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“Get back to work,” I snarl, the words drifting on the breeze that comes off the lake.
The order is loud and angry enough that a couple of the ranch hands jolt in surprise then, sheepishly, retreat to their original tasks despite me having nothing to do with the running of the Bar 9.
Yet.
Zee turns, and for the first time, I see the two patches on her arm.
Her insulin pump and her continuous glucose monitor.
I walk toward her, but I’m distracted by Juliette sniping, “What on earth were you thinking of, Susanne? Acting like some common hussy! What will the?—”
Before she can continue her diatribe, I grate out, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to my future wife like that.”
Juliette’s shoulders straighten and her eyes promise me hell.
Unfortunately for her, that’s already been my home turf for decades.
“Yourfuture wifeor not,” she scorns, “Susanne isn’t the first woman whose marriage will save the Bar 9 and I’m sure she won’t be the last, so I’d appreciate some decorum?—”
Uncaring that it’s disrespectful, I loom over her. “Screw decorum. Shewillbe the last because the child that she has will also be mine and no one willeverforce any of my descendants into an arranged marriage.”
Though she bristles, her nose pointing into the air like she’s smelled something bad, it shuts her the hell up.
Scooping my sheepskin jacket from the shore where I tossed it earlier, I turn to my future bride and cover her with it.
Our gazes lock as I do, and the trepidation of before is gone, so is the anger. There’s some confusion lingering in those gorgeous green eyes of hers, but mostly, there’s gratitude that I gave her my support.
Surprising us both, I slide my fingers across her jawline.
Her skin is like silk.
Her chin slopes into high cheekbones that are rosy red from the wind, almost as crimson as her lips. No paint stains them. She’s all-natural. Her dirty blonde hair frames her face with soft bangs that are tangled from the water.
My God, she’s enchanting—a water sprite.
“No one will ever forceyouto do anything again either, Zee McAllister.” Gently, I chuck her under the chin as I make that vow, watching her pupils dilate as a result.
I’ll give her her divorce, but as my mum found out when she finally got my father to sign on the dotted line, once a Korhonen, always a Korhonen.
Zee
PAST
You’ve Got The Love - Florence + The Machine
“He hurt you again,” I murmur, pointing to the bruise on his arm.
Colt scratches his jaw—he does that a lot since he started to get little flecks of hair growing there.
“Does it itch?” I ask, knowing he won’t comment on his injury.
“A bit.”
“Why do you scratch it so much?”
He rubs his chin on his arm, arms that are propped on his knees. We’re leaning against the wall of Loki’s stall. Some might say that it’s pretty dangerous where we’re sitting—right in front of him. If he stomped on us, it’d hurt. Might kill us. But this is Loki. He’d hurt himself first.
Here, we can hide so long as we keep our voices low.