Page 5 of Marked by my Protector (Inked and Possessive. Rugged Mountain Ink #3)

Sloane

There’s a chill in the air, but I ignore it in favor of the scents of pine and hay that drift across the field.

I’ve been a lot of places. Skiing in the Alps, diving in Australia, and on safari with big game in Africa, but nothing compares to this moment right here and now.

Worn fences, weathered barns, creaky doors, and beams that tell the stories of generations passed.

The ray of my flashlight catches the glint of Tank’s pliers as he works, his broad shoulders hunched over the fence post like it’s a personal challenge he’s determined to win.

His flannel sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, revealing the dark ink on his arms. I study the images for a long moment, but I can’t figure what any of them are in the dark.

“What are your tattoos?”

He glances down at this flexing forearm as though he’s forgotten. “Oh, that arm I think there’s a dragon and a few skulls.” He shrugs, the fabric tugging across his back. “Got most of ‘em when I was younger. Seemed cool at the time.”

“You really don’t remember?”

“Nah, just impulsive art. Got one on my left arm recently, though.” He pauses and turns his body slightly to show off a man on a horse in front of the mountains. “My dad and I used to watch old westerns all the time. That one reminds me of him.”

That explains the room full of cowboy movies.

“You two were pretty close?”

“Truthfully, I think we annoyed the shit out of each other most days, but we were the same person at heart, so that happens. Miss him like hell. What about you? Any ink?”

I shake my head. “No, my parents wouldn’t allow it. I do think about it a lot, though. I think if I got something it’d be small, like my birth flower or something.”

Tank’s jaw tightens with concentration as he bends the metal into place. “They really control you, don’t they?”

“Honestly, I never looked at it like control until the wedding. Until then, it felt like they just wanted the best for me.” I shrug. “That probably sounds so dumb.”

Tank doesn’t respond right away. He gives the wire one last twist, then straightens with a grunt, brushing his hands off on his jeans. The flashlight beam catches the edge of his jaw, sharp and shadowed, and I can see the way he’s chewing on the thought.

“It’s not dumb,” he says finally, his voice low. “It’s just… hard to see the line when you’ve been walking it your whole life.”

I nod, unsure what to say. The fence is done, at least for now, and the quiet between us feels heavier than the cold. He gestures toward the stalls with a tilt of his head, and we start walking side by side, our boots crunching over dry grass and gravel.

The barn looms ahead, its silhouette familiar and comforting.

Inside, the scent of hay and old wood wraps around us like a blanket.

Tank grabs a pitchfork from the wall, and I grab a shovel without a word.

And though I have no idea what to do, I follow his lead, scooping and tossing.

Scooping then tossing. The rhythm becomes meditative, and though I’ve dined in Michelin-starred restaurants where the air smelled of truffle foam and imported saffron, I think I prefer the raw scent of this muck more.

It smells like real life.

Tank leans onto the end of his pitchfork. “That dress is far too nice to be mucking stalls with me. Go sit on the bench by the door. That’s an order.”

A shot of something tickles its way up my spine at the sounds of his kind demand, but I’m not listening. “I want to help. Tell me more about your life. What do you do for fun?”

“People do things for fun?” He laughs and tosses the last pile of hay into the wheelbarrow. “I think I work for fun.”

“You mentioned fishing earlier. Do you get to go often?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” he pulls off his gloves and tucks them into his back pocket before heading toward the sink in the front corner of the barn to wash, “but I usually get an hour or so a week to spend at the creek. Not many fish there, but it’s nice and quiet.”

The barn creaks around us, old but alive.

I glance at Tank, and for a moment, I feel like I’ve finally arrived at a place I didn’t know I was searching for.

This is dangerous. I can’t fall for him.

First, he’s so much older than me. Second, I’m sure to him I’m an annoying fly that won’t go away.

Still, that doesn’t stop me from talking, from wanting more time with him, with this land, with this feeling I’m not ready to let go of.

“Take me there!” My eyes light with curiosity. “I’ve never seen a real mountain creek. I mean, I have on movies, but not in real life. They look so peaceful and romantic, winding through the trees, cutting through rock.”

“Rich girl like you, and you’ve never been to a creek? Where was that summer camp held?”

