Lincoln told them about his conversation with Dalton.
“Gas?” Mercy’s eyes narrowed. “I swear, if it’s Jason, I’m beating him over the head with my cast-iron skillet.”
“I’ll ruin his credit score.” Red slapped the island counter.
It was the oddest threat Lincoln had ever heard, but scary as fuck. His mate had a certain set of skills, and Lincoln never wanted Red to use them against him.
“I knew you were holding back,” Mercy said.
“And that’s my cue to get back to work.” Red stood and turned, running right into Lincoln. The contact was instant and intense, and Lincoln curled his hands around Red’s arms to steady him as they gazed at one another.
“I think you mean that’s my cue to leave.” Mercy walked out of the kitchen but poked his head back inside. “There’s a brand-new bottle of lube in the drawer by the sink.”
Red frowned. “Why would you have lube in a kitchen drawer?”
“That’s none of your business.” Mercy sniffed before he disappeared.
“Before you ask, I have no idea,” Lincoln said. “Mercy lives in his own happy little world.”
Red smiled, and Lincoln’s heart skipped a beat. “I guess we all have our quirks.”
Lincoln ran his hands up Red’s arms and then back down. “I never asked how you were doing after last night.”
Red’s blush was deep. “The biting?”
It took a moment for Lincoln to understand what Red was talking about. He grinned and let his hands fall away from Red’s arms. “I wasn’t referring to the sex, though it was amazing.” He winked. “I was talking about the fire.”
“Oh.” Red’s brows shot up as his blush deepened. “Oh! I mean, yeah, the sex was great, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The fire. Right. You were talking about the fire.”
Lincoln cupped Red’s face and planted a deep, sultry kiss on his lips. His mate moaned and leaned into him, sliding his arms around Lincoln’s waist.
This was so much better than his mate running from him, dodging him at every turn. Red melted against Lincoln and sighed into his mouth.
“How’re you feeling now?” Lincoln nipped Red’s bottom lip.
“What were we talking about?” Red smiled at him with a dreamy look in his eyes. “Something about a hand job?”
A burst of laughter escaped Lincoln’s chest. “Yep, that’s exactly what we were talking about.”
Red pulled away. “You wish I was that thoughtless. I have work to do. You don’t pay me to sit around and stroke your ego.”
“But we were talking about stroking, right?” Lincoln followed Red to the front door. “And you’re not going out there without an escort.”
Red rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep a lookout for trouble, but I have chores to do. I’ll have Brett or Roger babysit me.”
Lincoln’s spread wasn’t huge, but it was large enough that someone could sneak onto the property without notice. There were the stables, the barn, the bunkhouse, Adam’s one-bedroom cabin, and the large toolshed, as well as Lincoln’s home. There were too many places a person could hide and wait for the perfect moment.
He couldn’t keep Red prisoner in his house. Lincoln knew that. But damn if he wasn’t tempted. He grabbed his mate’s arm to stop him from walking out. “I just want you to be safe, to take precautions. You and I both know that fire was set deliberately.”
Red rubbed a hand on his chest, over the old scars. “Trust me. I’m taking this very seriously. I’m not letting anyone else get the jump on me.”
Lincoln gave Red a quick kiss, forcing himself not to take it any further. “Just be careful.”
“You, too.” Red walked away after Lincoln had let his arm go.
Lincoln watched his mate trot down the steps and walk toward the barn. Brett spotted Red and started his way.
Brett and Roger knew how important Red was to Lincoln. They’d keep an eye on him, though Lincoln would prefer to have Red at his side.
Lincoln walked out and headed toward the pasture. The stable would have to be repaired, if that was possible, but in the meantime, he still had his own work to do, though he was keeping his head on a swivel. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to his mate or his property. If the culprit returned, Lincoln was going to end their life.
Chapter Eight
The repair to the stables would start today, the paperwork was finally caught up, and one of the thoroughbreds was ready to return to his owners. All in all, it hadn’t been a bad couple of days.
Lincoln took his cup of morning coffee out to the porch that was shaded by trees and sat on the swing, stretching his legs out and tossing an arm over the back.
He watched as the men he’d hired to do the repairs arrived. This was their third day, and already Lincoln saw the improvements.
The screen door opened, and Mercy walked out, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a simple navy blue T-shirt. He had a cup of tea in his hand, and his dark hair was rumpled. He sat on the wicker chair close to the swing and sighed as he folded his legs underneath him. “I love the early morning. It’s so peaceful before the day starts.”
The only thing missing from this enjoyable morning was Red. He’d insisted on sleeping at the bunkhouse, no matter how much Lincoln had argued otherwise. Lincoln didn’t like waking up alone or the fact that someone was targeting his ranch, which meant he would feel better with his mate right next to him.
“The trailer should be here today.” Lincoln took a sip of his coffee. “We’re sending off twenty head of cattle.”
“Do you have all the paperwork ready?”
“It’s sitting on my desk.” Lincoln had spent a large portion of his time figuring out his new computer and the software Red had installed. He didn’t consider himself a dinosaur, but Lincoln wasn’t as adept as the younger generation when it came to technology.
He sat forward when a flatbed delivery truck with a Towmotor attached to the back pulled in with the needed lumber and supplies. “I guess my day is starting.”
Mercy grabbed Lincoln’s mug as Lincoln headed toward the steps. “Go do what you have to. I need to get my chores done and run errands in town.”
A portly guy wearing an ill-fitting uniform climbed out of the truck, a clipboard under his arm. He wiped at his forehead as Lincoln approached, as if the effort of exiting the truck had been strenuous. His dark hair was as unkempt as Mercy’s. “Mr. Wheeler?”
Lincoln nodded.
“Where do you want the offloaded lumber put?” The name sewn on a patch on his shirt said his name was Reggie.
“I’ll let the men doing the project decide that.” He waved toward the pickup that had brought the workers a few minutes ago. “Jack Kilmer will sort you out.”
Jack was talking with two men Lincoln had never met. Jack had a travel mug in one hand, the kind that carried coffee, brushing his hand over his head with the other. The young men seemed eager and nodded vigorously at whatever Jack was telling them.
Lincoln had known Jack for about a year, had met him in town, and had discovered he was a wolf shifter. They’d talked over a beer at Cresting Moon, an open-air restaurant where they’d shared a meal, too.