Page 28

“Okay...” Giving Brock a smile that no one but me would know is fake, she lifts her hand in a wave. “See you later, Brock.”
“Yeah...” He turns his head to watch her walk up the porch steps with the kind of lascivious look that makes me want to poke his eyes out. “See you around, Abbey.” Turning back to look at me, the lecherous expression holds. “She sure did grow up, didn’t she?” Somehow, he makes the words grow up sound dirty enough to make my skin crawl.
Ignoring his obvious attempts to bait me, I take a couple of steps toward him, holding my ground when what I really want to do is run away. “Our date isn’t until Friday,” I remind him.
“I know...” Leaning against the front of his brand-new truck, he gives me that smirk again. “But I thought maybe you’d be interested in a dress rehearsal.”
I’d rather get kicked in the head by a two-ton steer.
“I’m not.” Flicking a quick glance at the front of the house to make sure Abbey went inside like I said, I take another step toward him and drop my tone. “Friday’s going to come soon enough, so maybe you should just climb back into your truck and—”
Something dangerous flashes in his hazel eyes, a second before his arm snaps out into the space between us and clamps its hand around my elbow, hard and fast enough to have me swallowing a startled yelp. Dragging me closer, Brock hauls me against him before I can even think about fighting back.
“You’ve always had a smart mouth, you know that?” He hisses it at me, fingers tightening their grip on my arm when I come to my senses and try to yank it loose. “Once we’re married, I’m gonna have to figure out a way to fix it.”
Mouth open to either spit in his face or scream my head off, I don’t get the chance to do either.
“Everything alright here?”
Damien.
My entire body starts to shake with relief while Brock flicks a quick dismissive look at the man standing behind me, watching our exchange.
“This doesn’t concern you, Bravebird,” Brock says, hard glare drilling into mine while he squeezes my arm so hard it goes numb. “We’re just talking about our date, Friday night. Making plans—ain’t that right, Kaitydid?”
Again, before I can either spit in his face or scream, Damien interrupts me.
“That may be, but I’m going to ask you to let her go, all the same.” I can hear it in Damien’s tone, even if Brock can’t—he’s about two seconds away from leaving civility behind. A quick glance over my shoulder all but confirms it. There’s Damien, in his heavy leather apron, glaring at Brock, his dark gaze narrowed down to dangerous slits a large, heavy shoeing hammer gripped in his fist.
“I think you might be forgetting your place, Bravebird,” Brock sneers at him, hazel glare still nailed to mine. “Kait and I are engaged. Practically married.”
“My place is right here,” Damien assures him quietly while the sound of his voice moves closer behind me. “Let her go.”
The corner of Brock’s mouth twists into a nasty sneer while he lifts his gaze to find Damien’s. Whatever he sees behind me, loosens his grip on my arm and pushes him a step back.
“Alright then.” Lifting his hat, Brock settles it back onto his head. Touching the brim of it, he gives me one last smirk. “See you Friday, Kaitydid.”
Moving around the front of his truck, Brock’s trajectory pushes me back, a safe distance away while I watch him climb into the driver’s seat and drive away.
“How long have you been standing there,” I ask Damien without bothering to look at him.
“Long enough.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say, my gaze glued to the tailgate of Brock’s retreating truck. “He’s going to tell his father. His father will tell my father and—”
“If your father fires me because I protected you, then he’s not the man I thought he was,” Damien says, his voice even closer as he moves into my peripheral. “And not the sort of man I want to work for.”
“All the same, you better be careful about going into town by yourself for the next couple of weeks—” I warn him. “especially at night.” Getting fired over what just happened is the least of his worries and we both know it.
Damien makes a soft, dismissive sound in the back of his throat while slipping his shoeing hammer back into its loop on his tool belt. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”
Watching Brock’s truck shrink in the distance, I shake my head. “No.”
Stubborn, Damien doesn’t give up. “Was he telling the truth?” Concern laces his tone. “Are the two of you getting married?”
Gaze still aimed at Brock’s tailgate in the distance, I feel the back of my eyes start to prickle with unshed tears.
I will not cry over Brock Morris.