13
COLT
Once we rolled past the Hawk’s Landing gates, I felt like I could breathe. And I wasn’t the one being stalked by mentally unstable southerners. I’d been stunned when the woman had reached out and wiped the potato salad off of Lacey’s hair, then prized the soiled napkin like it was the Shroud of Turin.
I needed to forget about the insanity. And if I did, then Lacey really needed to forget. She’d come to Montana to take a break and we’d give it to her. We’d make her forget everything but us.
There was one way I knew to distract her.
“Panties off, sugar.”
She rode between us in my truck. While we’d taken her back to her cabin to toss a few clothes into a bag—this time for more than a quick horseback ride—she hadn’t changed out of her pretty sundress.
“What?” she asked, glancing
