Page 18 of Awaiting the Storm (Wildhaven #1)

She’s wearing an embroidered denim shift dress—short, with long bell sleeves. It tapers just enough to show the shape of her waist, but is loose enough for the fabric to sway as she walks toward me. Her legs are bare and tan, and dark ankle boots with a slight heel cover her feet.

Her braid is pulled over one shoulder again, thick and a little messy. A few strands fall loose around her face, catching the candlelight. Her makeup is light, just enough to make the blue of her eyes stand out.

And for the first time in years, I forget how to breathe.

I stand automatically as she approaches, trying not to look too eager, but hell if I can help it.

“Evenin’, Matty.”

Her lips curve. “Hey.”

“You look”—I pause, my eyes scanning her from head to toe—“incredible.”

Her gaze darts to the floor, then back to me. “Thanks. You clean up pretty good yourself.”

I grin and pull her chair out. “Allow me.”

She hesitates for a beat, staring at the chair. Then she finally takes a seat, and I scoot her forward.

That alone feels like a small victory.

Once she’s settled, I sit again and lean forward slightly. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine? They’ve got a nice Malbec on their list or—”

She shakes her head quickly. “No. I think I drank enough and showed my ass plenty the other night. We don’t need a repeat.”

I chuckle, but my voice is soft when I say, “You were perfect that night.”

Her eyes widen a fraction as a blush creeps across her chest and up her neck .

I like that I can do that to her.

She clears her throat and glances down at her lap. “I don’t remember all of it.”

“I do.”

She looks up. I don’t say more. Just meet her eyes and let the silence stretch between us.

The waiter comes by and offers us menus, then lists off the specials. Matty takes hers and scans it quickly.

I study the way her fingers move along the surface of the page. She doesn’t fidget, but she’s definitely on edge.

“The salmon looks good,” I say eventually, breaking the tension. “Bourbon and brown sugar marinated. Grilled. Comes with some kind of fresh veggie melody.”

She snorts softly. “Fancy wording for overpriced sautéed squash and carrots.”

“Probably better for me than the burger and onion rings I had for lunch.”

Her lips twitch. “Probably.”

“So, what do you think? Wanna give it a try?” I ask.

“Yeah. I guess a little bourbon marinade isn’t gonna hurt me.”

That makes me chuckle. “I think you’re safe.”

I flag down the waiter. “We’ll take two of the salmon. Medium on both.”

She doesn’t argue.

After he walks away, she leans back, eyes narrowing slightly. “All right, Galloway, we’re here. You got me out of my work boots and into town, so let’s hear it. What’s the real reason you wanted dinner?”

Straight to it. Okay.

I fold my hands on the table and hold her gaze. “I’ve got a proposal I want your family to consider. Ironhorse wants to purchase a thousand acres of the western tract. Ten percent over market. All-cash offer. We could close quickly—thirty days, maybe less.”

Her jaw tightens. “So, this is business.”

“It’s not just business.”

She exhales through her nose and crosses her arms. “Right.”

“Matty”—my voice softens—“look, I know how it sounds. But this isn’t some corporate land grab.

This is us getting what we need to expand, and you getting more than a million-dollar buffer to help keep your ranch running.

We’re not trying to swindle you or take anything that you’re not willing to give up.

I’m offering you—offering Wildhaven Storm a lifeline. ”

“You think I don’t know what a million dollars could do for us?

” she asks. “I do. I’ve sat with the accountant.

I’ve analyzed every utility bill, feed invoice, and vet bill that’s come across my desk.

I know exactly how thin we’re stretched.

But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to start carving up the ranch we’ve owned for generations and selling it off to the highest bidder. ”

I nod slowly, absorbing her words. “I get that. I really do. But there’s a difference between selling out and doing what you have to do to make sure there’s something left to pass down to the next generation.”

Her lips part slightly. The flicker in her eyes tells me I struck a chord.

The waiter returns with our meals, and we both go quiet as the plates are set down. The food smells incredible—grilled fish, citrus, roasted herbs, fresh vegetables that look like they were picked this morning.

She stares at her plate. Her face blank.

“Matty?”

She looks up at me. “I assume you brought something in writing for me?” she says, her voice trembling.

“Yeah, but we can do this later. Let’s eat first.”

Tears well in her eyes, and my heart sinks.

“I’ve lost my appetite. I think I want to go home. I’ll take your proposal back to Wildhaven Storm and sit down with my grandparents and father.”

Fuck.

I set my fork down and reach for the folder I tucked under the table at my feet. She eyes it warily as I pass it across to her.

“Thank you,” she says as she starts to stand.

“Are you sure you can’t stay to eat?”

“I just want to go, Caison,” she says. Her voice cracking.

“I’ll have them wrap it up for you,” I say as I wave for the waiter.

“You take it home. Have a better lunch tomorrow,” she whispers, and before I can say another word, she turns and walks away.