect of her little... Crush sounded extreme.

She’d become attached to the shape of his face. And the width of his shoulders.

But to say “crush” implied an emotional attachment, and that she didn’t have. No.

She was way too...academic for that.

However, fourteen-year-old Quinn was very interested in his...homestead. And current Quinn had easier access to her fourteen-year-old self than she might like.

Usually, she kept her emotions pretty tightly policed, related to all that previous...rage that she had. And she’d learned to channel it all for good.

She needed to channel her anger now. Minimize it.

She couldn’t see Levi as a villain.

She had to try to change her mindset so that she could see him as a potential ally. Because she needed him.

She needed him to need her, too.

There was no grand ranch sign signifying that she was on Granger land, not like the big sign that greeted all visitors to Four Corners. Just a narrow, dusty road lined with pine trees.

She rounded a corner, and a small dwelling came into view. All ramshackle wooden shingles on the roof and rough-hewn planks of wood.

It was little more than a shack.

That was a shock. She hadn’t quite envisaged...this.

She hadn’t realized things were quite so hard. And they had such a terrible story—the whole family did—and it made her heart contract with concern. He must need advice. Because the ranch could not be profitable if this was what he lived in.

Then, from around behind the dwelling, she saw movement.

And there he was.

Broad-shouldered and wearing a red-checked flannel shirt unbuttoned all the way down, he had a black cowboy hat on his head—a sight that was commonplace to her, so why she noticed at all, she’d never be able to say.

He was holding an axe.

He set a log on top of a large tree stump, held the axe high above his head and brought it down mercilessly upon the upended log. He sent the pieces flying. He picked up another bit of wood and began to set up all over again, and she couldn’t help but notice the practice in his movements. The fluidity. His muscles. And...what might’ve even been a tattoo on his ribs. She blinked rapidly.

She got out of the car and shut the door.

“If you used an awl it might be easier.”

He stopped, midmotion. He had a dark beard and hair, blue eyes. And she felt like they were looking straight through her. Worse, and weirder, she felt pinned to the spot. Like her shoes had been glued right there to the dirt, and she couldn’t move.

She’d seen him just two days before. She couldn’t figure out why she was frozen now.

He’d made her mad two days ago.

And for the first time in recent memory, angry felt like the safer option.

Why was she...fluttery now?

She had to get unfluttery really quickly.

“Excuse me?”

“Just... If you used an awl...”