His voice threaded through her, as if it might be made of rawhide, designed not to break, to weather time and elements, as sturdy as the land he probably worked. Because yes, he wore cowboy like a second skin, the no-nonsense aura of hard work and get ’er done.
“Do I need to go back there and put some hurt on anyone?”
He wasn’t smiling, and she couldn’t tell if he was serious—maybe. Which sort of unrooted her for a moment. Um…
A woman in danger. A man who can't help but save her. But, at what cost? .