I stare up at him as wind whistles through the cracks in the barn. “Business center downtown. Where else?”

He glances down at me, something unreadable in his gaze as we walk forward out of the barn and into the night. “Figures. I always swore if I ever had kids, I wouldn’t raise ‘em like this, but… now I don’t think I could see a way around it. I learned so much in these fields.”

My stomach tightens and a sickness rolls over me that wasn’t there before.

“You still think about having kids?” We walk side by side toward a bubbling stream in the distance. It’s too dark to see, but the air smells like damp moss and the earth beneath my boots softens as we get closer.

“Abstractly, but I know it’s too late for me. Hell, I’ll be fifty before you know it.”

Okay, he’s a lot older than me.

“That’s not that old,” My voice shakes as I speak, though I’m not sure why. “You’ve still got plenty of time.”

“I’ve come to terms with it. The kid card wasn’t in the deck this hand. Maybe next time.”

I want to say something wise, but nothing comes out.

“I’ve had a good run. Built some things, broke some things, fucked some shit up.

” He sighs, and though he doesn’t say it, I feel the hold in his breath like there’s something he’s not telling me.

“Just,” he shrugs, “missed the window on love, family, and all that stuff. I guess no one person is meant to have everything.”

I swallow hard, the creek now visible through the trees. “I don’t think windows close. I think they just get harder to climb through, right?”

That earns me a glance. A real one. His eyes meet mine as he says, “You’re young. It makes sense that you still hope.”

“Are you kidding?” I laugh and gesture toward the woods. “I don’t think I’d be lost out here in the middle of nowhere with a stranger if I had hope.”

“Hope’s what got you here.”

“Delusion is what got me here.” I laugh and settle down next to a boulder near the shore of the fast-running creek.

“Delusion’s just hope with a different haircut,” Tank says, his voice low beneath the bubbling of the water passing over boulders as he settles next to me.

“You dress it up, call it a dream, and suddenly, it’s noble.

But when you peel it all back, it’s still wanting something you’re not sure you deserve. ”

I pick up a smooth stone and roll it between my fingers, letting the cool, wet exterior soak into my skin. “So then be delusional with me. What don’t you think you deserve?”

Tank exhales slowly, watching the creek for a long moment, like it might answer for him. I can tell he’s not used to opening up. “Forgiveness, I guess.” He shrugs. “Love, maybe.”

I don’t look at him right away. I let the weight of his words settle between us like the stone in my hand. “Why don’t you deserve love or forgiveness?”

“You know, my dad and I used to go fishing here.” He pauses again, staring out at the dark water before nodding toward the boulder next to me.

“Now I come out here alone and I talk to that rock right there. I tell Rocky all about the bullshit. But for some reason, it’s hard as fuck to tell a human being anything. ”

“I get it.” I lean against Rocky, feeling the smooth, solid weight of his cool exterior. “I have a stuffed animal that I tell everything. I’m pretty sure he cries when I leave the room.” I laugh. “I really get into it.”

“Yeah? What’d you name your imaginary friend?”

I snort. “Captain Crumbles. He’s a retired polar bear who lost his ship in a tragic laundry accident fifteen years ago.”

That gets a real laugh out of him. It’s short, but it’s there. “Sounds like the two should be comparing notes. We’re a couple of nutjobs.”

“Captain Crumbles says I’m emotionally illusive, but charming enough to get away with it.”

“Oh,” his eyes widen, “your imaginary friend talks back. That might be an entirely different experience you’re having.”

I shrug, still grinning. “He’s got strong opinions, I guess.”

Tank watches me for a beat, his grin fading into something quieter. “Well… I think Captain Crumbles is onto something. You have totally taken me off guard.”

I tilt my head, my heart thumping with something I’m not sure how to name. “Is that a bad thing?”

He nods, his voice softer now as he says, “No, it’s just… I’m not usually… yeah.”

The creek hums beside us, low and steady, like it’s holding its breath.

“I, ugh, it’s just… you showed up out of nowhere, and all the sudden I’m… not sure.” He turns his head and strokes his massive hand down over his beard. “Sorry, I sound like an idiot.”

His words are chaotic, but they hit me like a meal I didn’t realize I’d been starving for.