Page 13 of Downpour

I bit my lip, rolled onto my butt, and poked at the gash to examine the damage. That only made it bleed more.

On the bright side, at least I was done with my only client for the day and could enjoy the glorious weather with a good book and my feet propped up.

I brushed myself off and hobbled to my car, grimacing at the sharp ache in my knee. As I settled into the driver’s seat, a truck whizzed by, making my car shake. I held my breath, hoping the mirrors would stay on.

Just as I pulled away from the curb, I spotted a blob of tapioca pudding on my shirt. Typical. But it wasn’t enough to ruin my day.

I slowed to a stop at the next light and peeled off the Caring Hands uniform polo, swapping it for a workout tank top from the floorboard.

As I struggled out of one top and into the other, an impatient honk sounded from behind me. I waved apologetically and eased through the intersection.

My phone buzzed. With one hand on the wheel, I rummaged through my bag. “Hello?”

“Brooke, are you done at Mr. Wilson’s house?” Peggy’s voice echoed.

“Yes, ma’am. I just left.”

“You have another client. I’m texting you the address. It’s half an hour away, so don’t dilly dally.”

I eyed the fuel gauge. “I thought Mr. Wilson was my only client?”

“Do you want the job or not? There’s a cash bonus today, and double pay if you last longer than a week.”

Money today? Double in a week? Sold. I needed the cash more than a relaxing afternoon in the park. Hopefully, the family and the client wouldn’t mind that I wasn’t in the proper uniform. Mr. Wilson certainly didn’t care, and Peggy didn’t have eyes everywhere.

Or did she? Maybe that’s why she was adding to my route.

“I’m on my way,” I chirped.

Peggy chuckled ominously. “Good luck.”

I punched the address into my GPS and swung a U-turn at the next light.

I drove with the windows down, singing my heart out to the radio. Five wrong turns and a pit-stop for gas later, I found myself speeding down a dirt road.

Dust whipped up from beneath my tires as I drove under a timber gate, that readGriffith Brothers Ranch.

Wide plains rolled across the horizon in an endless sea of green. Peggy hadn’t been kidding—this place was in the middle of nowhere.

Gosh, it was gorgeous.

My tires skidded through each turn as I navigated the dirt path, following Peggy’s brief directions on how to find the client’s house. I passed a picturesque house with white siding and a blue star on the side, then took a left at the split in the path.

The next two houses were nearly identical, with covered porches and neat landscaping. The second of the pair had bicycles in the yard. Barns and warehouses were scattered across the grounds.

And standing right in the middle of the dirt road was a cow with pink and yellow pool noodles on its horns.

I stopped and poked my head out of the window. “Hi, friend! Could you move out of the way, please? I don’t want to turn you into ground beef.”

To my surprise, the cow obliged and sauntered toward one of the buildings that had corrugated metal siding.

I followed the long road a few more miles until I spotted the white-sided house peeking out from behind a thick grove of trees.

The car bumped as the tires went from dirt to a freshly paved driveway. The black asphalt glimmered in the waves of afternoon heat. A brand-new wheelchair ramp was accented with a patriotic garden flag at the very end.

I pulled up beside a truck covered in a tarp, grabbed my gas station haul, and hopped out.

“Hello?” I called out as I propped the bags on my hip and knocked on the door. When no one answered, I gave the handle a jiggle for good measure. It was locked.

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