Henry Kendall's ranch hangs by a thread of ink and blood, saved only if he plants his seed deep enough to claim an heir. Honora Tennyson knows the weight of that demand, her body still marked by the failure of her first husband to give her what the broad-chested rancher now demands with every low command.

He takes her in the dusty loft where lantern light slides over her arched back and the scattered deed papers, his scarred hands gripping her hips as if he can breed away every doubt. She opens for him despite the shame, the head of him notched at her entrance while neither speaks the question that burns hotter than the risk of losing everything.

The line between duty and desire thins with each thrust he promises, leaving her to wonder if his claim on her womb will become a claim on her heart before the rival takes it all.