Page 22 of Inheriting Miss Fortune

“How long is she staying?”

“That depends on Dev,” I admitted.

“Are you…” He hesitated. “Are the two of you… Is this baby yours, too?”

Heat flooded my face and neck. “No.”

“So the two of you don’t have a history together.”

I hesitated too long before stumbling over my response. “I’m not… Not the way you… I’m Kathryn Scott’s attorney. Her friend.”

Silas’s eyebrows rose. “Ohhh.”

Waylon rubbed a hand over his face. “Can you butt out of Dev’s business for one freaking minute and let him decide how much to tell you?”

Silas looked offended. “I’m Dev’s best friend.”

“One of several,” Waylon muttered.

“Fine, I’moneof his best friends. And I’m entitled to?—”

“No, my love, you’re not,” Waylon said with a laugh. “And I think it’s time to go and give these guys and little lady some space.”

“Who’s Kenji?” I blurted again. Because ever since they mentioned calling him, I’d wondered if maybe Dev had a current relationship, possibly in addition to… whatever he had going with the sheriff. And if so, that would have implications. To… to the custody situation.

The cowboy shot me an understanding smile. “Their Girl Friday.”

“He’d tell you he’s more like Q,” Silas muttered.

Waylon shook his head. “That would make one of you James Bond, sweetheart, and I hate to break it to you. Bond would be Bash in this scenario, not you.”

Silas scoffed. “He wishes.”

Waylon turned back to me. “Anyway, Kenji keeps their lives organized. He’s like an executive assistant on steroids.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” I asked, annoyed at how little I knew about Dev. “Why does a ranch hand like Dev need a personal assistant?”

Silas and Waylon both looked at me before exchanging some kind of silent message with each other. “We’ve gotta go,” Silas said and yanked his partner toward one of the vehicles before I could stop them.

Once they were gone, I headed over toward the paddock just as another man sauntered out of the barn, heading in the same direction. He was college-aged with sun-streaked, shaggy hair and was wearing a half-open Hawaiian shirt, loose linen trousers, and flip-flops. “Hey, my dude. Are you Devon McKay?”

Still holding Lellie, Dev looked toward him in confusion. “Uh… yes?”

“Cool, cool.” The man hitched a thumb at his own chest. “Indigo.”

Dev stared at him. “I… don’t understand.”

“Indigo. Your new hand? You know, for, like, roundup? Way got me all set up in the bunk room—massively chill vibe in there, dude. Magnificent energy. Like, seriously,allthe good feels—and he said to find you to get started on whatever you need.”

“Your… name… is Indigo?” Dev scowled like he was trying to translate a foreign language. “And you’re… here for ranch work?” he guessed.

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. This kid looked about as handy on a ranch as a squid… if that squid was prone to smoking dope out of a homemade bong.

Dev glanced at me, and we shared a look of unspoken understanding, similar to the one Silas and Waylon had exchanged a moment before. This guy was an added complication Dev definitely didn’t need right now.

“I can help,” I offered stupidly. “With ranch stuff. If you need me to.”

Dev’s frown intensified. “You?”

---