She worked at a jewelry shop Monday through Saturday, and while there, she wore her pale hair in some kind of intricate knot on top of her head, thick locks at her temples tumbling down to frame her exquisite face and, he was sure, to cover her ears. She usually had a pair of magnifying glasses over her eyes and a small pair of needle-nose pliers in hand. Once, as she had helped a guy with grease stains on his hands and overalls, she had talked with her hands, laughing happily at whatever he’d said to her.

Jase had experienced a wave of anger he hadn’t understood then—and didn’t understand now—and had left before Brook Lynn could spot him.

But he’d gone back again and again.

Most evenings, she worked at Two Farms, and because she was usually the last to leave, she often had to walk to her car alone. Anyone could hide in the shadows, jump out and perform a grab-and-stab. Or worse. And okay, yes, she got points for carrying what looked to be pepper spray, but she lost even more for not paying attention to her surroundings. She was like a Disney princess, practically dancing and singing, “I’m so ready to be disarmed and mugged!”

Did she not realize even small towns had crime?

Case in point: he could be cited for stalking. Hence the multiple beers and his desperation to stay inside the house tonight. He would not risk a legal battle for anyone.

He sank the ball and smirked at Beck. “You going to tell me the rest of the joke?”

“Not a joke. A fact.” His friend motioned to the entrance with a tilt of his chin then wiggled his brows.

Jase looked, and yep, he had to agree. An angel had walked into a den of iniquity. Beside West stood Brook Lynn Dillon.

Hauntingly beautiful. And completely off-limits.

The urge to touch her, to hold her, bombarded him all over again, and he had to grit his teeth against it.

Feel nothing. Want nothing. Need nothing.

“Hey, Brook Lynn,” Beck called. “You’re looking mighty fine today—which can mean only one thing. You came to ask me out. Well, it’s your lucky day, pretty. I accept.”

Jase hit his friend in the arm and muttered, “Don’t flirt with her,” before he could think better of it.

Beck frowned at him. “Who was flirting? I was baring my soul.”

The conversation ceased to matter when he noticed Brook Lynn’s eyes were swollen and red, as if she’d been crying. There was a cut on her bottom lip, as if, in her despair, she’d chewed a little too hard.

He threw down his cue. If someone had hurt her—

His hands fisted at his sides as he closed the distance.

Her gaze landed on him and widened. Gulping, she stepped away from him. “Do you, uh, know where Jessie Kay is?”

Had he scared her?

“No,” he said, careful to moderate his tone. “I haven’t seen or spoken to her.”

Her shoulders slumped with defeat and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a big dose of fatigue. She worked far too much, couldn’t get much more than a few hours of sleep each night. While he admired her fortitude, rarely having seen anyone push themselves so fervently, he knew she couldn’t go on like that forever. Soon she would break down. If she hadn’t already.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “How are your ears?”

Chin trembling, she said, “They’re better. I can hear.” A second later, the trembling stopped, and determination darkened her eyes. Stubborn side engaged. “By the way, I never heard from you, so I didn’t know which of us needed to deduct the money. I just took a guess at how much I owed you.” She stretched out her hand. In her palm rested three crisp one hundred dollar bills.

He jolted back as if she’d just offered nuclear waste, wondering how long she’d had to save for so little. “Hell, no. That’s way too much.” A single penny was too much, he decided. “The lamp was ugly, so you did me a favor. I should probably pay you for getting rid of it. And the nightstand has a crack, nothing more. It’s no big deal.”

Brook Lynn breathed a sigh of relief as she stuffed the money in her purse. “If you’re sure...”

“I am. Now, how much do I owe you for the implants?” he asked.

She shifted from one foot to the other. “They...weren’t cheap.”

“That’s fine.”

“Like, over two thousand dollars not cheap.” She whispered the amount, as if scandalized. “If your furniture cost something similar—”

“No.” He didn’t blink. “I’ll bring the money to Rhinestone Cowgirl tomorrow. The full amount.”

She looked taken aback. “You know where I work? Never mind. Everyone knows. I don’t...I can’t accept so much...I—”

“Just say thank you and save us the trouble of arguing. You won’t win.”

She rubbed at her temples in a clear effort to ward off an oncoming ache. “Thank you.”

Better.

“And now,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I guess there’s nothing more for us to say.”

He hated himself and his weakness for her, but he wasn’t ready to be parted from her, even though he knew better than to try to hang on to anything. The longer you had it, the more it hurt when it was taken away—and it was always taken away. “I’ll walk you out.”

“No need,” she said, turning on her heels. “I’ll be okay on my own.”

“Okay or not, I’m still walking you out.” He would not be like the double-douches at the restaurant and leave her on her own.