Page 31 of Fierce Protector
When he reached the vehicle, she didn’t immediately unlock the door.
Through the window, he stared at her, brow arched.
With an exasperated look, she hit the button and let him in.
After tossing the bag in the back of the truck, he climbed behind the wheel. Skinny-dipping? Sex in public? The questions perched on his lips, but she had dealt with enough for one day. He wanted to get her back to the ranch and settled in so she could put her feet up and rest.
They rode in silence. The sun had sunk behind the mountain, casting long shadows over the landscape. The sky was brushstrokes of gold fading to deep orange.
When he pulled up in front of the new bunkhouse construction, she groaned. “Not the tent city.”
“What’s the matter?”
“The bunkhouse burned down. You’re all sleeping in tents—I saw them out back.”
“Not all of us are sleeping in tents.”
Her gaze landed on him, and his stomach dipped at just how pretty she was. If he’d gone to Badlands looking for company, he would have walked right up to her and asked her out.
“Where are you sleeping then?”
He held her stare.
She issued another groan. “I knew it! How bad is it?”
“Worse than bad. So much worse.”
“Oh god. What did I agree to?”
Hiding a smile, he climbed out of the truck and grabbed her bag. Discreetly keeping guard against more threats, he led her across the thick grass in the direction of the sleeping quarters he’d claimed.
Upon arriving at the Gracey, Colton had shown him around. Ledger had taken one look at the bunkhouse and determined it was too crowded for his liking. After spending months in solitude, the quarters he claimed for himself was a much better fit.
Well…almost better.
They skirted around the canvas tents that several of the ranch hands had erected for themselves. He knew which belonged to which person by how tidy or untidy they were. Zach Webb’s tent didn’t have a bit of clutter outside of it, and it was neatly zipped up. The others had abandoned paper coffee cups or beer bottles.
When the small shed came into view, Ledger felt Demi’s surprise more than saw it. On the exterior, the white paint and big windows appeared to be charming. Inside? Was a disaster, and not because he was a slob.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“I guess you could call it a she-shed. Forest Gracey’s momma had it built for her personal use.”
“And you’re staying in it?”
“Yup.” Slate tiles had been laid as a stoop, and Mrs. Gracey had planted roses outside the door. They climbed halfway up a white trellis on the wall.
“It’s charming.”
He threw open the door. “It’s hideous,” he said at the same time.
All the artsy, girly, feminine touches of the art studio assaulted his senses.
With a soft gasp, Demi stepped inside. The big windows let a lot of light in the space so the owner had hours of natural light. It showed off the painted flowers in every single corner.
So. Many. Flowers.
And plaster heads. They sat atop shelves and on small tables. On a workbench in the corner. The things gave him the creeps sometimes when he woke at night, and it certainly didn’t help him shake off the nightmares that plagued him.