Page 8 of Dust Storm

The brim of his cowboy hat still shadowed most of his features, but I could make out a thick beard along his jaw and long hair tied in a knot at the base of his neck.

The rider braced his heavy boots in the stirrups. My gaze ran up those long, thick thighs to find his wide hands restingcasually on the saddle. His chest was wide, gently curving down into a soft belly. A plaid button-up was tucked into his belt, accentuating his rounded abdomen. It was proper and rugged all at once.

Not wanting to be caught staring, I averted my eyes and slammed the door. My calves sang as I tiptoed around the hood.

“You made it.” Rebecca Griffith lumbered down the porch steps, resting a hand on top of her baby bump.

It had, admittedly, been a while since we had seen each other. She left New York for greener pastures, and I kept climbing the ladder until the day I took a metaphorical stiletto to the face and tumbled down to rock bottom.

“Look at you,” I said, slapping on a smile.

Becks groaned. “Don’t remind me. I feel like I’m going to explode. And a pipe burst at our house so we’re staying with Nathan’s parents. I started sleeping on the couch because I hate going up the stairs to bed.” She laughed. “Sorry. That was too much information. How was the flight?”

Tripp opened his mouth—probably to complain about how packed the plane was—but I cut him off.

“Just fine. Thanks.”

An older man joined Becks. He was a spitting image of the cowboy, just a little more cleaned up.

What had once likely been a salt and pepper beard was now completely salt. He wore a flannel tucked into his blue jeans, and a pair of boots that had seen better days.

“Ma’am,” he said as he lifted his cowboy hat by the crown and extended a hand. “Pleasure to have you with us.” His eyes cut to Tripp. “And who’s this fella’ you brought? Your chauffeur?”

Tripp sneered. “Tripp Meyers. VP of publicity for the Carrington Group.”

The older gentleman studied him with an unflappable poker face. “Your—uh—group. They always send a VP as a chaperone?”

Gravel and dirt crunched behind me. Darkness hovered over us like a storm cloud.

“Doesn’t inspire much confidence if she needs a babysitter.” The bass rattling behind me shook my bones.

“Tripp is my fiancé,” I clarified to everyone, taking control of the narrative. Although I was less than thrilled to be here, doing my penance was the fastest way to get my life back on track.

Someone snorted, and I wasn’t sure if it came from the cowboy or the horse.

I put on a boardroom face and laid my hand on Tripp’s arm. “He had the time in his schedule to see me off before he heads to Europe.”

The shadow behind me was silent. The old man softened. Becks looked like she wanted to throw up.

And honestly? So did I. But I didn’t have time for unexpected vomit today.

“Well,” the old man said. “Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Silas Griffith.” He pointed a finger at the looming presence behind me. “I’m that one’s daddy, and a soon-to-be grandaddy—again—to this one.” He pointed to Becks’s belly.

Tripp’s eye twitched with annoyance. “Can we skip the hillbilly pleasantries?” he sneered through gritted teeth with practiced discretion.

“Mr. Griffith, I’d like to meet with you as soon as possible to discuss the current financial state of the ranch, and the deliverables you’re envisioning at the end of my contract.”

His mustache twitched with amusement as he lifted a weathered finger and pointed behind me. “Then you’ll have to talk tothatMr. Griffith.”

I turned and nearly ran into a wall.

The cowboy had hopped off his horse. He crossed thick arms over his barrel chest. His boots were wide-set, as if he wasbracing for impact. “Pretty sure I said I was fine with her being here as long as she wasn’t my problem.”

That was quite the welcome. Apparently, southern hospitality wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Silas laughed. “Son, when you took over for me, everything became your problem. Congratulations. I’m gonna go take a nap.”

“I have work to do,” he argued.

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