Chapter 34 Rescued
The world narrowed to a sharp point of pain where Garrett’s fingers dug into her cheekbones. She felt the thick, stale air of his breath on her upper lip and the sickening certainty that she was about to be kissed by force. It was the same familiar, entitled danger she remembered from high school, only now she was thirty, and the stakes felt higher.
Then, the pressure vanished.
Garrett’s grip slackened, his eyes going wide and flat with sudden, involuntary terror. His smug face, inches from hers, morphed into the mask of a fish pulled from water, mouth silently open.
The sudden, paralyzing stillness that gripped Garrett Talbot was more jarring than his aggressive lurch. As Sierra felt the hard-edged pressure on her jaw instantly dissolve, she instnatly recognized the scent of worn leather, horse sweat and dust, a scent that belonged to the ranch and to one man in particular.
Ryder.
His massive, calloused hand had materialized from beside the booth and clamped with absolute finality onto Garrett’s windpipe.
“You want somebody feisty?” Ryder’s voice was a low, gravelly sound. “I’m plenty feisty.”
Garrett, his face flushed a dark, alarming crimson.
Ryder’s grip was a steel vice, precise and non-negotiable. He moved around slightly, his eyes boring into Garrett’s struggling face.
“While I’ve got your attention,” Ryder continued, his tone conversational, except for the lethal edge that cut through every syllable. “I want to set the record straight. The stuff I said about Sierra back in school was made up. It was stupid kid pride, and it was all a bunch of lies.”
Ryder tightened his fingers, and Garrett gasped, a thin, wheezing sound.
“The truth is, she’s one of the most intelligent, most successful people I know. Her integrity and decency are beyond question, unlike your own. You don’t belong in the same room with her. In fact, you don’t even belong in the same town. You get what I’m sayin’?”
Garrett couldn’t nod, but a frantic look of agreement was plastered across his features.
Ryder paused, not breaking eye contact. “When I let you go,” he growled, the instruction a clear order, “you slide out of this booth, head straight to the door, and don’t ever look back. If I ever see you around her again, I’ll finish what I started.”
With a harsh shove, Ryder released him. Garrett crumpled forward for a second, clutching his throat and gasping for breath. He practically dove out of the booth, stumbling past the surprised patrons, his expensive cowboy boots clattering as he made a beeline for the exit, not daring to spare a glance backward.
Just as the bell over the diner door jingled to mark Garrett’s frantic departure, the waitress at the counter called out, “Quinn!”
She was shaking, a mixture of adrenaline and humiliation washing over her. Sierra seized the opportunity. She couldn't, wouldn't, look at Ryder. A part of her was soaring with relief that the humiliating encounter had been aborted, but the rest of her was boiling with indignation that she’d been forced into the role of the damsel.
She shot out of the booth, hurried to the counter, grabbed the heavy paper sack containing Cody’s comfort food, and dashed out the door.
As she pushed the door open, she heard Ryder’s voice.
“Sierra.”
She didn’t stop. She tossed the bag of chicken onto the passenger seat and peeled out of The Dusty Spoon’s gravel lot, spitting gravel behind her.
The drive back to the ranch was a furious, internal analysis of the five minutes she had spent in that booth.
Why was he even there? Had he followed her? The thought was immediately ridiculous. Ryder was not the type to tail anyone; he was probably just picking up feed or an obscure farm part. But the fact that he was there, and had stepped in, cracked open a window into the dynamic she had been trying so desperately to bury.
She couldn’t deny the jolt of grateful relief that settled deep in her chest. Ryder’s intervention was swift, brutal, and effective. He’d made Garrett look weak and small, correcting the record about her integrity in the process. That was the part that surprised her the most. He had defended her character after all these years.
But her gratitude was quickly overrun by a furious, surging resentment.
Ryder had treated her like a piece of property he was protecting.
Don't tell me you’re hurrying back for a roll in the hay with him. Garrett’s slimy words echoed in her mind, and Ryder’s violent defense seemed to confirm the implication.
He had placed her back in the narrative she was trying to escape: the ranch girl who belonged, who needed the local cowboy to protect her reputation.
She wasn’t his. She was Sierra Quinn, Junior Partner at Sterling & Quinn. She was independent, capable, and highly successful. She didn’t need a rugged, archaic sense of chivalry deployed on her behalf.
The fact that the sight of him, tall, muscular, dominant, and ready to use physical threat on her behalf, made her stomach clench with an unnerving mix of fear and attraction only compounded her anger. It was a primal reaction she couldn't control, and she hated him for evoking it.
Ryder had become cold and formal with her in the last several days, putting distance between them after she shared that moment of vulnerability. Then, without warning, he had shown up to choke the sleaziest man in Kingman, essentially declaring to the world that Sierra Quinn was under his protection.
It was infuriating. It was confusing. And worst of all, despite her rising gorge of feminist outrage, she didn't know if she was more upset that he had stepped in, or that he hadn't done it sooner. He had made her feel safe, but at the cost of making her feel utterly claimed. She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles went white, the image of Ryder’s intense, protective glare searing into her memory. She was nobody's possession, and she needed to make that perfectly clear.
As she turned into the driveway of Sage Ranch, she happened to look up in the rearview mirror. Behind her, just visible in the cloud of dust kicked up by the SUV, was the dark RAM truck, following her home.
She drove into the gravel parking space of the ranch yard, skidding to a stop. In spite of the 20 minute drive, she was still steaming. She threw the door to the SUV open just as Ryder’s truck was gliding to a stop in front of the barn.
Before he could get the door open, she was on him.
“What the hell was that all about?” she screamed.