He cursed under his breath.

“I can’t tell you what it was like today, learning that my father destroyed my career, my future, and my ability to provide for our family. All these years, I thought our business went under because I wasn’t a good enough farmer. And he let me believe it.”

“You’re a great farmer.”

She scoffed. “Not yet, but I’m going to be someday.” Picking her fingernails, she added, “Did I ever tell you how I got into photography?”

He didn’t answer right away, like it took him a few seconds to make the mental U-turn. “No. I’ve always wondered.”

“I was seventeen. Riding along the northwest fence line with Cressley, the American Paint horse my dad got me for my tenth birthday. Going through an alfalfa field, I spotted a coyote crouched along the edge. Right there in the heat of the day. I figured he was sick or hurt, but before I could steer Cressley away, it sprang at us. Cressley reared and I fell.”

Vaughn eased away from her slow enough that she had time to shift her weight. He repositioned on the step so that his back was propped on the railing and he was looking at her. He patted the concrete next to him. “Sit here with me.”

She settled next to him, their shoulders touching. She fought the surge of affection the gesture evoked, but that proved impossible once he took her hand and cradled it in his.

“That’s better. Keep going. You fell . . .”

“I hit the ground hard and face planted in the dirt. I knew right away something in my body had broken, but couldn’t tell what.” The pain had radiated through her, tightening her throat, constricting her chest. It was the moment that marked the first time in her life she’d experienced real fear. The kind of bone-deep, suffocating fear that leaves the soul scarred. The soil had vibrated with the energy of hooves churning over the ground as Cressley fled. Then the world went silent but for the beating of her heart and the rustle of alfalfa in the breeze.

“What did you do?”

“I rolled to my back and held my right arm up for inspection. My hand dangled limp. The broken bone had cut through the skin near my wrist.” She spared him the gory details, but she saw them as plain in her mind as she had that day.

Vaughn sucked a breath in through his teeth and squeezed her hand. “Damn.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what the broken bone meant. I had responsibilities. I didn’t have the luxury to nurse a broken wrist. I was terrified for the future of the farm, and who was going to do the laundry or fix meals or get Amy and Jenna to school.”

“You were a child, but you were already running the show around there.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice. Somebody had to. I sure didn’t know how I was going to manage with my right arm out of commission. Not to mention the coyote was out there, and it wasn’t going to chase Cressley for long, not with a smaller, more helpless creature on the ground. I remember praying, Please don’t let me get bitten by a rabid coyote.”

“You would’ve died. Out there in the middle of nowhere, in the time before cell phones. Did anybody know where you were, at least?”

She rested the side of her head on his shoulder. He was so warm, so solid, it was hard not to crawl into his lap. “Not a soul, or so I thought. The longer I lay there, the more my fear subsided. Probably due to the shock I was in. I was at peace with the reality of the situation, you know? I settled into my fate. It was a typical June day, beautiful but hot. I remember looking up at the sky, framed as it was by alfalfa shoots. I remember breathing in their baked grass smell. Used to be my favorite smell in the world.”

He released her hand to wrap his arm around her, pulling her tight against his side. “Why’s that?”

Thinking about it made the smell tangible. She inhaled deeply through her nose. “That was the smell of survival for another crop season. It meant we were going to be okay.”

He drew lazy circles on her arm below her injury. “For me it’s the smell of metal heating in the forge fire of my father’s workshop. Best smell ever.”

“I don’t know that smell.”

“Guess I owe you an invitation to dinner at my parents’ house.”

Her throat constricted. What was she supposed to do with a loaded comment like that? “Does their house smell like a forge fire?”

He let out a soft laugh that vibrated against her ear. “Pretty much. My dad turned the original garage into a blacksmith workshop before I was born, so yeah, everything from the furniture to the carpet smells like a forge fire.”

“I’ll bet.” Before he could reiterate his offer or push the issue on dinner, she steered the conversation to neutral territory. “You want me to tell you what my long-winded story has to do with photography?”

“I was curious, but I didn’t want to rush you.”

