She rode in like a Wyoming gale, all sharp edges and buried grief, the last spark of a dying ranch.
I knew better.
I'd failed her father once, watched his legacy slip while I chased shadows of my own guilt.
But there she stood in the shadowed barn, hay-strewn floor whispering under her boots, desperation carving hollows under her eyes.
She needed an heir.
Raw.
Relentless.
And damn if my hands didn't itch to deliver.
One storm-lashed night blurred the line.
Our bodies locked in that prickly hay, slick with sweat and storm-sweat, I took her rough as the thunder cracking outside.
Pinning her down, driving deep, spilling everything into her like it could rewrite our ruins.
She arched, defiant even in surrender, nails raking my back, pulling me closer to the fire we both craved.
It wasn't just breeding.
It was salvation wrapped in sin, her proper world shattering under my callused grip.
Days later, guilt gnaws harder.
I sand cradle wood by lantern glow, hands that broke horses now shaping hope from pine.
She's fragile autonomy incarnate, this woman who cracked my stoic shell wide open.
Yielding her body, her future, to a ranch hand's claim defies every fence she's mended alone.
Yet every glance across the wind-swept yard pulls me back, that impossible ache for more than legacy blooming between us.
What if this rough union saves the ranch but breaks us both?
Her isolation mirroring my regrets, our vulnerability the only thing more dangerous than losing it all.
A full-length breeding rough-sex western erotic romance featuring a guilt-haunted ranch hand and his desperate grieving heiress.
