Untouched by Maisey Yates

She’d been so young that it was hard to remember. Only nine when her mom had died.
    Her mother had been so strong. A real kick-butt ranch woman. She’d done it all, and she’d had no fear.
    And then she had an accident driving her tractor through mud that was too deep, on ground that was too uneven, because she’d been too stubborn, too certain, for her own good.
    Life didn’t reward that kind of bravery. That kind of character. Which really sucked.
    There was a lot more safety in your bedroom than there was outside, that Lark knew for sure.
    And yet, here she was about to ride a horse.
    Just do it, Mitchell.
    She put her foot in the stirrup and her hands on the saddle horn, launching herself up onto the horse’s back. “All right,” she said, settling in and gripping the reins. “Let’s do this thing.”
    Quinn laughed and mounted his horse, nudging him gently with his heels and moving ahead of her and out of the barn.
    “Wait,” she said, urging her horse forward, re-acclimating to the rhythm of riding. She’d ridden a few times since her mother’s death, just in the arenas at Elk Haven, but nothing regular, and it had probably been three years now since she’d ridden at all.
    “We’re going to head up this trail,” Quinn said, gesturing ahead of them at a path covered in bark. “It’ll take us through the trees and up to the ridge. And by that I mean
ridge
—a part of a mountain.”
    “We’re back to needing to give words clear definitions, are we?”
    “Hey, you were the one who seemed confused.”
    “Hardly, but I know how men are.”
    “Got a string of broken hearts in your past, do you?”
    She rolled her eyes, but Quinn was still in front of her and couldn’t see it. “Tons. I’m the vamp of Silver Creek. The woman everyone’s mother warns them about.”
    “I can believe it,” he said, tossing her a quick look over his shoulder.
    She had no idea why, but the casual comment made her feel a little warm all over. “Oh, well . . . thank you. I guess. Except I’m really not so much.”
    “I believe that too.”
    “You can’t believe both. One is a lie.”
    “You blush a little bit too pretty to be a vamp.”
    “I don’t blush.”
    “You blush like a schoolgirl.”
    She knew she did. She was doing it now. And the more he mentioned it, the more she did it. Her face was burning. “I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.”
    “I did notice that. And I’m not insulting you. I think a little pink in your cheeks is sexy. I like it, because it tells me you’re thinking naughty things.”
    “I don’t think naughty things.”
    “Ever?”
    Ready to ride, darlin?
    “Never,” she said. “I’m virtuous. A paragon.”
    “A virtuous zombie slayer?”
    “I blush because I’m shocked. Not because I’m thinking naughty things.”
    “That’s disappointing.”
    She tightened her grip on the reins. “No, you know what’s disappointing? You. Men. Men are shockingly predictable.” She said it all with a hint of irony, because yeah, her brothers were like this. They talked about sex because they always thought about sex. Because no matter how much they tried to shield her from the way they’d man-whored around, it had sort of soaked into her consciousness. Because when it was all you thought about, of course it seeped out.
    But in terms of personal experience? Yeah, there was basically none. She was Lark Mitchell, terminal nerd, little sister to Cole and Cade Mitchell, who would put a knuckle-shaped imprint on the face of any guy who ever dared touch her.
    If they were lucky, the knuckle imprint was all they would get. If they weren’t lucky, they might go from stallion to gelding in one easy step.
    And the men of Silver Creek knew it.
    Even if they didn’t, frankly, she’d never bothered to pursue anything. Because it was way the heck easier to just not care. Caring hurt. Always. Caring meant loss.
    It was way safer to talk dirty at a guy you met in a gaming forum than to risk rejection