Page 5 of The Guy Who Stole My Ranch

“Brooke?”

“You okay?”

“What was that?”

“Are we looking at grass?”

“Was that a bear?”

“Brooke?”

A gray pit bull dropped his slightly soggy tennis ball right in my BBQ, then he turned and gave me a doggie smile, as if he’d just been the best boy in the world.

Chapter 2

-William-

“Don’t you dare.” I pointed at Frank as he approached with the now filthy tennis ball.

Frank, my gray pit bull, skidded to a stop a foot away and wagged his tail in hopeful anticipation.

“Drop it,” I said.

Frank whined, but the ball remained in his mouth.

“You know I can’t throw it unless you drop it,” I explained in a reasonable tone.

When I’d adopted Frank, just six months ago, I’d told myself I wouldn’t be one of those dog owners who had actual conversations with their canines. That had lasted a grand total of three weeks before I’d started using him as a sounding board for business matters.

He gave decent advice, considering his only formal training was behavioral.

I put my hands on my hips and stared at my dog.

He started to spin in circles, something he did when he was extra excited.

Normally I’d have him calm down, but since this morning we’d taken a flight from New York to San Antonio, followed by almost two hours in an SUV, the more energy we got out of him now, the more he’d behave when I went to finalize the business deal I had scheduled for this evening.

In theory.

A trio of young women, likely in their mid-teens, walked by for the third time. Most patrons of the park had given Frank and me a second glance. Probably because not many people came here in ten-thousand-dollar shoes and slacks that were made in Italy. I’d caught one man taking my picture, no doubt to search for me on the internet.

He would find the following information: My name was William Harris of Harris Inc., my family had enough money to swim in Scrooge McDuck style, and I was set to inherit the role of CEO for the company.

Oh, and I was painfully boring.

The press’s words, not mine, although I didn’t disagree.

Frank finally gave up the ball, and I threw it again, this time away from the muddy spot it had landed in before.

I took a moment to appreciate the vast openness around me. Even with the trees at one end of the park, the sky stretched on for what looked like forever. Clouds loomed on the western horizon, but so far, they hadn’t moved.

“Excuse me.”

I bristled and regretted Frank’s absence. He was a good buffer between me and people.

The trio of teens had stopped nearby, and now one of them stood out in front of the others. Had the redhead volunteered to speak to me, or had she been voluntold?

“Yes?” I asked with my usual stoic expression.

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