Page 4 of Layla

And of course, he loved Brennan County. It wasn’t big in terms of square miles, but it was big enough. They’d been able—through various legal maneuverings and political lobbying—to incorporate as a county rather than just a town. It gave them a bit more freedom and extra protection. As he looked down upon the valley, he smiled with pride. There weren’t many buildings yet, but it was growing. Soon, they’d be a thriving community. For now, they were just getting started with the promise of big things to come.

What he didn’t love, as he stood high atop that rocky hill, was the evidence he saw that someone had been up there.

In a nest.

He prayed it wasn’t a sniper’s nest.

A shudder traced his spine. He hoped he was exaggerating. Perhaps it was simply a “spy nest.” He hated to think someone had been up there with a gun, waiting to pick people off.

There hadn’t been any shots, he realized. Thank the Lord no violence.

But someone had been up there, alright. Watching and waiting.

Or so it appeared.

He squatted down and shook his head as he examined the evidence. Three cigarette butts littered the gravelly ground behind an outcropping of boulders. Two discarded water bottles were there, too. Empty. Whoever had been there had lurked behind the large rocks long enough to need water. They’d needed food, too, as there was an empty wrapper that had once held a protein bar.

A hunter perhaps? They weren’t in season for much, though that didn’t stop some from illegally poaching. The Davis Mountains were ripe with wildlife.

But something told the sheriff that wasn’t it.

Someone had been watching the new settlement.

He stood with a sigh. He didn’t want his instincts to be right, but in his over twenty-five years of law enforcement, he’d sharpened those instincts down to a fine point. He’d learned to trust his gut.

The fifty-two-year-old man took off his black Stetson, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then squared the hat back atop his head, covering his mostly silver hair. His bluish-gray eyes looked down, once again surveying the town below. He didn’t want to scare the womenfolk, so he’d be careful who he ran his mouth off to. But he did need to tell the men so they could be on the lookout.

It might have been that a curious hiker had stumbled upon them and watched out of curiosity. But he didn’t know any hikers who smoked, especially when on their treks. It really winded a person.

Of course it might have been a member of the media, too. He could just picture some chain-smoking reporter hunkering down, hoping to get a juicy story. Word had spread about Brennan County. Some folks thought they were freaks—like a cult. Others thought they were perverts just practicing Domestic Discipline to get their rocks off.

Few actually understood.

It might have just been a local who’d ventured up there wanting to see more for himself. And of course—it could have been an actual pervert. Someone hoping to witness kinky sex while they watched from the shadows.

He didn’t much care for that option, either.

Yep. The men definitely needed to know about this. It was their job to protect their women and they all took their duty seriously.

While Sheriff Stone didn’t have the answers, one thing was for sure: he’d be on the lookout from now on.

And he’d do whatever it took to protect Brennan County.

That was, after all, his job.

Chapter Three

“Oh my gosh, I’m so excited for you!”

The words came in a hurried tone, flowing from the mouth of Beatrice Holland.

She was in her mid-twenties, had black hair cut into a bob, and was on the petite side. She had a lot of energy.

Lots and lots of energy.

That energy sometimes led her into trouble. In fact, if people could see past the dress and pink panties she wore, they’d see a reddened bottom. Her husband, Adam, had taken her across his knee that very afternoon. To say the spanking was deserved would be an understatement.

The tears had worn off now and she was all smiles as she jumped while clapping her hands.

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