“I was lying on the ground, looking at the sky. It was peaceful. I could make out the peak of Sidewinder Mesa in the distance. A smear of clouds pulled vertically behind it, like taffy, and I wished I’d had a camera.”

His hand stilled against her arm. “Seriously? Your arm bone was exposed and a possibly rabid coyote was lurking nearby, and you wished you’d brought a camera?”

She grinned. “Yeah, you’re right. It was an absurd thing to think about, but it’s the truth. Funny how the mind works when it’s in shock. Nevertheless, after that day, I was never without a camera again.” Knowing it would get a reaction out of him, she added, “End of story.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a minute. That’s not the end of the story. What happened next? Did the coyote come back?”

She smiled at his indignation. “Yes, it did. It walked right up to me and sniffed my injured arm.”

Vaughn gave a low whistle.

“Right when I was sure it was going to start chowing down on me, I felt more vibrations in the ground. Horse hooves. The coyote sensed it too, because it raised its head, listening.” She’d stared, unblinking at it, not breathing. Its chin whiskers were coated in her blood. “A loud whoop sounded. The coyote lit off in a flash. Then my dad fell to my side and examined my break, all the while firing questions so fast, I had to interrupt to answer.”

Bitter grief rocketed through her. That had been one of her favorite memories until today. She’d adored her father in that moment. Worshiped him.

“How did he know where to find you?”

“Cressley had run home, and Dad sensed right away something was wrong. I never found out how he knew where to look for me. I was too busy idolizing him.” Had he been cooking drugs even that far back? While she was laid up with her injury, afraid for the farm’s future, was he already actively working to destroy it?

“You’d been afraid of how the farm would stay running while your arm healed. Did that end up being an issue?”

“Not as much as I’d feared. Dad stuck close by me for a few weeks. I thought he’d turned over a new leaf.”

“It didn’t last?”

“Not much in this world does.” A shiver started at her legs and crawled its way through her body. She pressed her face into his neck as her body trembled.

He hooked a hand under her knees and pulled her onto his lap.

She thought about protesting, but it was such a relief to be held tight, to feel loved. “I don’t know how to reconcile what I’ve learned about him with the man I thought I knew. I’d been so wrapped up remembering the times he saved me, I was blind to the lying, cheating criminal he really was. I’m not sure he ever really loved me.”

He stroked her hair. “Of course he did, and he’s still the man who found you when you were lost and hurt. Nothing can change that. But all this talk about him saving you makes you sound like a damsel in distress, waiting for your knight to ride up and slay the monsters for you. That’s not who you are. All those times your dad failed you, you know what was really going on? You figured out how to slay your own monsters. You learned how to save yourself. It’s one of the things I admire most about you. Someday, after your grief fades, you’ll be able to see it better.”

Maybe, but she sure didn’t feel strong at the moment. She didn’t want to be. She wanted to stay curled on Vaughn’s lap forever.

He smoothed a hand along her calf. “Your legs are cold. What are you wearing down here, shorts?”

“Your underwear.”

His head lolled and he groaned. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that to me. I might have a heart attack picturing you walking around in my underwear.” His hand crept higher on her thigh until his fingers snuck beneath the hem of the briefs. “I always thought I was a leg man, but I’m starting to think I’m more of an ass man, because I can’t get enough of yours.”

She grinned. She’d known that about him from the get-go.

Then he placed a finger on her chin and tilted her head, aiming his lips for hers, and she knew what would happen next. Exactly what she’d promised herself she was done doing.

She evaded his efforts. “It was two-thirty on the alarm clock when I woke up, which means it must be after three now. That’s not enough time for us to start something new and still allow me to make it home before my workers show up. And I’m sure as hell not going to drive up with them standing there to watch me get out of my truck in the same clothes I wore yesterday.”

That cheap, filthy feeling bubbled up inside her. She was so sick and tired of sneaking around with him.

“Let me love on you a few more minutes.”

She pressed her palms against his chest and scooted away, feeling strong for the first time in too long. “Either ask me to stay through morning or let me go. The choice is yours.”