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Ennis Del Mar didn’t say things outright. He never had.
But when he wanted something, it showed.
Jack was mouthing off again, leaning against the fence, grin wide and reckless like he was trying to get under Ennis’s skin on purpose.
“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” said Jack Twist, “folks might start talkin’.”
Ennis stepped closer instead of backing off.
“Let ’em.”
Jack’s grin twitched. “Oh? Big talk.”
Ennis’s eyes dropped slow — not shy, not embarrassed. Deliberate.
“Keep runnin’ that mouth,” Ennis said quietly, voice low and steady, “and later on I’m gonna remind you who does the talkin’ when we’re alone.”
Jack’s breath caught for half a second.
“Is that so?”
Ennis leaned in close enough that Jack could feel the heat off him.
“You act real bold in daylight,” Ennis murmured. “But you won’t be smilin’ like that when I get you to myself.”
Jack swallowed, grin turning smaller — sharper.
“What exactly are you plannin’, cowboy?”
Ennis’s jaw tightened just a little, that stubborn look he got when he meant every word.
“Just know,” he said, brushing his fingers briefly against Jack’s belt before pulling away, “you ain’t gonna be standin’ much later.”
The silence after that felt heavy. Charged.
Jack’s ears went red, but he refused to look flustered.
“You’re awful confident.”
Ennis stepped back finally, slow and calm.
“I ain’t confident,” he said, eyes dark and steady. “I’m patient.”
And that — more than anything — made Jack’s knees feel a little weak.