Page 11 of Broken Roads (Hard to Handle #1)

The murmur of voices reaches me before I even hit the bottom step.

Laughter—Sawyer's deep chuckle, Ruthie's familiar tsk of mock disapproval, and something lighter, more melodic.

Hailey. My feet falter for half a second.

I shouldn't care that she's down there, already part of the morning routine, already fitting herself into spaces that were never meant for her.

Shouldn't care how easily she seems to have won over everyone in less than a day.

But something sharp twists behind my ribs anyway, something I refuse to name.

Pausing in the doorway, I take in the scene before anyone notices me.

Dad sits at the head of the table, newspaper in hand, his reading glasses perched low on his nose.

Ruthie moves around the table with practiced efficiency, setting down plates heaped with eggs and bacon.

Sawyer lounges in his usual spot, hat tipped back on his head despite Ruthie's countless lectures about hats at the table.

His long legs are stretched out, boot tapping some rhythm only he can hear.

And then there's Hailey, sitting next to Beckett, her hair now dry and falling in a thick braid over her shoulder. She's laughing at something he's saying, her head tilted slightly to the side, revealing the elegant line of her neck.

"You better get some decent boots if you're going to be working around here," Ruthie says, placing a glass of orange juice next to Hailey's plate. "Those city shoes won't last a day in the mud and muck."

Hailey glances down at her feet, hidden beneath the table. "I know. I didn't exactly pack for ranch life. I wasn't sure what I'd need."

Something about the admission—this small vulnerability, this acknowledgment that she might be out of her depth—should satisfy me. Should feel like confirmation of what I've been saying all along: that she doesn't belong here. Instead, it tugs at something unwelcome in my chest.

"You can come into town with me later," Beckett offers. "I need to pick up some feed, anyway."

My jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. Beckett's only been working here six months, barely knows the difference between a heifer and a steer, and already he's offering to play tour guide?

A smile spreads across Hailey's face. It’s warm and genuine and absolutely nothing like the guarded expressions she's worn around me. "That would be great, actually. Thanks."

Something hot and ugly unfurls behind my ribs. Something that has no right to exist, given how clearly I've made my feelings about her known. Something that makes me want to assign Beckett to the furthest, filthiest corner of the ranch for the next month.

"Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence," Sawyer calls out, spotting me in the doorway. "Mornin’, sunshine."

All eyes turn to me. Dad glances up from his paper, Ruthie pauses mid-pour, and Hailey's smile fades like a light switched off. Only Beckett seems oblivious to the sudden tension.

Forcing my feet to move, I cross to the table. The chair next to Sawyer scrapes against the floor as I pull it out.

"Sleep well?" Dad asks, folding his newspaper precisely and setting it aside.

"Fine," I mutter, reaching for the platter of eggs.

Conversation resumes around me. Dad asks about the day's tasks, Ruthie comments on the weather, Beckett continues whatever story had Hailey so captivated before I arrived. I keep my head down, focused on my plate, but every cell in my body seems attuned to the sound of her voice.

Sawyer leans in close, his shoulder brushing mine as he reaches for the salt. "I ship Beckett and Hailey," he whispers, voice low enough that only I can hear, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

My hand immediately tightens around my coffee mug. The ceramic is hot enough to burn, but I barely feel it compared to the heat flooding my chest.

"Shut up," I growl through clenched teeth.

The asshole's grin only widens. "What? They'd make a cute couple, don’t ya think?"

I take a long swallow of coffee, scalding my tongue in the process. The pain is a welcome distraction from the scene unfolding across the table, where Beckett is now pouring Hailey a fresh cup of coffee.

Her eyes flick up, meeting mine for just a second over the rim of her cup. Something passes between us, quick as summer lightning, but it’s gone again before I can blink. Cheeks slightly flushed, she looks away, returning her attention to Beckett.

A sudden, murderous feeling washes over me, so intense it's almost dizzying. I want to reach across the table, grab Beckett by his collar, and drag him away from her. Want to tell him that she's not going anywhere with him, that she's—

What? Mine? The thought is so absurd, so completely at odds with everything I've said and done since she arrived, that I nearly choke on my coffee.

I don't want her here. Don't want her going through our books, suggesting changes, looking at everything with those sharp hazel eyes. Don't want her making herself at home in my house, using my shower, leaving her scent lingering in the steam.

I sure as hell don't want her smiling at Beckett like he's offering her the moon instead of a trip to the feed store.

"If you grip that mug any harder, you're gonna need stitches," Sawyer murmurs, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Interesting reaction for someone who supposedly can't stand the sight of her."

I set the mug down with deliberate control, forcing my fingers to uncurl from the handle. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sawyer just snorts. "Sure you don't, boss. Sure you don't."

Across the table, Hailey smiles again at something Beckett says. My chest tightens at the sight, at the realization that she hasn’t smiled like that around me. Never will, if I have anything to say about it.

And that's exactly how it should be. Exactly what I want.

So why does watching her give it to someone else so freely feel like a fist squeezing the air from my lungs?