Page 2 of Marked by my Protector (Inked and Possessive. Rugged Mountain Ink #3)

Tank

This is going to be a problem, and I’ve got enough of those already.

Trouble is, I have a feeling this one isn’t going to be easy to forget.

Sloane sits in the backseat, hair spilling down over her shoulders, full red lips parted, and those pretty brown eyes locked on the scenery outside. I need to stop staring, keep my eyes on the road, but she’s easily the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.

Hence the problem.

I like to think of myself as a steady person, but if there’s one thing I can count on, it’s Delilah making life more complicated than it needs to be.

I love the girl, but she’s got a penchant for finding trouble.

Last month, it was a family of cats that needed a home.

Apparently, my ranch was the only one around that could house them…

because that’s where they ended up. The month before that, it was chickens she grabbed from a neighbor’s yard that wouldn’t lay eggs anymore but also can’t be eaten.

Not sure about her math on that one, but that’s how the facts were told to me.

So, even though she hasn’t said anything yet, I can tell by the crooked smile plastered on her face that she’s got something up her sleeve.

“You can drop me off at the dispatch office.” She twists back to stare at her friend in the backseat. “My boss called and asked me to pick up a shift since Dave didn’t show.”

“I don’t understand why you’re marrying him,” I groan, turning left down the old dirt road that cuts through the forest and bypasses the main drag. It’s bumpy, but it slashes at least twenty minutes off the drive, and the sooner I get the pretty girl out of my sight, the better. “He’s a shit dude.”

She shrugs. “I might not be after this. I can’t believe he didn’t even call until the plane was about to land to tell me he wasn’t coming.”

“He didn’t call because he doesn’t give a shit. You really want to waste your time with an asshole that doesn’t give a shit?” I’ve been told my advice is rather straightforward, but I don’t know how else to deliver it. She needs a clear view of the truth, not some sugar-coated bullshit.

“I know, big brother.” Her hand lands on my shoulder, and her breath catches. I gather this is the moment she is about to transition into whatever favor’s coming. “You’re so smart. We’re all thankful for your big brain.”

“Okay,” I groan, taking a left around the pine tree that sits near the edge of the dirt path. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” Her voice rises as though she most definitely wants something when she says, “It’s just that Sloane needs a place to stay until she gets on her feet, and I told her that your place was quiet and that she’d be safe there.”

I glare toward my sister, though I keep in mind that the girl we’re talking about is sitting directly behind me. “What makes you think she wants to stay on my ranch? You’re her friend, maybe she should stay with you.”

Her eyes widen. “I’m staying above the bakery. I barely have enough space for myself. She wouldn’t be comfortable with me. You have acres and acres of land and like four spare bedrooms with their own private baths. You won’t even know she’s there.”

“Actually,” the girl in the back with the long blonde hair and sweet voice interrupts, “I really don’t want to intrude on anyone. I can stay at a hotel until I figure things out.”

“No, you can’t!” Del blurts. “You need a hideout. Plus, you said you don’t have much cash, and my brother would be happy to have you.” She glances back at her friend. “He’s not very talkative, but he warms up… eventually.”

I brush my hand down over my face, trying not to show how insanely pissed I am with my sister. Dropping chickens and cats on my doorstep is one thing. A whole human being is another story, especially when that human looks like Sloane.

We bump over the last few divots as the dirt road empties out onto Main Street in the little mountain town I’ve called home all my forty-seven years.

“Oh, see… there’s an inn right there,” Sloane says, voice shaking. “I don’t mind. You can pull over. Really, I don’t want to be trouble.”

Fucking hell.

Delilah bumps my elbow, prompting me to respond in the curated way she prefers, and because I’m a pushover for my baby sister and I don’t wish to embarrass the innocent-looking woman in the backseat, I go along with the storyline.

“The inn is usually booked up this time of year. Lots of tourists in town checking out leaves. You’re more than welcome to stay with me. Delilah is right.” I glance toward her with a look only she understands. One that lets her know just how much she owes me for this. “I have plenty of room.”

“Are you sure?” the girl asks again, and I wonder for a second where else I could drop her off without making it sound like she’s unwanted.

I know myself well enough to see I can’t be left alone with this woman without acting like a fool.

“I don’t want to be trouble. There’s gotta be another place to stay in town, right? ”

I pull into the dispatch center and clench my fist around the wheel as Delilah grins at me then turns back toward the curvy blonde.

“No, there’s not. This is like the smallest town ever.

I’ll stop by and check on you tomorrow, or text me anytime you want.

Tank has my number.” She squeezes the girl’s hand, pulling her out of the backseat of the truck.

“Get up here and sit with him. He doesn’t bite,” she laughs, “anymore.”

I swear if she weren’t the only family I have, I’d let her know exactly what I think, but she is, and I suppose some part of me values that. Smile tacked wide and true, she heads into dispatch, leaving me with a woman I don’t know from Adam.

“Sorry about this,” the girl says, buckling her seatbelt. “I don’t even know Delilah. We just met at the airport like… an hour ago. She offered me a place to stay, and I was pretty desperate, but I can find something else… really.”

Jesus Christ. Makes sense Delilah’s picking up randos to help at the airport. “What kind of trouble are you in?”

“Ugh, trouble is probably a strong word. I’m just avoiding my parents and a wedding.”

“Who’s wedding?”

“Mine.” The girl swallows hard and glances toward me. “It’s an arranged thing. My dad wants me married to this guy that took over his European branch but,” her head lowers, “I don’t know. I don’t think I can do it.”

I understand going along with family for the sake of keeping the peace, I’m doing it right now, but this is a little much. “If you don’t want the marriage, why don’t you just tell them that?”

“It’s not that simple.” She darts her stare away then back again.

“This kind of stuff has been ingrained into me for as long as I can remember. My partner was always set to be my parents’ decision.

Anyway,” she sighs, “you don’t have to keep me at your place.

I can make do. I’m going to have to figure life out on my own sooner or later. ”

She’s hiding something. Something more than she’s letting on. I know that look. I live it every day.

“I meant what I said earlier. If you don’t mind a mess, you’re welcome to my place.”

Her gaze flicks toward the door like she’s calculating the risk, weighing whether or not I can be trusted. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

I bite back the urge to laugh. Not because any of this is funny, but because every glance she throws me feels like a dare. Then again, maybe that’s wishful thinking.

It must be. I’m sure she’s not running from some rich bastard so she can lust after some poor man in the middle of nowhere. I don’t have a damn thing to offer a woman like this. She’s used to nice things. Things I can’t even fathom. Things I don’t have any business thinking about.

“You’re not a burden,” I manage, diverting my gaze away from her curves and toward the road. “Are we good to go?”

I see her nod from the corner of my eye. Despite the fact that I’m trying to get my head on straight, the soft, expensive smelling perfume she wears is messing with my head.

I don’t need this shit. I swore off women years ago for a reason. They all fuck with your head and make life way more complicated than it needs to be. Still, I’m pulling from the curb, palms itching for things I have no business wanting.

She shifts in her seat, and I feel her gaze on me like she’s trying to figure me out. And though I’m not a fan of anyone trying to figure out anything about me, I do like the way it feels with the heat of her stare on my skin.

I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles white as my fingers bite into the leather. What the fuck is happening? I swore all this off. The mess, the ache, the way women like her make you forget your own rules. But here she is, in my truck, in my space, and I already know I’m going to regret this.

Not because she’s trouble, but because I want her to be.