Page 5 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

He’s staring out into the dark like he’s lost in it, like nothing out there matters. And then, without warning, his eyes find mine. There’s a subtle flick of his gaze, but it pulls at me. Something shifts between us, and I can’t unfeel it once it settles.

He doesn’t stand or wave. He watches me from the swing like I’m a ghost or a stray dog or something else entirely. His expression doesn’t give much away, but his jaw tics, and that’s enough.

I inhale and hold it, then shove open the door before I change my mind.

The gravel crunches under my boots as I step out into the spotlight. I’m suddenly hyperaware of the sweat at the base of my neck and the way my shirt clings to my skin. My hair’s a mess, and my makeup’s a memory.

I should say something, like hi or remember me or please pretend not to notice I’m falling apart , but I don’t. Instead, I stand with my feet on the gravel as he watches me.

I glance at the porch swing, noticing how the old wood frame hardly sways from his weight. Something about the way he grips the bottle of whiskey makes me wonder if he’s spent the whole evening right here, completely comfortable in his skin.

I can’t relate because every part of me is stretched too tight. One more wrong word, one more closed door, and I might snap. I need a break from life.

“You lost, darlin’?” His voice is low and lazy, but it hits like a full-body jolt.

I don’t answer right away. Mostly because I don’t know how to respond. And also because my pride is somewhere under the driver’s seat, curled in the fetal position.

What am I even doing here?

I’ve known this man for two days, and now I’m standing on his land like I’ve lost my mind. I’m emotionally bankrupt, running on granola bars and spite, and this—this man is half reclined on a porch swing like a temptation. I don’t know whether to turn around and run or fall apart right here.

“I’m not sure yet.” My words are drier than I meant them to be. “You tell me.” I swallow hard and square my shoulders.

It’s not a greeting, but it’s enough. I walk up the steps to get closer to him before I change my mind.

The porch groans under my boots like the wood is judging me. Upon closer inspection of him, I realize how muscular he is, how broad his shoulders are, and how absolutely no part of this was a good idea.

Still, I keep going, studying the tattoo on his chest. It’s a cattle brand—his family brand if I had to guess. He doesn’t move, just tracks my every step like he’s trying to understand what the fuck I’m doing here. But also, I’m asking myself the same question.

I stop a few feet away from him.

“Hot damn, Sunny,” he says, smirking. “You’re not the person I planned to see tonight.”

“Remi gave me your address,” I say, trying to sound like I do this sort of thing often.

He raises one brow, gaze sweeping over me from head to toe, like he’s reading the fine print. “Did she?”

He’s being too flirty without even trying.

“I stopped by to book a room at the bed-and-breakfast.”

He takes a swig of whiskey. “They’re booked up. The whole town is until after Labor Day.”

“I learned that the hard way.” I cross my arms even though I know it makes me look defensive. “She said you were too stubborn to offer your house, but not mean enough to say no.”

It’s the gist, and it earns me the twitch of a smile.

The porch swing creaks as he leans back, stretching one long leg out, like this is all very casual, like I’m not a stranger.

“Reckon that sounds about right.” His gaze slides over me like he’s making up his mind about me.

His eyes narrow, perfect mouth curved upward, showing that billion-dollar smile.

“Truth be told, a woman like you deserves better than what I’ve got to offer.

You seem like a girl who likes the finer things in life, not a half-renovated house. ”

There’s no edge in his words, just a quiet truth he seems to believe. And somehow, it’s worse than if he’d told me to leave.

I let out a slow breath, placing my arms by my sides. “Right now, my choice is sleeping in the back seat of my car at the rest area down the road. If I can’t find somewhere soon, I’m leaving town.”

A flicker of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. It’s not much, but it’s enough to soften the moment. He stands, and the space between us tightens.

He’s taller than I remember. All shoulders and shadows, with a quiet heat that radiates off him, like he’s built to burn steady, but not fast.

My throat goes dry, and I don’t recall a time when a man ever made me feel like this, but I hold my ground.

He is too young.

He doesn’t move closer, but he watches me for another second before tipping his chin toward the door.

“I’ll give you an official tour,” he says, voice low. “You should see it first, then decide if the back seat of your car is better. Come on.”

He leads me inside, and I pause at the doorway.

The place is rough, but there are some walls.

Tools are neatly organized on a makeshift table with wood horses.

A ladder leans against the wall like it’s had a long day.

But there’s intention everywhere I look.

Sheetrock and wood and trim are stacked in different areas with care.

The screws are set flush in the wall, and everything seems to be waiting. Even him.

This house isn’t a wreck; it’s a project—or rather, a beautiful home in progress.

He watches me like he expects me to turn around and run, but I don’t.

“Kitchen’s through there,” he says, nodding to the left. “Bathroom’s done, and the primary bedroom is too. The rest is still under construction, but it’s livable.”

He walks ahead, pointing out what spaces will be when they’re finished. His voice stays even, almost proud, like this isn’t weird for him—like it’s totally normal to give a late-night house tour to a woman who showed up with more baggage than sense.

I trail behind him, taking in the details. I love the high ceilings, old floors that creak in the best way. He takes me to the kitchen, and I look out the gigantic bay window that shows the stars. In the back is a barn.

“I’ve been fixing it up for a while now,” he says. “Bought it with the plan to raise my family here.”

My heart drops. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t ask if your wife would be okay with this.”

A chuckle escapes him. “No wife. No fiancée. No girlfriend. I’m preparing for my future.”

The way he says it—it’s not only about the house. It’s about roots and intention. About building something and being prepared for a future he wants. It’s so respectable that it steals my breath away.

“It should be finished by next summer,” he says to me in the hallway.

He’s still carrying the whiskey in his hand, and I can’t help but admire the way his muscles stack across his back.

He turns around, catching me.

“You don’t have to decide now. But if it’s a yes, you can have my room.”

I should say thank you or ask a dozen questions. Instead, I stand there, staring at him, trying to figure out if this internal buzz that happens when I’m around him is real.

I don’t answer, not because I don’t want to stay—I do.

God, I do. But wanting something or feeling a connection with someone doesn’t make it safe.

In my world, accepting anything without question always comes with a cost. I can’t help but wonder what it says about me that I’d accept a stranger’s help because he’s the first person who doesn’t demand anything in return.

He’s offering me a lifeline—or at least a temporary roof until I can make my next move.

I glance around again at the exposed beams and unfinished walls. The rawness of it shifts something inside of me. This house is unfinished, imperfect, but somehow, it’s what I need right now.

“I don’t want to overstep,” I say quietly, my voice threading through the stillness. “I know this wasn’t part of your plan. I can be gone in the morning.”

“Do you want to leave?” he asks. “Valentine, I mean.”

My lips part. “Not really. I like it here, and I desperately need a place to heal my heart. Valentine sounded like a good town to do that. I want to be able to breathe for a minute without having to explain myself while I contemplate my future.”

Colt doesn’t shift. Just watches me with that calm, unreadable expression of his. “You can stay as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere, and neither is this house.”

I keep my gaze focused on a knot in the hardwood floor. My throat tightens before I admit, “You don’t know me.”

“And?” He shrugs. “We might be strangers now, but not for long.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes. He doesn’t ask questions I’m not ready to answer. He waits, giving me space with my asking.

I take a breath and reach into my back pocket, pulling out the folded cash I’ve been carrying since the gas station earlier. I haven’t touched my accounts since I left because the second I do, someone will know where I am. And right now, I need to be lost.

“I can offer this for the night,” I say, holding out several hundred. “And I have plenty more.”

He glances at the money, then back at me. His jaw tightens. “Keep it.”

I hesitate. “You don’t even know how much it is.”

“Don’t matter. It could be ten thousand dollars. I don’t need it.”

I let my hand fall back to my side. “So, you’d let me stay here for free?”

“Nah. You can earn your keep,” he says, nodding toward the living room. “I could really use an extra set of hands. If I had help, I might be able to finish this house before next summer. That’s my only goal. I have plenty of money.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“You want me to help?” Laughter falls from my lips, and I look down at my hands. Thankfully, I removed the manicure set I had that screamed bride-to-be .

His expression doesn’t change. “Unless you’re above manual labor.”

I glance down at my boots. They’re worn, the laces frayed and the soles uneven. “I’m in borrowed boots. Nothing is beneath me right now, but I have zero experience. I’d hate to be a shitty partner.”

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll teach ya to do things the way I like,” he says, and heat rushes through me.

I try to calm myself, glancing back at the vintage boots a woman at the motel gave me. I had shown up in a pair of heels that were better suited for a corner office than a gravel parking lot. I almost twisted my ankle.

Colt licks his lips, and I wonder what that whiskey tastes like on his tongue. “Are you in?”

The attraction is undeniable, and I know I should walk out of this house, get in that car, and never return to Valentine again. But something won’t allow me to do that.

“I can already see the answer on your face.” He smirks like a decision has been made.

It has though, and we both know that I’m not walking away from whatever this is.

Weirdly, I’m relieved. Not because it’s easy, but because for the first time in days, I’m standing still and breathing evenly. I feel like I’m choosing something that chose me first and that I’m meant to be here. It scares the fuck out of me, but I can’t ignore that feeling.

“I’m in,” I echo, and I immediately feel the shift beneath my feet, like my entire world is changing.

When that cute-as-fuck smirk spreads across his lips, I think he feels it too.

“Music to my damn ears. Welcome home, babe.”

I can’t help the smile that takes over.